Part 60 (1/2)

Vith _mawleys_[102] raised, Tom bent his back, As if to _plant_ a heavy thwack: Vile Jem, with neat left-handed _stopper_, Straight threatened Tommy with a _topper_; 'Tis all my eye! no _claret_ flows, No _facers_ sound--no smas.h.i.+ng blows-- Five minutes pa.s.s, yet not a _hit_, How can it end, pals?--vait a bit.

_Ri, tol, lol, &c._

Each cove vas _teazed_ with double duty, To please his backers, yet _play booty_;[103]

Ven, luckily for Jem, a _teller_ Vos planted right upon his _smeller_; Down dropped he, stunned; ven time vas called, Seconds in vain the _seconds_ bawled; The _mill_ is o'er, the crosser _crost_, The loser's _von_, the vinner's _lost_!

_Ri, tol, lol, &c._

The party a.s.sumed once more a lively air, and the gla.s.s was circulated so freely, that at last a final charge drained the ample bowl of its contents.

”The best of friends must part,” said d.i.c.k; ”and I would willingly order another whiff of punch, but I think we have all had _enough to satisfy us_, as you milling coves have it, Zory! Your one eye has got a drop in it already, old fellow; and, to speak the truth, I must be getting into the saddle without more delay, for I have a long ride before me. And now, friend Jerry, before I start, suppose you tip us one of your merry staves; we haven't heard your pipe to-day, and never a cross cove of us all can throw off so prime a chant as yourself. A song! a song!”

”Ay, a song!” reiterated King and the Magus.

”You do me too much honor, gemmen,” said Jerry, modestly, taking a pinch of snuff; ”I am sure I shall be most happy. My chants are all of a sort.

You must make all due allowances--hem!” And, clearing his throat, he forthwith warbled

THE MODERN GREEK

(_Not_ translated from the Romaic.)

Come, gemmen, name, and make your game, See, round the ball is spinning.

Black, red, or blue, the colors view, _Une_, _deux_, _cinque_, 'tis beginning, Then make your game, The color name, While round the ball is spinning.

This sleight of hand my _flat_ shall _land_ While _covered_ by my _bonnet_,[104]

I _plant_ my ball, and boldly call, Come make your game upon it!

Thus rat-a-tat!

I land my flat!

'Tis black--not red--is winning.

At gay _roulette_ was never met A lance like mine for _bleeding_!

I'm ne'er _at fault_, at nothing halt, All other _legs_ preceding.

To all awake, I never shake A _mag_[105] unless I nip it.

_Blind-hookey_ sees how well I squeeze The _well-packed_ cards in shuffling.

Ecarte, whist, I never missed, A nick the _broads_[106] while ruffling.

Mogul or loo, The same I do, I am down to trumps as trippet!

_French hazard_ ta'en, _I nick the main_, Was ne'er so prime a _caster_.

No _crabs_ for me, I'm fly, d'ye see; The bank shall change its master.

Seven _quatre_, _trois_, The stakes are high!

Ten _mains_! ten _mains_ are mine, pals!

At _Rouge et Noir_, you _h.e.l.lite_[107] choir I'll make no bones of stripping; One glorious _coup_ for me shall _do_, While they may deal each _pip_ in.

_Trente-un-apres_ Ne'er clogs my way; The game--the game's divine, pals.

At billiards set, I make my bet, I'll _score_ and win the _rub_, pals; I miss my _cue_, my _hazard_, too, But yet my foe I'll drub, pals.