You all agree, I make no doubt, The bird of Jove shall toil no more When Damon's soul shall take its flight, If Anna's happy reign you praise, Cupid Cupid shall ne'er mistake another, Then, would you paint a matchless dame, Nor borrow from the blue-ey'd maid; THE RUN UPON THE BANKERS. THE bold encroachers on the deep, 1720. * "Then call'd the happy composition Floyd." See p. 65. N. Money, Money, the life-blood of the nation, Its motion and its heat maintains. Because 'tis lordly not to pay, peers, have levees every 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 strip the jays. Riches, the wisest monarch sings, "Make pinions for themselves to fly; They fly like bats on parchment wings, And geese their silver plumes supply. No money left for squandering heirs! "That they had never known their letters." Conceive the works of midnight hags, Conceive the whole enchantment broke; With power no more than other folk, Se So powerful are a banker's bills, He hides within his darkest cell. As when a conjurer takes a lease Whene'er the bloody bond appears. How will the caitiff wretch be scar'd, At the last trumpet, unprepar'd, And all his grand account to make! For in that universal call, Few bankers will to heaven be mounters; When other hands the scales shall hold, THE |