Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
Ode to FortuneFitz-Greene Halleck and Joseph Rodman Drake
F
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 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.
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.
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,
’Twere cruelty to tumble down.