Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/206

194 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 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 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. While