Ode to Fortune

Fair lady with the bandaged eye!   I ’ll pardon all thy scurvy tricks, So thou wilt cut me, and deny   Alike thy kisses and thy kicks: I ’m quite contented as I am,   Have cash to keep my duns at bay, Can choose between beefsteaks and ham,   And drink Madeira every day. My station is the middle rank,   My fortune—just a competence— Ten thousand in the Franklin Bank,   And twenty in the six per cents; No amorous chains my heart enthrall,   I neither borrow, lend, nor sell; Fearless I roam the City Hall,   And bite my thumb at Sheriff Bell. The horse that twice a week I ride   At Mother Dawson’s eats his fill; My books at Goodrich’s abide,   My country-seat is Weehawk hill; My morning lounge is Eastburn’s shop,   At Poppleton’s I take my lunch, Niblo prepares my mutton-chop,   And Jennings makes my whiskey-punch. When Merry, I the hours amuse   By squibbing Bucktails, Guards, and Balls, And when I ’m troubled with the blues   Damn Clinton and abuse canals: Then, Fortune, since I ask no prize,   At least preserve me from thy frown! The man who don’t attempt to rise   ’T were cruelty to tumble down.