Whose Scrip has dwindled into worthless rag:
Oh! give relief; part of his loss restore!
These tattered Shares my poverty bespeak;
These horrid deeds proclaim my length of ears;
I signed for many thousands every week:
I cannot liquidate the calls with tears.
Yon line, projected on no solid ground,
With tempting prospects drew me of my cash;
For plenty there the lawyer said he found,
And the Directors grandly cut a dash.