Classic Poem

( UPON GAMING .)

What fool would trouble Fortune more,
When she has been too kind before;
Or tempt her to take back again
What she had thrown away in vain,
By idly venturing her good graces
To be dispos'd of by ames-aces;
Or settling it in trust to uses
Out of his pow'r, on trays and deuces;
To put it to the chance, and try,
I' th' ballot of a box and die,
Whether his money be his own,
And lose it, if he be o'erthrown;
As if he were betray'd, and set
By his own stars to every cheat,
Or wretchedly condemn'd by Fate
To throw dice for his own estate;
As mutineers, by fatal doom,
Do for their lives upon a drum?
For what less influence can produce
So great a monster as a chouse,
Or any two-legg'd thing possess
With such a brutish sottishness?
Unless those tutelary stars,
Intrusted by astrologers
To have the charge of man, combin'd
To use him in the self-same kind;
As those that help'd them to the trust,
Are wont to deal with others just.
For to become so sadly dull
And stupid, as to fine for gull,
(Not as, in cities, to be' excus'd,
But to be judg'd fit to be us'd)
That whosoe'er can draw it in
Is sure inevitably to' win,
And, with a curs'd half-witted fate,
To grow more dully desperate,
The more 'tis made a common prey,
And cheated foppishly at play,
Is their condition; Fate betrays
To Folly first, and then destroys.
For what but miracles can serve
So great a madness to preserve,
As his, that ventures goods and chattles
(Where there's no quarter giv'n) in battles,
And fights with money-bags as bold,
As men with sand-bags did of old;
Puts lands, and tenements, and stocks,
Into a paltry juggler's box;
And, like an alderman of Gotham,
Embarketh in so vile a bottom;
Engages blind and senseless hap
'Gainst high, and low, and slur, and knap,
(As Tartars with a man of straw
Encounter lions hand to paw)
With those that never venture more
Than they had safely' insur'd before;
Who, when they knock the box, and shake,
Do, like the Indian rattle-snake,
But strive to ruin and destroy
Those that mistake it for fair play;
That have their fulhams at command,
Brought up to do their feats at hand;
That understand their calls and knocks,
And how to place themselves i' th' box;
Can tell the oddses of all games,
And when to answer to their names;
And, when he conjures them to' appear,
Like imps are ready every where;
When to play foul, and when run fair
(Out of design) upon the square,
And let the greedy cully win,
Only to draw him further in;
While those with which he idly plays
Have no regard to what he says,
Although he jernie and blaspheme
(When they miscarry) Heav'n and them;
And damn his soul, and swear, and curse,
And crucify his Saviour worse
Than those Jew-troopers that threw out,
When they were raffling for his coat;
Denounce revenge, as if they heard,
And rightly understood and fear'd,
And would take heed another time,
How to commit so bold a crime;
When the poor bones are innocent
Of all he did, or said, or meant,
And have as little sense, almost,
As he that damns them when he 'as lost;
As if he had relied upon
Their judgment rather than his own;
And that it were their fault, not his,
That manag'd them himself amiss,
And gave them ill instructions how
To run, as he would have them do,
And then condemns them sillily
For having no more wit than he?