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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XV
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COMPLAINING THAT HE HAD FALLEN AMONG THIEVES
 Oh, Lytton, I have gambled with my soul,
 And, like a spendthrift, pawned my heritage
 To pitiless Jews, and paid a monstrous toll
 To knaves and usurers,--and all to wage
 Fair war with black--legs, men who dared to gauge
 My youth`s bright honour as an antique thing,
 A broadsword to their fencing point and edge.
 So the game went. And even yet I cling
 To my mad humour, reckoning up each stake,
 Each fair coin lost.--O miserable slaves,
 Who for the sake of gold, the poorest thing
 Man ever won from the earth`s bosom, take
 To rope or poison, and who labour not
 Even to ``dig dishonourable graves,``
 See one who has lost a pound for every groat,
 For every penny of your squandering!
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