Poem by Rudyard Kipling

Good Luck...

Good Luck, she is never a lady,
	But the cursedest quean alive.
Tricksy, wincing, and jady—
	Kittle to lead or drive.
Greet her—she hailing a stranger!
	Meet her—she’s busking to leave!
Let her alone for a shrew to the bone
	And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve!
		Largesse! Largesse, O Fortune!
		Give or hold at your will
		If I’ve no care for Fortune,
		Fortune must follow me still!

1. The First Chantey
2. The Last of the Light Brigade
3. Merrow Down
4. «Limits and Renewals». 1932. 12. The Threshold
5. London Stone

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