BANKRUPTCY RENDERED EASY.

The Cit, relying on his trade,

Which, like all other things, may fade,

Longs for a curricle and villa:

This Hatchet splendidly supplies,

The other Cock'ril builds, or buys,

To charm himself and Miss Hautilla.

Then swift, O London! he retires,

To be, from all thy smoke and spires,

From Saturday till Sunday, merry:

On Sunday crowds of friends attend;

His house and garden some commend,

And all admire his port and sherry.

His mistress urg'd him now to play,

And cut to wealth a shorter way,

Now as a bride she heads his table;

But still our Cit observ'd his time.

Returning at St. Cripple's chime,

At least as near as he was able.

But soon she could not bear the sight

Of town; for walls with bow'rs unite,

As well as smoke with country breezes;

Without the keenest grief and pride

He could not quit his mares, and bride:

We yield as soon as passion seizes.

The clock no more his herald prov'd;

Tuesday, nay Wednesday, morn have mov'd,

Ere trembling shopmen saw their master:

Observing neighbours whisper'd round,

That ease might do, with plenty crown'd;

If not, that ruin came the faster.

His cash grew scarce, his business still,

At variance were his books and till

( For wolves devour when shepherds slumber );

His creditors around him pour,

Seize all his horses, household store,

And only give him up the lumber!