| |
| IN 1 London stands a famous pile, | |
| And near that pile an Alley, | |
| Where merry crowds for riches toil, | |
| And wisdom stoops to folly. | |
| Here, sad and joyful, high and low, | 5 |
| Court Fortune for her graces; | |
| And as she smiles or frowns, they show | |
| Their gestures and grimaces. | |
| |
| Here, Stars and Garters do appear | |
| Among our lords the rabble; | 10 |
| To buy and sell, to see and hear | |
| The Jews and Gentiles squabble. | |
| Here, crafty Courtiers are too wise | |
| For those who trust to fortune; | |
| They see the cheat with clearer eyes, | 15 |
| Who peep behind the curtain. | |
| |
| Long heads may thrive, by sober rules; | |
| Because they think, and drink not; | |
| But headlongs are our thriving fools, | |
| Who only drink, and think not. | 20 |
| The lucky rogues like spaniel dogs, | |
| Leap into South Sea water; | |
| And there they fish for golden frogs, | |
| Nor caring what comes after. | |
| |
| ’Tis said that alchemists of old | 25 |
| Could turn a brazen kettle, | |
| Or leaden cistern into gold; | |
| That noble tempting metal. | |
| But (if it here may be allowed, | |
| To bring in great with small things) | 30 |
| Our cunning South Sea like a god, | |
| Turns nothing into all things. | |
| |
| What need have we of Indian wealth, | |
| Or commerce with our neighbours; | |
| Our Constitution is in health, | 35 |
| And riches crown our labours. | |
| Our South Sea ships have golden shrouds, | |
| They bring us wealth, ’tis granted: | |
| But lodge their treasure in the clouds, | |
| To hide it till it’s wanted. | 40 |
| |
| O, Britain! bless thy present state! | |
| Thou only happy nation! | |
| So oddly rich, so madly great, | |
| Since Bubbles came in fashion. | |
| Successful rakes exert their pride, | 45 |
| And count their airy millions; | |
| Whilst homely drabs in coaches ride, | |
| Brought up to Town on pillions. | |
| |
| Few men who follow reason’s rules, | |
| Grow fat with South Sea diet; | 50 |
| Young rattles and unthinking fools | |
| Are those that flourish by it. | |
| Old musty jades, and pushing blades, | |
| Who’ve least consideration, | |
| Grow rich apace; while wiser heads | 55 |
| Are struck with admiration. | |
| |
| A race of men, who, t’ other day, | |
| Lay crushed beneath disasters, | |
| Are now, by Stock, brought into play, | |
| And made our lords and masters. | 60 |
| But should our South Sea Babel fall, | |
| What numbers would be frowning; | |
| The losers then must ease their gall | |
| By hanging, or by drowning. | |
| |
| Five hundred millions, notes and bonds, | 65 |
| Our Stocks are worth in value: | |
| But neither lie in goods, or lands, | |
| Or money, let me tell ye. | |
| Yet though our foreign trade is lost, | |
| Of mighty wealth we vapour; | 70 |
| When all the riches that we boast | |
| Consist of scraps of paper. | |
