The London-Spy Compleat In Eighteen Parts :: :: University of Virginia Library

Himself the Scavenger, his House the Cart,
Where Plodding Men throw in their Drossy Pelf:
Thus, like a Farmer he from Rich Mens Dirt,
Raises a happy Living to himself.

With others Cards a cunning Game he Plays:
They stand the Hazard, whilst he Gains his Ends;
He Borrows still, and still no In'trest Pays,
And ne'er without a Damn'd Extortion Lends.

Tho' Proud and Stately, whether Rich or Poor,
Is to all Men except himself unknown:
Amidst his Borrow'd Treasures he's no more,
Than Slave to others Riches, not his own.

His Dealings are so dark a Mystery,
No Man can truly tell, tho' ne'er so Wise,
Whether he Trives, or that he Honest be,
Until the Black-Palm'd Miser breaks or Dies.

401

With one Mans Money be another Pays:
To this he Cuts, and to the other Deals;
Small Accidents his Credit oft Decays,
Then Farewel Fingers, God have Mercy Heels.

The Beggars Curse him as they pass his Door,
Envy the Heaps of Riches which they see;
Beg but in vain, then wish the Banker Poor,
Who Rowles in Wealth, but has no Charity.

Great Sums each Day are on his Counters told,
And Piles of Bags his Fetter'd Trunks contain:
But yet for all his Silver and his Gold,
He's but the Mimick of a vast Rich Man.