White's (Club Cantos) by Harry Graham — Read

Observe the elite, staring into the street, / Through that famous elliptical casement; / How coldly they eye all the friends who pass by, / With a look of self-conscious effacement! / This ancient tradition of non-recognition / Is dear to all clubs (save Soho ones! ), / Where Brummels and Nashes still twirl their moustaches, / And even the windows are _Beau_-ones!

Here, once the resort of all lovers of sport, / Are the counters and dice of past players; / The belt, too, bestowed upon Heenan, who showed / So much grit when he battled with Sayers. / Here, loudly proclaiming their passion for gaming, / Our prodigal ancestors betted; / Their shekels they squandered, and home again wandered, / Stone-broke or profoundly indebted!