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 the water cast thy bread,
And after many days thou'lt find it;"[3]
But gold, upon this ocean spread,
Shall sink, and leave no mark behind it:
There is a gulf, where thousands fell,
Here all the bold adventurers came,
A narrow sound, though deep as Hell--
'Change Alley is the dreadful name.
Nine times a-day it ebbs and flows,
Yet he that on the surface lies,
Without a pilot seldom knows
The time it falls, or when 'twill rise.
Subscribers here by thousands float,
And jostle one another down;
Each paddling in his leaky boat,
And here they fish for gold, and drown.
"Now buried in the depth below,
Now mounted up to Heaven again,
They reel and stagger to and fro,
At their wits' end, like drunken men."[4]
Meantime, secure on Garway[5] cliffs,
A savage race, by shipwrecks fed,
Lie waiting for the founder'd skiffs,
And strip the bodies of the dead.
But these, you say, are factious lies,
From some malicious Tory's brain;
For, where directors get a prize,
The Swiss and Dutch whole millions drain.
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