Verse > Anthologies > Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. > The Book of New York Verse
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Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed.  The Book of New York Verse.  1917.
 
Ode to Fortune
By Fitz-Greene Halleck and Joseph Rodman Drake
 
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,        5
  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—        10
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,        15
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;        20
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        25
  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!        30
The man who don’t attempt to rise,
  ’Twere cruelty to tumble down.
 
 
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