  The devil in Richmond Park I WAS walking about, in a casual way,Thro' the ferns, in Richmond Park, 'Twas just at the fringe of the twilight hour, On the skirt, of the time called dark, And the wind was rough, and I couldn't succeed, To kindle my three-penny smoke, When a gentleman stepped from behind a tree, And coughed, and hemmed, and spoke: Said he, with a bow to me, And straight producing a braided star, He struck it against his knee, And with an expression of much concern, To see that my weed was right, He manipulated the light himself, With a courtesy most polite. I am one, who is quickly impressed, and won, By measure of courteous act, So deeming it right, to appreciate, In response of appropriate tact, I spake to him thus, "It's rare that a man In a gentleman's dress like thine, Doth care to assist, the frivolous wants, Of a miniature vice like mine, So reckon it not, as a rudeness wrought, Of an ignorant wish to know, But I'd certainly like to learn the name, Of the gent, who has touched me so! Then he glittered a grin, from his cat-like eye, Thro' a coal black lash on me, And he bowed, with his lifted silk top hat, "I'm the Devil himself!" quoth he. Good gracious! yes, I was certainly struck, So suddenly thus to be With the Devil himself! but soon, or late, He was bound to appear to me. So screwing my nerves, to concert pitch, To play up my soul, for wealth, With a supplemental proviso made, For excellent mortal health, I offered to scribble my autograph, In blood, old-storied style, To deed, for a compensating line, From his notable strong room pile. But he looked on me, with a pitying glance, I counted somewhat queer, And answered me thus,—in a friendly way, With a slight sarcastic leer. I T'S a long time, Sir, I assure you, since I endeavoured, to so combine, My games of spoof, for the human soul, In the bartering oofftish line. I suffered by many a measly cheat, When mortals made those sales, You'll read of their shuffling knavish tricks, Thro' the mediÆval tales, If you think, that by selling your soul to me, Is the way to get rich, it ain't, You'll have to become, a Devil yourself, In the garb, of a modern Saint. "It's the fashionable way, to play the game, Of hypocritical spoof, You have only to tailor your saintly robe, To cover your tell tale hoof, You have only to hypnotise mankind, And teach them, to gaze on high, And while you have mesmerised them thus, With eyes, to the upward sky, "You can plot, exploit, and sneak, and trick, And cram your wallet, with wares, And earthly stocks, as you boom the run, On the New Jerusalem shares, You can rob the widow, and orphan child; But reputably go to church, And if, by the clogging of circumstance, Your pinched, in the doomdock lurch, The greater the pile of swag, you've made, The fewer the blanks, you'll draw, From the lottery wheel, of the English bench, In the name, of the English law. It's merely a mode, of paying yourself, In advance, a liberal wage, For the government work, you'll have to do, In the broad-arrow-branded stage. Say thirty thousands of pounds, you filch, Five years, is the time you'll do, Six thousand a year, in advance, you see, To enjoy, when you've pulled it thro'. Or, seizing your pile, by a dextrous coup, Before they have time, to look down, From the castles, in the air, You have built for them there, You can take a foreign ticket from town. "And tho' you are lagged, at the ends of the earth, You'll still find a breach, or a flaw, Whereby you can slip, thro' the quips, that confuse, Extradition—international law. "Now that is how I teach, the quickest way to cure, Your impecuniosity complaint, You must collar the swag, as a Devil yourself, In the garb, of a modern saint. There's another way to pinch, whereby you may keep, Your character, apparently sound, Go pray, and exhort, teach the vanity of wealth, And pay, half-a-crown in the pound! "Now bear it in mind, if you're wanting to make, Let this, be your measureless plaint, The misery of wealth, get a halo, and preach, In the garb, of a modern Saint." Again he lifted his silk top hat, And bowing an adieu to me, He vanished away, with a lordly crawl, In the trunk, of the nearest tree, And thus, were my mediÆval hopes Of wealth, by a caustic blow, Dispersed, and a lesson of evil taught, By the Devil, who touched me so. |
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