This POEM was printed fome years ago, and it

jould seem by ibe. late. Failure of two Bankers to 'be somewbat prophetick, it was therefore thought fit to be reprinted.

The Run upon the BANKERS.

Written in the Year 17203



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.

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The Multitude's capricious Pranks

Are said to represent the Seas ; Breaking the Bankers and the Banks,

Resume their own whene'er they please.


Money, the Life-Blood of the Nation,

Corrupts and stagnates in the Veins,

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Unless a proper

Its Motion and its Heat maintains:


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 strip the Jays.


Riches, the wisest Monarch fings,

Make Pinions for themselves to fly: They Ay like Bats, on Parchment Wings,

And Geese their Silver Plumes fupply.


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,


Conceive the Works of Midnight Hags,

Tormenting Fools behind their Backs; Thus Bankers o'er their Bills and Bags

Sit squeezing Images of Wax.


Conceive the whole Enchantment broke,

The Witches left in open Air,
With Pow'r no more than other Folk,

Expos'd with all their Magick Ware,

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So poworful are a Banker's Bills

Where Creditors demand their Due ; They break up Counter, Doors, and Tills,

And leave the empty Chests in View,


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.


As when a Conj'rer takes a Lease

From Satan for a Term of Years,

The The Tenant's in a difmal Cafe

Whene'er the bloody Bond appears.


A baited Banker thus desponds,

From his own Hand foresees his Fall; They have his Soul who have his Bonds ;

'Tis like the Writing on the Wall.


How will the Caitif Wretch be scar'd

When first he finds himself awake At the last Trumpet, unprepard,

And all his Grand Account to make


For in that universal Call

Few Bankers will to Heav'n be Mounters; They'll cry, Ye Shops upon us fall,

Conccal, and cover us, Ye Counters.


When Other Hands the Scales shall hold,

And They in Men and Angels Sight; Produc'd with all their Bills and Gold,

Weigb'd in the Balance, and found light.


Tbe AUTHOR baving wrote a Treatise, advising

the People of Ireland to wear their own Manufaktures, a Prosecution was set on Foot against Waters the Printer thereof, which was carried on with so much Violence, that one Whitlhed, then Chief Justice, thought proper, in a Manner the most extraordinary, to keep the Grand-Jury above twelve Hours, and to send them eleven Times out of Court, until be bad wearied them into a special Verdiet.

An excellent new SONG, on a seditious


To the Tune of PACKINGTON's Pound.

Written in the Year 1720.


ROCA DO's, and Damasks, and Tabbies,

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

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


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