Run, Neighbours, run, the Lottery’s expiring,
When Fortune’s merry wheel, it will never turn more;
She now supplies all Numbers, you’re desiring,
All Prizes, No Blanks, and Twenty Thousands Four.
Haste, Neighbours, haste, the Chance will never come again,
When, without pain, for little Cash—you’ll all be rich;
Prizes a plenty of—and such a certain source of gain,
That young and old, and all the world, it must bewitch.
Then run, neighbours, run, &c.
This versified address and the [engraving] are from another bill. The verses may be presumed as sung by the footman, to excite his fellows of the party-coloured cloth to speculate in the never-enough-to-be-sufficiently-magnified-number of chances in favour of their gaining “Four of £20,000, and—Thirty other Capitals! No Blanks!—All in One Day!” Yet if the words, adapted from a popular duet, were regarded as an easy vehicle to effect that benevolent purpose, they could only be so to those who, with the contractors, forgot, or perhaps, with them, did not know, that the original tells of
“a day of jubilee cajolery.”
Surely this must have been a “word of fear” to all except the contractors themselves, who alone would be the gainers by what the body of adventurers hazarded in the “grand scheme” of “cajolery.”
One of the bills of a former Lottery begins as follows:—
BISH
The Last Man.