This POEM was printed fome Years ago, and it Should feem by the late. Failure of two Bankers to be Jomewhat prophetick, it was therefore thought fit to be reprinted.

The Run upon the BANKERS.

Written in the Year 1720:

T

I..

HE bold Encroachers on the Deep,

Gain by Degrees huge Tracts of Land,

'Till Neptune with one gen'ral Sweep,

Turns all again to barren Strand.

II.

The Multitude's capricious PranksTM
Are faid to represent the Seas;
Breaking the Bankers and the Banks,
Refume their own whene'er they please,

III.

Money, the Life-Blood of the Nation,
Corrupts and ftagnates in the Veins,

Unless

Unless a proper Circulation

Its Motion and its Heat maintains;

IV.

Because 'tis lordly not to pay,

Quakers and Aldermen, in State, Like Peers have Levees ev'ry Day Of Duns attending at their Gate,

√.

We want our Money on the Nail;
The Banker's ruin'd, if he pays;
They seem to act an ancient Tale,
The Birds are met to ftrip the Jays.

VI.

Riches, the wifeft Monarch fings,
Make Pinions for themselves to fly:
They fly like Bats, on Parchment Wings,
And Geefe their Silver Plumes fupply.

VII,

No Money left for fquand'ring Heirs!
Bills turn the Lenders into Debtors:
The Wish of Nero now is theirs,

That they had never known their Letters.

VIII.

Conceive the Works of Midnight Hags,
Tormenting Fools behind their Backs;
Thus Bankers o'er their Bills and Bags
Sit fqueezing Images of Wax.

IX.

Conceive the whofe Enchantment broke,
The Witches left in open Air,
With Pow'r no more than other Folk,
Expos'd with all their Magick Ware,

X.

So pow'rful are a Banker's Bills

Where Creditors demand their Due; They break up Counter, Doors, and Tills, And leave the empty Chefts in View,

XI.

Thus when an Earthquake lets in Light
Upon the God of Gold and Hell,
Unable, to endure the Sight,

He hides within his darkest Cell.

XII.

As when a Conj'rer takes a Leafe

From Satan for a Term of Years,

The

The Tenant's in a difmal Cafe
Whene'er the bloody Bond appears.

XIII.

A baited Banker thus defponds,

From his own Hand forefees his Fall; They have his Soul who have his Bonds; 'Tis like the Writing on the Wall.

XIV.

How will the Caitif Wretch be scar'd
When firft he finds himself awake

At the last Trumpet, unprepar'd,

And all his Grand Account to make?

XV.

For in that univerfal Call.

Few Bankers will to Heav'n be Mounters;

They'll cry, Ye Shops upon us fall,

Conceal, and cover us, Ye Counters.

XVI.

When Other Hands the Scales fhall hold,
And They in Men and Angels Sight;
Produc'd with all their Bills and Gold,
Weigh'd in the Balance, and found light.

The

The AUTHOR having wrote a Treatife, advising the People of IRELAND to wear their own Manufactures, a Profecution was fet on Foot against Waters the Printer thereof, which was carried on with fo much Violence, that one Whitshed, then Chief Justice, thought proper, in a Manner the most extraordinary, to keep the Grand-Jury above twelve Hours, and to fend them eleven Times out of Court, until he bad wearied them into a special Verdict.

An excellent new SONG, on a feditious

PAMPHLET.

To the Tune of PACKINGTON'S Pound.

Written in the Year 1720.

ROCADO's, and Damasks, and Tabbies, and Gawfes,

BRO

Are by Robert Ballantine lately brought over; With Forty Things more: Now hear what the

Law fays,

Whoe'er will not wear them, is not the King's

Lover.

Tho'