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 feetClapping to and fro.

There stood a potato-manIn the midst of all the wet;He stood with his 'tato-canIn 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 spakeOf 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 himFor the folly he had done:

"O Jim, you are unawaresOf 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 whereWas the penny to pay the post?"

"I lost, for I couldn't payThat first instalment up;But here's 'taters smoking hot--I say,Let's stop, my boy, and sup."

And at this simple feastThe while they did regale,I drew each ragged capitalistDown on my left thumbnail.

Their talk did me perplex,All night I tumbled and tost,And thought of railroad specs,And how money was won and lost.

"Bless railroads everywhere,"I said, "and the world's advance;Bless every railroad shareIn Italy, Ireland, France;For never a beggar need now despair,And every rogue has a chance."