The Gouty Merchant and the Stranger

In Broad Street building (on a winter night), Snug by his parlor-fire, a gouty wight Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing His feet rolled up in fleecy hose: With t’ other he ’d beneath his nose The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing,   He noted all the sales of hops,   Ships, shops, and slops; Gum, galls, and groceries; ginger, gin, Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin; When lo! a decent personage in black Entered and most politely said,—   “Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track   To the King’s Head, And left your door ajar; which I Observed in passing by,   And thought it neighborly to give you notice.”   “Ten thousand thanks; how very few get, In time of danger, Such kind attention from a stranger! Assuredly, that fellow’s throat is Doomed to a final drop at Newgate: He knows, too, (the unconscionable elf!) That there ’s no soul at home except myself.”   “Indeed,” replied the stranger (looking grave),   “Then he ’s a double knave; He knows that rogues and thieves by scores Nightly beset unguarded doors: And see, how easily might one   Of these domestic foes,   Even beneath your very nose, Perform his knavish tricks; Enter your room, as I have done, Blow out your candles—thus—and thus— Pocket your silver candlesticks,   And—walk off—thus”— So said, so done; he made no more remark   Nor waited for replies,   But marched off with his prize, Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.