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249

Has not wise Nature strung the legs and feet With firmest nerve, design'd to walk the street? Has she not given us hands to grope aright, Amidst the frequent dangers of the night? And think'st thou not the double nostril meant, To warn from oily woes.by previous scent? Who can the various city frauds' recite, With all the petty rapines of the night? Who now the guinea-dropper's bait regards, Trick'd by the sharper's dice, or juggler's cards? Why should I warn thee ne'er to join the fray, Where the sham quarrel interrupts the way? Lives there in these our days so soft a clown, Brav'd by the bully's oaths, or threatening frown? I need not strict enjoin the pocket's care, When from the crowded play thou lead'st the fair; Who has not here or watch or snuff-box lost, Or handkerchiefs that India's shuttle boast? O! may thy virtue guard thee through the roads Of Drury's mazy courts, and dark abodes! The harlots' guileful paths, who nightly stand Where Catharine-street descends into the Strand! Say, vagrant Muse, their wiles and subtle arts, To lure the strangers' unsuspecting hearts: So shall our youth on healthful sinews tread, And city cheeks grow warm with rural red.

260

'Tis she who nightly strolls with sauntering pace,

No stubborn stays her yielding shape embrace ;
Beneath the lamp her tawdry ribbons glare,
The new-scour'd manteau, and the slattern air;
High-draggled petticoats her travels show,
And hollow cheeks with artful blushes glow;
With flattering sounds she soothes the credulous

ear,

271

"My noble captain! charmer! love! my dear!"
In riding-hood near tavern-doors she plies,
Or muffled pinners hide her livid eyes.
With empty bandbox she delights to range,
And feigns a distant errand from the 'Change;
Nay, she will oft the quaker's hood prophane,
And trudge demure the rounds of Drury-lane.
She darts from sarsenet ambush wily leers,
Twitches thy sleeve, or with familiar airs
Her fan will pat thy cheek; these snares disdain,
Nor gaze behind thee, when she turns again.

280

I knew a yeoman, who, for thirst of gain, To the great city drove, from Devon's plain, His numerous lowing herds his herds he sold, And his deep leathern pocket bagg'd with gold. Drawn by a fraudful nymph, he gaz'd, he sigh'd: Unmindful of his home, and distant bride, 290 She leads the willing victim to his doom, Through winding alleys, to her cobweb room. Thence thro' the street he reels from post to post, Valiant with wine, nor knows his treasure lost. The vagrant wretch th' assembled watchmen spies, He waves his hanger, and their poles detics ; Deep in the round-house pent, all night be snores, Aud the next morn in vain his fate deplores.

3. Various cheats formerly in practice.

Ah, hapless swain! unus'd to pains and ills! Canst thou forego roast-beef for nauseous pills? 300 How wilt thou lift to Heaven thy eyes and hands, When the long scroll the surgeon's fees demands! Or else (ye gods, avert that worst disgrace!) Thy ruin'd nose falls level with thy face! Then shail thy wife thy loathsome kiss disdain, And wholesome neighbours from thy mug refrain. Yet there are watchmen, who with friendly light Will teach thy reeling steps to tread aright; For sixpence will support thy helpless arm, And home conduct thee, safe from nightly harm. But, if they shake their lanterns, from afar 314 To call their brethren to confederate war, When rakes resist their power; if hapless you Should chance to wander with the scowering crew; Though Fortune yield thee captive, ne'er despair, But seek the constable's considerate ear; He will reverse the watchman's harsh decree, Mov'd by the rhetoric of a silver fee. Thus, would you gain some favourite courtier's Fee not the petty clerks, but bribe my lord. 320 Now is the time that rakes their revels keep; Kindlers of riot, enemies of sleep.

[word,

His scatter'd pence the flying nicker1 flings,
And with the copper shower the casement rings.
Who has not heard the scowerer's midnight fame?
Who has not trembled at the Mohock's name?
Was there a watchman took his hourly rounds,
Safe from their blows, or new-invented wounds?
I pass their desperate deeds, and mischiefs done,
Where from Snow-hill black steepy torrents run;330
How matrons, hoop'd within the hogshead's womb,
Were tuinbled furious thence; the rolling tomb
O'er the stones thunders, bounds from side to sides
So Regulus, to save his country, dy'd.

Where a dim gleam the paly lanthorn throws
O'er the mid pavement, heapy rubbish grows;
Or arched vaults their gaping jaws extend,
Or the dark caves to common-shores descend,
Oft by the winds extinct the signal lies,
Or smother'd in the glimmering socket dies, 340
Ere Night has half roll'd round her ebon throne;
In the wide gulph the shatter'd coach, o'erthrown,
Sinks with the snorting steeds; the reins are broke
And from the crackling axle flies the spoke.
So, when fam'd Eddystone's far-shooting ray,
That led the sailor through the stormy way,
Was from its rocky roots by billows torn,
And the high turret in the whirlwind borne;
Flects bulg'd their sides against the craggy land,
And pitchy ruins blacken'd all the strand.

