By a Victim.
[Kindly inserted in Bell's Life.]
Mine, Mr. Editor, is no theme to jest on,
For I've been humbugged, middled, got the best on,
Dropped in the hole, sir, flummoxed, done, and cheated
In fact, I've been "picked up," and vilely treated.
Sir, you must know, myself and Philip Frazer—
A pal of mine, a plumber and a glazier
(I feel that from the bag the cat I'm letting).
Are now (and always have been) fond of betting;
I do not mean we go and put the pot on;
But when a "sov" or "fiver" can be got on,
We're game to risk it, and the fault's not ours,
If hunting after sweets we nap some sours.
The picking out a horse to win, you mark,
Is something like snipe shooting in the dark;
The very shot and powder, mind, would blue it,
A man must shoot so long before he'd do it;
But preaching 's all my eye—there 's nothing in it.
We know that there's a flat born every minute,
And they are wisely sent, sir, never doubt 'em.
For what a figure sharps would cut without 'em!
But to my story : Philip, t'other night,
Met (as it proved) a "wide-awake" young wight—
One of those noisy chaps with sun burnt faces
And capacious breeches, that you see at races.
Now Philip having crossed his hand with gold,
Was by the little downy villain told
