Transcription
A species of Nail, but headless and small,
Cant word for the Coin which low people call
“A farden”, “a copper”, and sweepers entreat
You to favor Poor Jack with, in crossing the street,
–Is my First. With its first letter chang’d, it’s a horse
Change its last, it’s a spoilt child–and crying, of course.
It’s a Sunday in London. Many there be
Who do my sad Second, so dreary to see;
Who wind through the streets, in dark, slow-pacing trains,
Or ride behind horses with long-flowing manes;
And heap up top-boots, cloaks and feathers, and bands,
To swell the great riddle no man understands.
In Naples, when they do my Second,
Glowing colors, brightest reckon’d,
Velvets, ribbons, flowers, and smoke,
Make of the fête a ghastly joke.
–Or stay–here’s a Miser, lean, trembling, and old,
And he does my Second, poor wretch! With his gold.
My whole is of Two Genders–man, and wife–
It has, it has not, and it will have, life;
Is born, is not, is living, and has died,
In Marriage may be given–to the Bride;
Is short, is tall, is smooth, is rough, of face;
And, though not ridden, is a kind of Race.