350

Who then through night would hire the harness'd steed?

And who would choose the rattling wheel for speed? But hark! Distress, with screaming voice, draws

nigher,

And wakes the slumbering street with cries of fire
At first a glowing red enwraps the skies,
And, borne by winds, the scattering sparks arise;
From beam to beam the fierce contagion spreads;
The spiry flames now lift aloft their heads;
Through the burst sash a blazing deluge pours,
And splitting tiles descend in rattling showers. 360
Now with thick crowds th' enlighten'd pavement

swarms,

The fireman sweats beneath his crooked arms;

1 Gentlemen who delighted to break windows with halfpence.

A leathern casque his venturous head defends,
Boldly he climbs where thickest smoke ascends;
Mov'd by the mother's streaming eyes and prayers,
The helpless infant through the flame he bears,
With no less virtue, than through hostile fire
The Dardan bero bore his aged sire.

See, forceful engines spout their levell'd streams,
Toquench the blaze that runs along the beams;370
The grappling hook plucks rafters from the walls,
And heaps on heaps the smoky ruin falls;
Blown by strong winds, the fiery tempest roars,
Bears down new walls, and pours along the floors;
The Heavens are all a-blaze, the face of Night
Is cover'd with a sanguine dreadful light.
'Twas such a light involv'd thy towers, O Rome !
The dire presage of mighty Cæsar's doom,
When the Sun veil'd in rust his mourning head,
And frightful prodigies the skies o'erspread.
Hark! the drum thunders! far, ye crowds, retire:
Behold! the ready match is tipt with fire,
The nitrous store is laid, the smutty train,
With running blaze, awakes the barrel'd grain;
Flames sudden wrap the walls; with sullen sound
The shatter'd pile sinks on the smoky ground.
So, when the years shall have revoiv'd the date,
Th' inevitable hour of Naples' fate,

580

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400

Civility to be paid to walkers

ii. 45

Carman, when unmerciful, his punishment
Cheapside

ii. 245

ii. 248

Cheese not lov'd by the author

ii. 254

Countryman, perplexed to find the way
Catharine-street

ii. 73

ii. 260

Her sapp'd foundations shall with thunders shake,
And heave and toss upon the sulphurous lake; 390
Earth's womb at once the fiery flood shall rend,
And in th' abyss her plunging towers descend.

Consider, reader, what fatigues I've known,
The toils, the perils, of the wintery town;
What riots seen, what bustling crowds I bore,
How oft I cross'd where carts and coaches roar:
Yet shall I bless my labours, if mankind
Their future safety from my dangers find.
Thus the bold traveller (inur'd to toil,
Whose steps have printed Asia's desert soil,
The barbarous Arabs haunt; or shivering crost
Dark Greenland's mountains of eternal frost;
Whom Providence, in length of years, restores
To the wish'd harbour of his native shores)
Sets forth his journals to the public view,
To caution, by his woes, the wandering crew.

And now complete my generous labours lie,
Finish'd, and ripe for immortality.

410

Death shall entomb in dust this mouldring frame,
But never reach th' eternal part, my faine.
When W— and G-, mighty names! are dead;
Or but at Chelsea under custards read;
When critics crazy bandboxes repair,
And tragedies, turn'd rockets, bounce in air;

High rais'd on Fleet-street posts, consign'd to Fame,
This work shall shine, and walkers bless my name.

! Probably Ward and Gildon. N.

Coat, how to choose one for the winter
Chairs and chariots, prejudicial to health
Coachman asleep on his box, what the sign

-his metamorphosis
-his whip dangerous

-his care of his horses

-despises dirty shoes

Chairman, an observation upon them

Church monuments, foretel the weather
Common-shores

Clergy, what tradesmen to avoid

Chairmen, their exercise in frosty weather ii. 335
Covent-garden-

ii. 345. 347

Cries of the town, observations upon them ii. 426
Christmas, what cries forerun it

-a season for general charity
Coaches, dangerous in snowy weather
-those that keep them uncharitable
-attended with ill accidents
-despised by walkers
-kept by coxcombs and pimps
-a stop of them described
-a man surrounded by them
Cloacina, goddess of common-shores
Charing-cross

ii. 433

ii. 414

ii. 327

ii. 42

ii. 511

ii. 570

ii. 577

iii. 35

iit. 177

ii. 115

ii. 214

Christmas-box

ii. 185.

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EPISTLES ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

EPISTLE I.

TO A LADY.

OCCASIONED BY THE ARRIVAL OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS

THE PRINCESS OF WALES.

MADAM, to all your censures I submit,
And frankly own I should long since have writ.
You told me, silence would be thought a crime,
And kindly strove to teaze me into rhyme:
No more let trifling themes your Muse employ,
Nor lavish verse, to paint a female toy :
No more on plains with rural damsels sport;
But sing the glories of the British court.

