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When credit sunk, and commerce gasp
Thou stood'st: no bill was sent unpaid
When not a guinea chink'd on Martin's
And Atwill's “self was drain'd of all his
Thou stood'st ; an Indian king in size a
Thy unexhausted shop was our Peru.
Why did 'Change alley waste thy pre
Among the fools who gap'd for golden s
No wonder, if we find some poets there
Who live on fancy, and can feed on air;
No wonder, they were caught by South
Who ne'er enjoy'd a guinea, but in drea
No wonder, they their third subscription
For millions of imaginary gold;
No wonder that their fancies wild can fro
Strange reasons, that a thing is still the s
Tho' chang'd throughout in substance as
But you (whose judgment scorns poetick
With contracts furnish boys for paper kit
Let vulture Hopkins stretch his rusty
Who ruins thousands for a single groat:
I know thou scorn'st his mean, his sordic
Nor with ideal debts wouldst plague mar
Madmen alone their empty dreams pursu
And still believe the fleeting vision true;
They sell the treasures which their slumb
Then wake, and fancy all the world in d
If to instruct thee all my reasons fail,
Yet be diverted by this moral tale.
• Through fam'd Moorfields extends a s
There in full opulence a banker dwelt,
Who all the joys and pangs of riches felt:
His sideboard glitter'd with imagin'd plate,
And his proud fancy held a vast estate.
As on a time he pass'd the vacant hours
In raising piles of straw and twisted bow'rs,
A poet enter'd, of the neighbouring cell,
And with fix'd eye observ'd the structure well:
A sharpen'd skew'r 'cross his bare shoulders bound
A tatter'd rug, which dragg'd upon the ground.
The banker cried, “Behold my castle walls,
“My statues, gardens, fountains, and canals,
“With land of more than twenty acres round!
“All these I sell thee for ten thousand pound.”
The bard with wonder the cheap purchase saw,
So sign'd the contract (as ordains the law).
The banker's brain was cool'd : the mist grew clear;
The visionary scene was lost in air.
He now the vanish'd prospect understood,
And fear'd the fancied bargain was not good:
Yet loth the sum entire should be destroy'd,
“Give me a penny, and thy contract's void.”
The startled bard with eye indignant frown'd:
“Shall I, ye gods,” he cries, “my debts compound!"
So saying, from his rug the skew'r he takes,
And on the stick ten equal notches makes;
With just resentment flings it on the ground;
“There, take my tally of ten thousand pound”."
* Charles II, having borrowed a considerable sum, gave tal. lies, as a security for the repayment; but, soon after shutting up the Exchequer, these tallies were as much reduced from their original value, as the South Sea had exceeded it.
WHEN, as Corruption hence did go,
And left the nation free ;
When Ay said Ay, and No said No,
Without a place or fee :
Then Satan, thinking things went ill,
Sent forth his spirit, call'd Quadrille,
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.
Kings, queens, and knaves made up his pac
And four fair suits he wore :
His troops they are with red and black
All blotch'd and spotted o'er:
And ev'ry house, go where you will,
Is haunted by the imp Quadrille, &c.
Sure cards he has for ev'ry thing,
Which well court-cards they name;
And, statesmen like, calls in the king,
To help out a bad game:
But, if the parties manage ill,
The king is forc’d to lose Codille, &c.
When two and two were met of old,
Though they ne'er meant to marry,
They were in Cupid's books enroll'd,
And call'd a party quarree:
But now, meet when and where you will,
A party quarree is Quadrille, &c.
The commoner, and knight, the peer,
Men of all ranks and fame,
Leave to their wives the only care,
To propagate their name;
And well that duty they fulfil,
When the good husband's at Quadrille, &c.
When patients lie in piteous case,
In comes th' apothecary;
And to the doctor cries, alas !
Nom deles quadrillare.
The patient dies without a pill,
For why the doctor's at Quadrille, &c.
Should France and Spain again grow loud,
The Muscovite grow louder;
Britain, to curb her neighbours proud,
Would want both ball and powder;
Must want both sword and gun to kill;
For why? the gen'ral's at Quadrille, &c.
The king of late drew forth his sword
(Thank God 'twas not in wrath)
And made of many a 'squire and lord
An unwash'd knight of Bath:
What are their feats of arms and skill 2
They're but nine parties at Quadrille, &
And now, God save this noble realm,
And God save eke Hanover;
And God save those who hold the helm,
When as the king goes over:
But let the king go where he will,
His subjects must play at Quadrille,
Quadrille, Quadrille, &c.