"To raise fresh barks must surely be amusing,
When hundreds rot in docks for want of using."
"Rare, fruitful isles, where not an ass can find
A verdant tuft or thistle to his mind.
How, then, must those poor silly asses fare
That leave their native land to settle there?"
On a South Sea Speculator imploring Alms through his Prison Bars:
"Behold a poor dejected wretch,
Who kept a S—— Sea coach of late,
But now is glad to humbly catch
A penny at the prison grate.
"What ruined numbers daily mourn
Their groundless hopes and follies past,
Yet see not how the tables turn,
Or where their money flies at last!
"Fools lost when the directors won,
But now the poor directors lose;
And where the S—— Sea stock will run,
Old Nick, the first projector, knows."
On a Picture of Change Alley:
"Five hundred millions, notes and bonds,
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 vapor,
When all the riches that we boast
Consist in scraps of paper."
On a "Permit:"