By your commands and inclination sway'd,
I call'd th' unwilling Muses to my aid:
Resolv'd to write, the noble theme I chose,
And to the princess thus the poem rose.

"Aid me, bright Phoebus! aid, ye sacred Nine!
Exalt my genius, and my verse refine.
My strains with Carolina's name I grace,
The lovely parent of our royal race.
Breathe soft, ye winds! ye waves, in silence sleep!
Let prosperous breezes wanton o'er the deep,
Swell the white sails, and with the streamers play,
To waft her gently o'er the watery way."

Here I to Neptune form'd a pompous prayer,
To rein the winds, and guard the royal fair;
Bid the blue Tritons sound their twisted shells,
And call the Nereids from their pearly cells.
Thus my warm zeal had drawn the Muse along,
Yet knew no method to conduct her song:
I then resolv'd some model to pursue,
Perus'd French critics, and began anew.
Long open panegyric drags at best,
And praise is only praise when well address'd.
Straight Horace for some lucky ode I sought:
And all along I trac'd him thought by thought.
This new performance to a friend I show'd:
"For shame!" says he; "what, imitate an ode!
I'd rather ballads write, and Grub-street lays,
Than pillage Cæsar for my patron's praise:
One common fate all imitators share,
To save mince-pies, and cap the grocer's ware."
Vex'd at the charge, I to the flames commit
Rhymes, similies, lord's names, and ends of wit:
In blotted stanzas scraps of odes expire,
And fustian mounts in pyramids of fire.

Ladies to you I next inscrib'd my lay,
And writ a letter in familiar way:
For, still impatient till the princess came,
You from description wish'd to know the daine.
Each day my pleasing labour larger grew,
For still new graces open'd to my view.
Twelve lines ran on to introduce the theme;
And then I thus pursued the growing scheme:
"Beauty and wit were sure by Nature join'd,
And charms are emanations of the mind;
The soul, transpiercing through the shining frame,
Forms all the graces of the princely dame:
Benevolence her conversation guides,
Smiles on her cheek, and in her eye resides.
Such harmony upon her tongue found,
As softens English to Italian sound:

Yet in those sounds such sentiments appear,
As charm the judgment, while they soothe the ear.
"Religion's cheerful flame her bosom warms,
Calms all her hours, and brightens all her charms.
Henceforth, ye fair, at chapel mind your prayers,
Nor catch your lover's eyes with artful airs;
Restrain your looks, kneel more, and whisper less,
Nor most devoutly criticise on dress.

"From her form all your characters of life,
The tender mother, and the faithful wife.
Oft have I seen her little infant-train,
The lovely promise of a future reign;
Observ'd with pleasure every dawning grace,
And all the mother opening in their face.
The son shall add new honours to the line,
And early with paternal virtues shine:
When he the tale of Audenard repeats,
His little heart with emulation beats;
With conquests yet to come his bosom glows,
He dreams of triumphs, and of vanquish'd foes;
Each year with arts shall store his ripening brain,
And from his grandsire he shall learn to reign."
Thus far I'd gone: propitious rising gales
Now bid the sailor hoist the swelling sails.
Fair Carolina lands; the cannons roar;
White Albion's cliffs resound from shore to shore.
Behold the bright original appear,

All praise is faint when Carolina's near.
Thus to the nation's joy, but poet's cost,
The princess caine, and my new plan was lost.

Since all my schemes were baulk'd, (my last
I left the Muses, to frequent the court:
Pensive each night from room to room I walk'd,
[resort)
To one I bow'd, and with another talk'd;
Inquir'd what news, or such a lady's name,
And did the next day, and the next, the same.
Places, I found, were daily given away,
And yet no friendly Gazette mention'd Gay.
I ask'd a friend what method to pursue ;
He cry'd, "I want a place as well as you."
Another ask'd me, why I had not writ;
"A poet owes his fortune to his wit."
Straight I reply'd, "With what a courtly grace
Flows easy verse from him that has a place!
Had Virgil ne'er at court improv'd his strains,
He still had sung of flocks and homely swains;
And, had not Horace sweet preferment found,
The Roman lyre had never learnt to sound."
Once ladies fair in homely guise I sung,
And with their names wild woods and mountains
O teach me now to strike a softer strain!
[rung.
The court refines the language of the plain.
"You must," cries one, "the ministry rehearse,
And with each patriot's name prolong your verse."
But sure this truth to poets should be known,
That praising all alike, is praising none.

Another told me, if I wish'd success,
To some distinguish'd lord I must address;
One whose high virtues speak his noble blood,
One always zealous for his country's good;
Where valour and strong eloquence unite,
In council cautious, resolute in fight;
Whose generous temper prompts him to defend,
And patronize the man that wants a friend.
"You have, 'tis true, the noble patron shown,
But I, alas! am to Argyll unknown."

Still every one I met in this agreed,
That writing was my method to succeed;
But now preferments so possess'd my brain,
That scarce I could produce a single strain

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