Phonetic Reading

 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 feet
 Clapping to and fro.

 There stood a potato-man
 In the midst of all the wet;
 He stood with his 'tato-can
 In 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 spake
 Of 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 him
 For the folly he had done:

 "O Jim, you are unawares
 Of 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 where
 Was the penny to pay the post?"

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

 And at this simple feast
 The while they did regale,
 I drew each ragged capitalist
 Down 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 share
 In Italy, Ireland, France;
 For never a beggar need now despair,
 And every rogue has a chance."