The Speculators
The night was stormy and dark,
The town was shut up in sleep:
Only those were abroad who were out on a lark,
Or those who'd no beds to keep.
I pass'd through the lonely street,
The wind did sing and blow;
I could hear the policeman's feet
Clapping to and fro.
There stood a potato-man
In the midst of all the wet;
He stood with his 'tato-can
In the lonely Hay-market.
Two gents of dismal mien,
And dank and greasy rags,
Came out of a shop for gin,
Swaggering over the flags:
Swaggering over the stones,
These shabby bucks did walk;
And I went and followed those seedy ones,
And listened to their talk.
Was I sober or awake?
Could I believe my ears?
Those dismal beggars spake
Of nothing but railroad shares.
I wondered more and more:
Says one—'Good friend of mine,
How many shares have you wrote for,
In the Diddlesex Junction line?'
'I wrote for twenty,' says Jim,
'But they wouldn't give me one;'
His comrade straight rebuked him
For the folly he had done:
'O Jim, you are unawares
Of the ways of this bad town;
I always write for five hundred shares,
And THEN they put me down.'
'And yet you got no shares,'
Says Jim, 'for all your boast;'
'I WOULD have wrote,' says Jack, 'but where
Was the penny to pay the post?'
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poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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