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!