ON THE DEATH

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.