The day was dark, the markets dull,
The Change was thin, Gazettes were full,
And half the town was breaking;
The _counter-sign_ of Cash was "_Stop_!"
Bankers and bankrupts shut up shop,
And honest hearts were aching.

When near the Bench my fancy spied
A faded form, with hasty stride,
Beneath Grief's burden stooping:
Her name was CREDIT, and she said
Her father, TRADE, was lately dead,
Her mother, COMMERCE, drooping.

The smile that she was wont to wear
Was wither'd by the hand of care,
Her eyes had lost their lustre:
Her character was gone, she said,
For she had basely been betray'd,
And nobody would trust her.

For honest INDUSTRY had tried
To gain fair CREDIT for his bride,
And found the damsel willing,
But, ah! a _fortune-hunter_ came,
And SPECULATION was his name,
A rake not worth a shilling.

The villain came, on mischief bent,