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[1] bury'd in the depth below,
Now mounted up to Heaven again,
They reel and stagger to and fro,
At their wits end, like drunken men."
Mean time, secure on Garraway[2] 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.
Thus, when by rooks a lord is ply'd,
Some cully often wins a bet,
By venturing on the cheating side,
Though not into the secret let.
- ↑ Psalm cvii.
- ↑ A coffee house in Change alley.
