The Kentucky Gazette

It must be O great Hoyle, thou reason'st well:
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire
Of winning fifty dollars?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror
Of losing twenty cents? Why shrinks the visage
Into paleness, and startles at the law?
'Tis conscience that stirs within us;
'Tis guilt itself that points out a fine,
Or intimates a whipping post to man!
Whipping post! thou cruel, tort'ring monster?
Thro' what variety of untried gambles-
Thro' what new games, and losses must we pass!
The wine, the useful table stands before us,
And brandy, wine and cherry rest upon it:
Here will I sit, if there is punch so nigh me:
And that there is, the gamblers all have tasted
To their sorrow: They must delight in brandy,
And that which they delight in must be good.
But when! or how! Have I lost twenty dollars?
I'm weary of ill fortunes-this shall soothe them.
Thus, am I completely arm'd: my cards, my cash,
Good lemon punch and brandy, all before me.
These in a moment reduce my heavy purse,
Whilst this informs me I shall win it back.
The coin secured within my pocket smiles
At the swearing gamblers and defies their art.
The punch shall all be brandy, the wine itself
Go down our throats, and brandy all be spilt;
Yet wealth shall line my inmost faithful pocket,
Untouch'd amidst a pack of rascals,
The wiles of gamblers and a flush at trumps.

NON EGO.