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A PANEGYRICAL Epistle to Mr. THOMA's Snow, goldsmith, near Temple-bar; occasioned by his buying and felling the third South-sea subscriptions, taken in by the directors at a thousand

per cent. t.

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DISDAIN not, Snow, my humble verse to hear ;

Stick thy black pen a while behind thy ear. Whether thy compter shine with sums untold, And thy wide grasping hand grows black with gold : Whether thy mien erect, and fable locks,

5 In crouds of brokers overawe the stocks ; Suspend the worldly bus’ness of the day, And, to enrich thy mind, attend my lay.

O thou, whose penetrative wisdom found The South-sea rocks and shelves, where thousands

drown'd! When credit sunk, and commerce gasping lay, Thou stood'ft: no bill was sent unpaid away. When not á guinea chink'd on | Martin's boards, And I Atwill's self was drain'd of all his hoards, Thou stood'it; an Indian king in size and hue ! 15 Thy unexhausted Mop was our Peru.

+ In the year 1720, the South-sea company, under pretence of paying the public debt, obtained an act of parliament for enlarging their capital, by taking into it all the debts of the nation incurred before the year 1716, amounting to 31,664,5511. Part of this sum was subscribed into their capital at three subscriptions; the first at 300 l. per cent. the second at 400 1. and a third at 1000l. Such was the infatuation of the time, that these subscriptions were bought and fold at exorbitant premiums; so that 100 l, South-sea stock subscribed at 1000 l. was sold for 1200 1. in Exchange aliey. Hawkes.

# Names of eminent goldsmiths.

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Why did 'Change alley waste thy precious hours Among the fools who gap'd for golden show'rs? No wonder, if we find some poets there; Who live on fancy, and can feed on air ; No wonder they were caught by South-sea schemes, Who ne'er enjoy'd a guinea, but in dreams; No wonder they their third subscriptions fold For millions of imaginary gold; No wonder that their fancies wild can frame 257 Strange reasons, that a thing is still the same, Tho'chang'd' throughout in substance and in name. But you (whose judgment scorns poetic flights) With contracts furnish boys for paper-kites.

Let vulture Hopkins ftretch his rusty throat, 30 Who ruins thousands for a single groat: I know thou fcorn'ft his mean, his sordid mind; Nor with ideal debts would plague mankind. Madmen alone their empty dreams pursue, And still believe the fleeting vision true ;

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They sell the treasures which their flumbers get,
Then wake, and fancy all the world in debt.
If to instruct thee all my reasons fail;
Yet be diverted by this moral tale.

Thro’ fam'd Moorfields extends a spacious seat,
Where mortals.of exalted wit retreat ;
Where wrapp'd in contemplation, and in straw,
The wiser few. from the mad world withdraw.
There in full opulence a banker dwelt,
Who all the joys and pangs of riches felt :
His fide-board 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, :50
And with fix'd eye observ'd the structure well :

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MR SNOW.
A sharpen'd skewer 'cross his bare shoulders bound
A tatter'd rug, which dragg’d upon the ground.
The banker cry'd, “ Behold my castle-walls,
“ My statues, gardens, fountains, and canals,

55 With land of more than twenty acres round! “ All these I sell thee for ten thousand pound.” The bard with wonder the cheap purchase faw, So fign'd the contract (as ordains the law). The banker's brain was coold; the mist grew clear; The visionary scene was loft in air.

61 He now the vanith'd prospect understood, And feard the fancy'd bargain was not good : Yet loath the sum entire should be destroy'd, “Give me a penny, and thy contract's void.” 65 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 Alings it on the ground; 70 • There, take my tally * of ten thousand pound.”

The SOUTH-SE A, 1721.

үЕ
E wise philosophers ! explain

What magic makes our money rise,
When dropt into the Southern main ?

Or do these jugglers cheat our eyes ?
Put in your money fairly told ;
Presto be gone-

_'Tis here agen; Ladies and gentlemen, behold,

Here's ev'ry piece as big as ten.

5

Charles II. having borrowed a considerable fumi, gave tallics as a security for the re-paynient; but toon after, shutting up the exchequer, these tallies were as much reduced from their original valuc, as the South-sea had exceeded it. Hawkes.

Thus in a bason drop a shilling,

Then fill the vessel, to the brim;
You shall observe, as you are filling,

The pond'rous metal feems to swim.

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It rises both in bulk and height;

Behold it swelling like a sop !
The liquid medium cheats your fight ;

Behold it mounted to the top !

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In stock three hundred thousand pound;

I have in view a Lord's estate ;
My manors all contiguous round;

A coach and fix, and serv'd in plate.
Thus the deluded bankrupt raves,

Puts all upon a desp'rate bet ;
Then plunges in the Southern waves,

Dipt over head and ears—in debt.
So, by a calenture milled,

The mariner with rapture sees
On the smooth ocean's azure bed

Enamel'd fields, and verdant trees.

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With eager

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hafte he longs to rove
In that fantastic scene, and thinks
It must be some inchanted grove ;

And in he leaps, and down he finks.
Two hundred chariots, just bespoke,

Are funk in these devouring waves,
The horses drown'd, the harness broke;

And here the owners find their graves.

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Like Pharaoh, by directors led,

They with their spoils went safe before ;
His chariots, tumbling out the dead,
Lay shatter'd on the Red-sea shore.

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Rais'd up on Hope's aspiring plumes,
..The young advent'rer o'er the deep
An eagle's fight and state assumes,

And scorns the middle way to keep.
On paper wings he takes his flight;

With wax the father bound them faft ;
The wax is melted by the height,

And down the tow’ring boy is caft.

A moralist might here explain

The rashness of the Cretan youth ;
Describe his fall into the main,

And from a fable form a truth.

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His wings are his paternal rent ;

He melts his wax at ev'ry flame;
His credit funk, his money spent,

In Soutbern feas he leaves his name.

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Inform us, you that best can tell,

Why in your dang'rous golf profound,
Where hundreds and where thousands fell,

Fools chiefly float, the wife are drown'd?

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So have I feen from Severn's brink

A flock of geese jump down together,
Swim where the bird of Jove would fink,

And swimming never wet a feather.
One fool

may

from another win,
And then get off with money ftor’d:
But if a sharperonce come in,

He throws at all, and sweeps the board.

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70

As fifhes on each other

prey,
The great ones fwall’wing up the small;
So fares it in the Southern sea;

The whale directors eat up all,

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