Of Walking the Streets by Night.
TRIVIA Goddefs, leave thefe low abodes,
And traverse o'er the wide ethereal roads,
Celestial Queen, put on thy robes of light,
Now Cynthia nam'd, fair regent of the night.
At fight of thee the villain sheaths his fword,
Nor fcales the wall, to fteal the wealthy hoard.
O may thy filver lamp from heav'n's high bow'r
Direct my footsteps in the midnight hour!
When night first bids the twinkling stars appear, Or with her cloudy veft inwraps the air,
Then swarms the busy street; with caution tread, Where the fhop-windows falling threat thy head; Now lab'rers home return, and join their strength To bear the tott❜ring plank, or ladder's length; Still fix thy eyes intent upon the throng,
And as the paffes open, wind along.
Where the fair columns of St. Clement ftand, Whofe ftraiten'd bounds encroach upon the Strand; Where the low penthouse bows the walker's head, And the rough pavement wounds the yielding tread; 20 Where not a poft protects the narrow space, And ftrung in twines, combs dangle in thy face;
Summon at once thy courage, rouze thy care,
Stand firm, look back, be refolute, beware.
Forth iffuing from steep lanes, the collier's fteeds 25
Drag the black load; another cart fucceeds;
Team follows team, crouds heap'd on crouds appear,
And wait impatient till the road grow clear.
Now all the pavement founds with trampling feet,
And the mixt hurry barricades the street.
Entangled here, the waggon's lengthen❜d team
Cracks the tough harnefs; here a pond'rous beam
Lies overturn'd athwart; for flaughter fed
Here lowing bullocks raise their horned head.
Now oaths grow loud, with coaches coaches jar, 35
And the fmart blow provokes the sturdy war;
From the high box they whirl the thong around,
And with the twining lash their fhins refound:
Their rage ferments, more dangerous wounds they try,
And the blood gushes down their painful eye,
And now on foot the frowning warriors light,
And with their pond'rous fifts renew the fight;
Blow answers blow, their cheeks are smear'd with blood,
Till down they fall, and grappling roll in mud.
So when two boars, in wild * Itene bred,
Or on Weftphalia's fatt'ning chefnuts fed,
Gnash their fharp tufks, and rous'd with equal fire,
Difpute the reign of fome luxurious mire;
In the black flood they wallow o'er and o'er,
Till their arm'd jaws diflil with foam and gore.
Where the mob gathers, fwiftly shoot along,
Nor idly mingle with the noify throng.
Lur'd by the filver hilt, amid the swarm,
The fubtil artift will thy fide difarm.
Nor is thy flaxen wig with fafety worn;
High on the fhoulder in a basket borne
* New Forest in Hampbire, anciently so called.
![[ocr errors]](https://books.google.co.il/books/content?id=-tchAAAAMAAJ&hl=iw&output=html_text&pg=PA135&img=1&zoom=3&q=%22coach+confide,+Or+in+the+leaky+boat+the+Thames+divide+%3B+Or,+box%27d+within+the+chair,+contemn+the%22&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U17LqCAAn1jO9epnQpw5g3g8zKWrw&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=727,14,155,84)
Lurks the fly boy; whofe hand to rapine bred,
Plucks off the curling honours of thy head.
Here dives the skulking thief, with practis'd flight,
And unfelt fingers make thy pocket light,
Where's now the watch with all its trinkets flown?
And thy late fnuff-bcx is no more thy own.
But lo! his bolder thefts fome tradesman spies,
Swift from his prey the fcudding lurcher flies;
Dex'trous he 'scapes the coach with nimble bounds, 65
Whilft ev'ry honeft tongue ftop thief refounds.
So fpeeds the wily fox, alarm'd by fear,
Who lately filch'd the turkey's callow care;
Hounds following hounds, grow louder as he flies,
And injur'd tenants join the hunter's cries.
Breathlefs he tumbling falls: Ill-fated boy!
