Ye haunts of St James’s! ye Cyprian fair! How sweet your amusements! how _winning_ your air! Long, long have I served you, and valued you well, From the Regent’s proud palace, to Bennet Street _hell_, Where nobles and simples alike take their swing, With th’ intention of being _at all in the ring_. Their eyes are attracted with rouleaus of gold, Or with thousands in paper, so neat in the fold: Impatient they view them, and seize them elate, And, when pocketing most, they most swallow the bait. There’s N—g—nt’s proud lord, who, to angle for pelf, Will soon find the secret of diddling himself; There’s H—rb—rt, who, lately, as knowing ones tell, Won a tight seven hundred at house in Pall Mall; Captain D—v—s, who, now, is a chick of the game, But, although in _high feather_, the odds will soon tame; And the Marquis of Bl—ndf—rd, who _touch’d ‘em up rare_, For a thousand in Bennet Street (all on the square), Where a service of plate gives a _shine_ to the job, The whole made of crowns from young gentlemen’s fob. There’s Ll—yd and C—m—ck, who’d a martinette be; For none _drills_ a guinea more ably than he— So his adjutant told him (a pretty good wipe, Which the Colonel accepted and put in his pipe). There’s a certain rum baronet every one knows, Who, on Saturday nights to the _two sevens_ goes; With J—— and Cl——, Billy W—— and two more, So drunk that they keep merry hell in a roar; Long D—b—n, thin C—rt—r, a son of a gun, Bill B——, the Doctor, that figure of fun: They have all won a little, and now _are in force_, But they’ll find that it soon will return to its source: The knowing ones watch them, and give them their fill, And they’ll soon be reduced to discounting their bill. * * * * * In fine, ev’ry object of popular fame, Old hens, youthful chickens and cocks of the game, Though distant, I ever shall keep you in view; For all my enjoyments were centred in you. To A. B.’s and Bailiff’s I waft a sad tear; For I know they have found me a friend that was _dear_; And the Bill-doers, too, who have fleeced Johnny Raw, And, lastly, the Jem’men who _follow_ the law. To the tradesmen who tick, a remembrance most kind, I thus send, and assure them that Fortune is blind. This truth is a sad one; I’ve learn’d it too late; But ‘twill serve those, who now may take heed from my fate: For the purses of others, ‘tis pretty well known, I look’d too, but ne’er had an _eye_ to my own; For which my Annuitants sternly refuse My freedom, and, thereby have _narrowed my views_.