Ye haunts of St James’s! ye Cyprian fair!
How sweet your amusements! how winning your air!
Long, long have I served you, and valued you well,
From the Regent’s proud palace, to Bennet Street hell,
Where nobles and simples alike take their swing,
With th’ intention of being at all in the ring.
Their eyes are attracted with rouleaus of gold,
Or with thousands in paper, so neat in the fold:
Impatient they view them, and seize them elate,
And, when pocketing most, they most swallow the bait.
There’s N—g—nt’s proud lord, who, to angle for pelf,
Will soon find the secret of diddling himself;
There’s H—rb—rt, who, lately, as knowing ones tell,
Won a tight seven hundred at house in Pall Mall;
Captain D—v—s, who, now, is a chick of the game,
But, although in high feather, the odds will soon tame;
And the Marquis of Bl—ndf—rd, who touch’d ‘em up rare,
For a thousand in Bennet Street (all on the square),
Where a service of plate gives a shine to the job,
The whole made of crowns from young gentlemen’s fob.
There’s Ll—yd and C—m—ck, who’d a martinette be;
For none drills a guinea more ably than he—
So his adjutant told him (a pretty good wipe,
Which the Colonel accepted and put in his pipe).
There’s a certain rum baronet every one knows,
Who, on Saturday nights to the two sevens goes;
With J—— and Cl——, Billy W—— and two more,
So drunk that they keep merry hell in a roar;
Long D—b—n, thin C—rt—r, a son of a gun,
Bill B——, the Doctor, that figure of fun:
They have all won a little, and now are in force,
But they’ll find that it soon will return to its source:
The knowing ones watch them, and give them their fill,
And they’ll soon be reduced to discounting their bill.
········
In fine, ev’ry object of popular fame,
Old hens, youthful chickens and cocks of the game,
Though distant, I ever shall keep you in view;
For all my enjoyments were centred in you.
To A. B.’s and Bailiff’s I waft a sad tear;
For I know they have found me a friend that was dear;
And the Bill-doers, too, who have fleeced Johnny Raw,
And, lastly, the Jem’men who follow the law.
To the tradesmen who tick, a remembrance most kind,
I thus send, and assure them that Fortune is blind.
This truth is a sad one; I’ve learn’d it too late;
But ‘twill serve those, who now may take heed from my fate:
For the purses of others, ‘tis pretty well known,
I look’d too, but ne’er had an eye to my own;
For which my Annuitants sternly refuse
My freedom, and, thereby have narrowed my views.
Time was, when so splendid, so gay, debonair,
I’ve had of these vermin a brace at my chair,
The slaves of my chamber, the shades at my doors,
Subservient, and bowing obedience by scores;
For, soit dit en passant, when ruin’d’s a rake,
The greater’s the plunder his liv’rymen make:
Then, the produce of filching, to noble in need,
Is lent out on annuity, mortgage, or deed:
So, the Peer, or the Commoner going to rack,
May sit with his Creditor stuck at his back,
Unconscious, howe’er, of so monstrous a bore,
The effects of a C—rp—w, a S—dl—y, or M—re,
Who the parties procure, ‘mongst such miscreant trash;
For nothing’s degrading in touching the cash—
A pound is the same, both in value and weight,
Though it came from the basest, or first in the State.
I grieve, whilst I think of the years which have flown,
Of the thousands I’ve squandered, the pleasures I’ve known,
Of the many occasions, which fortune has cast
In my way to be rich, which I slighted as fast—
How oft’, independent I might have retired
With enough to live happy—nay, more than required:
But Greeks are like Cyprians, and Fate has decreed
That they both should spend fortunes, and perish in need;
That their treasures, with dreams of enchantment, should pass,
And leave them no solace, except from the—glass;
That, at length, youth and beauty, good luck, and foul play,
Should all thrive a season—then vanish away.”
This pamphlet, which has a companion called “The Pigeons,” gives a very curious list of the most fashionable gaming houses in existence in 1817.
“Of hells in general, it may be said that they are infernally productive, since Mr T—l—r finds that the banking business is nothing compared to these money mills, and since so many fortunes have been made from them. Who would think that a man could rise from one of these lower regions to a seat in Parliament? or that high military rank could be purchased by ‘The Colour’s red’—‘Gentlemen, make your game!’
Major-General R—— w, M.P., thus got his high promotion and his seat in the British Senate; for his papa was n’importe; but, progressively (and in a very odd way too), he got a little money, which, placing in a hell of which he was proprietor, he soon purchased an estate, and bought his son on in the army. Many other instances, too tedious to mention, have occurred of fortune thus made.
By a house of fashionable resort being called a club-house, the proprietors are enabled to exclude wolves in sheep’s clothing, i.e. spies and informers; for, by taking a mere trifle for a subscription, you get a knowledge of the subscriber, whether a good man and true, or not; and, being entered in a book—before he can turn over a new leaf, he may be turned to good account.
Where the houses are not really, or apparently, club-houses, large sums are often paid to police officers, as well as to more imposing informers, who contrive to introduce themselves. Bob Holloway pretty well knew this, as he was, literally, in the pay of all of them, of which more may be said in time and place. Hush money varies according to the magnitude of the concern, from £250 to £1000 per annum.