IN every Town where Thamis rolls his Tyde,
A narrow Pass there is, with houfes low:
Where ever and anon, the stream is ey'd,
And many a boat, foft fliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller Squall:
How can ye, Mothers, vex your children fo?
Some play, fome eat, fome cack against the wall,
And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
And on the broken pavement, here and there,
Doth many a stinking fprat and herring lie;
A brandy and tobacco shop is near,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs are feeding by;
And here a failor's jacket hangs to dry.
At every door are fun-burnt matrons seen,
Mending old nets to catch the fcaly fry,
Now finging fhrill, and fcolding eft between;
Scolds anfwer foul-mouth'd fcolds; bad neighbourhood
The fnappifh cur, (the passengers annoy)
Clofe at my heel with yelping treble flies;
The whimpering girl, and hoarfer-fcreaming boy,
Join to the yelping treble, fhrilling cries;
The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise,
And her full pipes those fhrilling cries confound;
To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
And curls, girls, boys, and fcolds, in the deep bafe
are drown'd.
Hard by a Sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billinfgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, fprat, ot plaice:
There learn'd fhe fpeech from tongues that never cease.
Slander befide her, like a magpie, chatters,
With envy, (fpitting Cat) dread foe to peace;
Like a curs'd Cur, Malice before her clatters,
And vexing every wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.
Her dugs were mark'd by everv Collier's hand,
Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall:
She fcratched, bit, and spar'd ne lace ne band,
And bitch and rogue her answer was to all;
Nay, e'en the parts of fhame by name would call:
Yea, when she paffed by or lane or nook,
Would greet the man who turn'd him to the Wall,
And by his hand obfcene the porter took,
Nor ever did afkance like modest Virgin look.
Such place hath Deptford, navy building town,
Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch;
Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
And Twick'nam fuch, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, ftatues, urns, and Jo-n's Dog and Bitch.
Ne village is without, on either fide,
All up the filver Thames, or all adown;
Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall front are ey'd Vales, fpires, meandring streams, and Windfor's towery pride,
Of a LADY finging to her LUTE.
FAIR Charmer, cease, nor make your voice's prize
A heart refign'd the conqueft of your eyes:
Well might, alas! that threatened veffel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once affail.
We were too bleft with these enchanting lays,
Which must be heavenly when an Angel plays:
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Left heavenly music should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees, but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he:
A Poet made the filent wood purfue,
This vocal wood had drawn the Poet too,
On a Fan of the Author's defign, in which was painted the story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, AURA VENI.
COME, gentle Air! th' Eolian fhepherd said,
While Procris panted in the fecret shade;
Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play!
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more furely wound:
Both gifts deftructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by thofe they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wounds fhe gives:
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.
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