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!