"No, not for us," Tom quick replies;
"To me, alone, belongs the prize."
Bill answered not. But soon their way
Led them where ambush'd robbers lay.
Tom, trembling, would have taken flight,
But rivetted by his affright,
Exclaimed, "Alas! we are undone!"
"Not we," says Bill, "but you alone."
And saying so he nimbly flies,
And through a hedge securely hies.
But Tom is captur'd, gagg'd, and bound,
And robb'd of all the gold he'd found.
Who, like our hero, is inclined
To keep good luck for his own ends,
Must soon or late be doom'd to find,
When ill luck comes he'll have no friends.