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When flock is high, they come between,
Making by second-hand their offers ; Then cunningly retire unfeen,
With each a million in his coffers.
So, when upon a moonshine night
An ass was drinking at a stream, A cloud arose, and stopt the light
By intercepting ev'ry beam. The day of judgment will be foon,
(Cries out a fage among the croud ;) An ass hath swallow'd up the moon :
The moon lay fafe behind the cloud.
Each poor subscriber to the sea
Sinks down at once, and there he lies : Directors fall as well as they ;
Their fall is but a trick to rife.
So fishes rising from the main,
Can soar with moiter'd wings on high ; The moisture dry'd, they fink again,
And dip their fins again to fly. Undone at play, the female troops
Come here their losses to retrieve ; Ride o'er the waves in spacious hoops,
Like Lapland witches in a sieve. Thus Venus to the sea defcends,
: As poets feign; but where's the moral? It shews the queen of love intends
To search the deep for peart and coral.
The sea is richer than the land,
I heard it from my Grannam's mouth, Which now I clearly understand;
For by the sea the meant the South.
Thus by directors we are told,
Pray, Gentlemen, believe your eyes ; Our ocean's cover’d o'er with gold,
Look round, and see how thrick it lies.
Oh! would those patriots be so kind,
Here in the deep to wash their hands, Then, like Pactolus, we should find
The sea indeed had golden sandsor
A shilling in the Bath you Aing,
The filver takes a nobler hue By magic virtue in the spring,
And seems a guinea to your view,
One night a fool into a brook
Thus from a hillock looking down, The golden fars for guineas took,
And silver Cynthia for a crown.
The point he could no longer doubt;
He ran, he leap'd into the flood ;
All cover'd o'er with Nime and mud.
Upon the waters caft tby bread,
And after many days thou'lt find it ; But gold upon this ocean spread
Shall fink, and leave no mark behind it.
There is a gulf where thousands fell ;
Here all the bold advent'rers came ; A narrow found, tho' deep as hell ;
'Change-alley is the dreadful name.
Nine times a day it ebbs and flows ;
Yet he that on the surface lies, Without a pilot, seldom knows
The time it falls, or when 'twill rise,
Subscribers here by thousands float,
And joftle one another down ; Each padling in his leaky boat,
And hear they fish for gold, and drown,
Now bury'd in the deep below,
Now mounted up to beav'n agen, They reel and stagger to and fro,
At their wits end, like drunken men
Mean time fecure on Garr'way + cliffs
A savage race, by shipwrecks fed, Lie waiting for the founder'd kiffs,
And strip the bodies of the dead.
But these, you say, are factious lies,
From some malicious Tory's brain : For where direktors get a prize,
The Swiss and Dutch whole millions drain.
Thus, when by rooks a Lord is ply'd,
Some cully often wins a bet,
Tho' not into the secret let.
While some build caftles in the air,
Directors build them in the seas : • Pralm svä. + Coffeehouse in 'Change-alley.
Subscribers plainly fee 'em there ;
For fools will fee, as wise men please.
Thus oft by mariners are shown
(Unless the men of Kent are liars) Earl Godwin's castles overflown,
And palace-roofs, and steeple-spires.
Mark where the fly directors creep,
Nor to the shore approach too nigh! The monsters nestle in the deep
To seize you in your pafling by.
Then, like the dogs of Nile, be wife,
Who, taught by inftin&t how to shun The crocodile that lurking lies,
Run as they drink, and drink and run.
Antaus could, by magic charms,
Recover strength whene'er he fell : Alcides held him in his arms,
And sent him up in air to bell.
Direitors thrown into the sea,
Recover strength and vigour there : But may be tam'd another
way; Suspended for a while in air.
Directors! for 'tis
We see you never can be drown'd.
Beware, nor over-bulky grow,
Nor come within your cully's reach ;
the beach is
You'll owe your ruin to your
bulk: Your foes already waiting ftand, To tear you like a founder'd hulk,
While you lie helpless on the fand.
Thus, when a whale hath lost the tide,
The coasters croud to seize the spoil ; The monster into parts divide,
And strip the bones, and melt the oil.
Oh ! may some western tempest sweep
These locusts, whom our fruits have fed, That plague, diretors, to the deep,
Driv'n from the South-sea to the Red !
May he, whom nature's laws obey,
Who lifts the poor, and finks the proud, Quiet the raging of the sea,
And still the madness of the croud!
But never shall our isle have rest,
Till those devouring wine run down, (The devils leaving the pollen),
And headlong in the waters drown.
The nation then too late will find,
Computing all their cost and trouble, Directors promises but wind,
South-sea at best a mighty bubble.
Apparent rari nantes in gurgite vallo,