THE RUN UPON
THE BANKERS
1720 Jonathan
Swift
The bold
encroachers on the deep
Gain by
degrees huge tracts of land,
Till Neptune , with one general sweep,
Turns all again to barren strand.
The multitude's capricious pranks
Are said to represent the seas,
Breaking the bankers and the banks,
Resume their own whene'er
they please.
Money, the life-blood of the nation,
Corrupts and stagnates in
the veins,
Unless a proper circulation
Its motion and its heat
maintains.
Because 'tis lordly not to pay,
Quakers and aldermen in
state,
Like peers, have levees every day
Of duns attending at
their gate.
We want our money on the nail;
The banker's ruin'd if he
pays:
They seem to act an ancient tale;
The birds are met to strip the jays.
"Riches," the wisest monarch sings,
"Make pinions for
themselves to fly;"
They fly like bats on parchment wings,
And geese their silver
plumes supply.
No money left for squandering heirs!
Bills turn the lenders into debtors:
The wish of Nero now is theirs,
"That they had never
known their letters."
Conceive the works of midnight hags,
Tormenting fools behind
their backs:
Thus bankers, o'er their bills and bags,
Sit squeezing images of
wax.
Conceive the whole enchantment broke;
The witches left in open
air,
With power no more than other folk,
Exposed with all their
magic ware.
So powerful are a banker's bills,
Where creditors demand
their due;
They break up counters, doors, and tills,
And leave the empty
chests in view.
Thus when an earthquake lets in light
Upon the god of gold and
hell,
Unable to endure the sight,
He hides within his darkest cell.
As when a conjurer takes a lease
From Satan for a term of
years,
The tenant's in a dismal case,
Whene'er the bloody bond
appears.
A baited banker thus desponds,
From his own hand
foresees his fall,
They have his soul, who have his bonds;
'Tis like the writing on
the wall.
How will the caitiff wretch be scared,
When first he finds
himself awake
At the last trumpet, unprepared,
And all his grand account
to make!
For in that universal call,
Few bankers will to
heaven be mounters;
They'll cry, "Ye shops, upon us fall!
Conceal and cover us, ye
counters!"
When other hands the scales shall hold,
And they, in men's and
angels' sight
Produced with all their bills and gold,
"Weigh'd in the
balance and found light!"
Ha ha - is nothing new?
ReplyDeleteWell found.
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