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 III. Money, the Life-Blood of the Nation, 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; VI. Riches, the wifeft Monarch fings, VII, No Money left for fquand'ring Heirs! That they had never known their Letters. VIII. Conceive the Works of Midnight Hags, IX. Conceive the whofe Enchantment broke, 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 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 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 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, 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' |