Like Sybil's leaves, abroad he spread
His sheets, to awe the aspiring crew:
Stock-jobbers fainted while they read;
Each hidden scheme display'd to view —
Who could such doctrines spread abroad
So long, and not be clapper-claw'd!
Content with slow uncertain gains,
With heart and hand prepar'd he stood
To send his works to distant plains,
And hills beyond the Ohio-flood —
And, since he had no time to lose,
Preach'd whiggish lectures with his news.
Now death, with cold unsparing hand,
( At whose decree even Capets fall )
From life's poor glass has shook his sand,
And sent him, fainting, to the wall —
Because he gave you some sad wipes,
O Mammon! seize not thou his types.
What shall be done, in such a case?—
Shall I, because my partner fails,
Call in his bull-dogs from the chace
To loll their tongues and drop their tails —
No, faith — the title-hunting crew
No longer fly than we pursue.