Chapter 4

by Rudyard Kipling

　　Good Luck, she is never a lady,

　　But the cursedest quean alive.

　　Tricksy, wincing, and jady—

　　Kittle to lead or drive.

　　Greet her—she hailing a stranger!

　　Meet her—she’s busking to leave!

　　Let her alone for a shrew to the bone

　　And the hussy comes plucking your sleeve!

　　Largesse! Largesse, O Fortune!

　　Give or hold at your will

　　If I’ve no care for Fortune,

　　Fortune must follow me still!

　　The Wishing Caps[“Taps”]