For the complete, final version of the poem and bibliographic information, see The Poems of Jonathan Swift. Ed. Harold Williams. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1958. Vol. 1, Pp. 248-59.
The scene depicted above the two-column poem presumably shows Exchange-Alley where a crowd of investors tries to get close to what appears to be a group of stock-jobbers.
There is a Gulf where Thousands fell, Here all the bold Advent'rers came; A Narrow Sound tho' Deep as Hell, ‘Change Alley is the dreadfull 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 justle one another down; Each padding in his leaky Boat, And here they fish for Gold and drown. Now burry'd in the Depth below, Then mounted up to Heaven again; They Reel and Stagger to and fro, At their Wits end, like Drunken Men. Mean time secure on Garr'way's Cliffs, A Savage Race by Shipwrecks fed, Lye waiting for the founder'd Skiffs, And Strip the Bodies of the Dead. [second column] As Fishes on each other Prey, The Great Ones Swallowing up the Small, So fares it in the Southern Sea: But Whale Directors Eat up all. While some build Castles in the Air, Directors build ‘em in the Seas; Subscribers plainly see ‘em there, For Fools will see as Wise Men please. Thus by Directors we are told, Pray Gentlemen believe your Eyes; Our Oceans cover'd o'er with Gold, Look round about how thick it lies. Oh! would these Patriots be so kind, Here in the Deep to wash their Hands; Then like Pactotus [?], we should find, The Sea indeed had Golden Sands. The Nation too too late will find, Computing all their Cost and Trouble, Directors Promises but Wind, South Sea at best a mighty Bubble.Entry: David McNeil, August 1997
Return to Bubblers [sic] Medley, #22
Return to BP HomePage