'Charade'
Title
Description
To Henry Riley Bradbury, from the Bradbury album, a scrapbook of letters, sketches, drawings, prints, photographs, and printed ephemera (3 June 1847).
Creator
Dickens, Charles
Source
'Appendix: Charade sent to Henry Riley Bradbury.' 3 June 1847. The Letters of Charles Dickens. The Pilgrim Edition. Edited by Graham Storey and K. J. Fielding. Volume 5 (1847-1849), p.691. Oxford University Press, 1980.
Bradbury Album, https://www.themorgan.org/literary-historical/283347.
Date
Bibliographic Citation
Dickens, Charles. 'Charade.' Bradbury Album (3 June 1847). Dickens Search. Eds. Emily Bell and Lydia Craig. Accessed [date]. https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1847-06-03-Bradbury-Album-Charade.
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.
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.
Collection
Citation
Dickens, Charles, “'Charade',” Dickens Search, accessed April 25, 2024, https://dickenssearch.com/verse/1847-06-03-Bradbury-Album-Charade.