Young Rattles, and unthinking Fools,
Are those that flourish by it.
Old musty Jades, and pushing Blades,
Who’ve least Consideration,
Grow rich apace, whilst wiser Heads
Are struck with Admiration.
A Race of Men, who, t’other Day
Lay crush’d beneath Disasters,
Are now, by Stock brought into Play,
And made our Lords and Masters: