When a rogue, for example, a company-monger,
Grows fat on the gain of the shares he has sold,
While the public gets lean, winning nothing but hunger
And a few scraps of scrip for its masses of gold;
When the fat man goes further and takes to religion,
A rascal in hymn-books and bibles disguised,
"It's a case," says Sir Henry, "of rook versus pigeon,
And the pigeon gets left—well, I'm hardly surprised."
There's a Heath at Newmarket, and horses that run there,
There are owners and jockeys, and sharpers and flats;