Song. the Jew Broker

Ye jobbers, underwriters, ye tribe of pen and ink, Wid my fal lal de ra, &c. Who on the alley's gay parterre your tea and coffee drink, Wid my fal lal de ra, &c. Rattling up your yellow boys, come hither at my call, I'm buyer and I'm seller, and can sarve you all. Wid my fal lal de ra, &c.

Ye bulls, ye bears, ye lame ducks, and all the waddling crew, It 'twas not for us smouchers, I don't know what you'd do, If e'er you want shecurities, 'tis we dat find good pail, Our friends have got de tarnish,—but den they shometimes fail. Wid my fal, &c.

If nobleman have lost race-horse, and all their money spent, My heart it melts, I draw de pond, I lend for cent per cent; But if a life you would ensure dats old and crazy grown, De ways and means I'll let you know, to get de business done. Wild my fal, &c.

Ye captains and ye colonels, ye jointer'd widows all, To little Isaac come when your stocks begin to fall; I'll put ye in a method once more to raise de cash, I'll bye into your sinking-funds—dat you may cut a flash. Wid my fal, &c.

Ye parsons wid good livings, ye courtiers wid good place, Advice I'll give you cratis, and tink upon your case; I dare ish poshibility, for you I'll raise de dust,— But den you must excuse me if I sarve myself de first. Wid my fal, &c.

I give advice to every tribe but physic and de law, But they out-wit the Jews themselves, for bills at sight they draw: We, when we lend our monish, run some risk—tho' 'tis but small,— But they take all de monish, and run no risk at all. Wid my fal, &c.