Why did not honeft work thy youth employ ?
Seiz'd by rough hands he's dragg'd amid the rout,
And ftretch'd beneath the pump's inceffant fpout:
Or plung'd in miry ponds, he gafping lies,
Mud choaks his mouth, and plaifters o'er his eyes.
Let not the ballad-finger's fhrilling ftrain
Amid the swarm thy lift'ning ear detain :
Guard well thy pocket; for thefe Syrens fland
To aid the labours of the diving hand;
Confed'rate in the cheat, they draw the throng,
And cambrick handkerchiefs reward the fong.
But foon as coach or cart drives rattling on,
The rabble part, in fhoals they backward run.
So Jove's loud bolts the mingled war divide,
And Greece and Troy retreat on either fide.
If the rude throng pour on with furious pace And hap to break thee from a friend's embrace, Stop fhort; nor ftruggle through the croud in vain, But watch with careful eye the paffing train.
Yet I (perhaps too fond) if chance the tide
Tumultuous, bear my partner from my fide,
Impatient venture back; defpifing harm,
I force my paffage where the thickest swarm.
Thus his loft bride the Trojan fought in vain
Through night, and arms, and flames, and
flain.
Thus Nifus wander'd o'er the pathlefs grove,
To find the brave companion of his love.
The pathlefs grove in vain he wanders o'er :
Euryalus, alas! is now no more.
That walker, who regardless of his pace, Turns oft to pore upon the damfel's face, From fide to fide by thrusting elbows toft, Shall strike his aking breast against the post; Or water, dash'd from fishy stalls, shall stain His hapless coat with fpirts of fcaly rain. But if unwarily he chance to ftray, Where twirling turnstiles intercept the way, The thwarting paffenger fhall force them round, And beat the wretch half breathlefs to the ground. Let conftant vigilance thy footsteps guide,. And wary circumfpection guard thy fide; Then shalt thou walk unharm'd the dang'rous night, Nor need th' officious link-boy's fmoaky light. Thou never wilt attempt to cross the road, Where ale-houfe benches reft the porter's load, Grievous to heedlefs fhins; no barrow's wheel, That bruises oft' the truant school-boy's heel, Behind thee rolling, with infidious pace, Shall mark thy stocking with a miry trace. Let not thy vent'rous fleps approach too nigh, Where gaping wide, low fteepy cellars lie;
Should thy fhoe wrench afide, down, down you fall,
And overturn the scolding huckster's ftall,
The fcolding huckster shall not o'er thee moan,
But
pence exact for nuts and pears o'erthrown.
Though you through cleanlier alleys wind by day,
To fhun the hurries of the publick way,
Yet ne'er to those dark paths by night retire;
Mind only fafety, and contemn the mire.
Then no impervious courts thy haste detain,
Nor fneering alewives bid thee turn again.
Where Lincoln's-Inn, wide space, is rail'd around, Cross not with vent'rous step; there oft is found The lurking thief, who, while the day-light fhone, Made the walls echo with his begging tone: 136 That crutch which late compaffion mov'd, fhall wound Thy bleeding head, and fell thee to the ground. Though thou art tempted by the link-man's call, Yet truft him not along the lonely wall; In the mid-way he'll quench the flaming brand, And share the booty with the pilf'ring band. Still keep the publick ftreets, where oily rays Shot from the crystal lamp, o'erspread the ways. Happy Augufta! law defended town!
Here no dark lanterns fhade the villain's frown;
No Spanish jealoufies thy lanes infest,
Nor Roman vengeance ftabs th' unwary breaft;
Here tyranny ne'er lifts her purple hand,
But liberty and justice guard the land;
No bravos here profefs the bloody trade,
Nor is the church the murd'rer's refuge made.
Let not the chairmen, with affuming stride, Prefs near the wall, and rudely thrust thy fide: The laws have fet him bounds; his fervile feet Should ne'er encroach where posts defend the street.
|