Five Hundred Chariots juft befpoke,

Are funk in these devouring Waves, The Horfes drown'd, the Harness broke, And here the Qwners find their Graves,

Like Pharaoh, by Directors led;

They, with their Spoils went fafe before;
His Chariots, tumbling out the Dead,
Lay fhatter'd on the Red-Sea Shore.

Rais'd

up on Hope's afpiring Plumes, The young Advent'rer o'er the Deep An Eagle's Flight and State affumes, And fcorns the middle Way to keep.

On Paper Wings he takes his Flight,
With Wax the Father bound them fast;

The Wax is melted by the Height,
And down the tow'ring Boy is caft.

A Moralift might here explain

The Rafhnefs of the Cretan Youth Describe his Fall into the Main,

And from a Fable form a Truth.

His

His Wings are his paternal Rent,

He melts the Wax at ev'ry Flame;

His Credit funk, his Money fpent,

In Southern Seas he leaves his Name.

Inform us, you that beft can tell,

Why in yon dang'rous Gulph profound, Where Hundreds, and where Thousands fell, Fools chiefly float, the Wife are drown'd?

So have I feen from Severn's Brink

A Flock of Geefe jump down together; Swim where the Bird of Jove would fink, And swimming never wet a Feather.

And then get off with Money ftor'd;

But if a Sharper once comes in,

He throws at all, and sweeps the Board,

As Fishes on each other prey,

The great Ones swallowing up

So fares it in the Southern Sea;

But, Whale Directors eat up all.

the small;

When

When Stock is high, they come between,
Making by fecond-hand their Offers;

Then cunningly retire unfeen,

With each a Million in his Coffers.

So when upon a Moon-fhine Night,
An Afs was drinking at a Stream;
A Cloud arofe,. and stopt the Light,
By intercepting ev'ry Beam :

The Day of Judgment will be foon,
(Cries out a Sage among the Croud ;)
An Afs hath swallow'd up the Moon:
The Moon lay fafe behind a Cloud.

Each poor Subfcriber 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 rifing from the Main,

Can foar with moisten'd Wings on high;

The Moisture dry'd, they fink again,
And dip their Fins again to fly.

Undone

Undone at Play, the Female Troops

Come here their Loffes to retrieve; Ride o'er the Waves in fpacious Hoops, Like Lapland Witches in a Sieve.

Thus Venus to the Sea defcends,

As Poet's feign; but where's the Moral? It fhews the Queen of Love intends

To search the Deep for Pearl 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 fhe 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 fee how thick it lies!

lies!

Oh! would thofe Patriots be fo kind,
Here in the Deep to wash their Hands,
Then, like Pactolus, we should find

The Sea indeed had golden Sands.

A Shil

A Shilling in the Bath you fling,

The Silver takes a nobler Hue,

By Magick Virtue in the Spring,
And feems a Guinea to your View,

But, as a Guinea will not pass

At Market for a Farthing more, Shewn thro' a multiplying Glass, Than what it always did before,

So caft it in the Southern Seas,
Or view it through a Jobber's Bill
Put on what Spectacles you please,
Your Guinea's but a Guinea ftill,

One Night a Fool into a Brook,
Thus from a Hillock looking down,

The golden Stars for Guineas took,
And Silver Cynthia for a Crown.

The Point he could no longer doubt,
He ran, he leapt into the Flood;
There sprawl'd a while, and scarce got out,

All cover'd o'er with Slime and Mud.

Upon