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Coach fallen into a hole, describcd iii. 335
Critics, their fate D iii. 413
D'Oily stuffs, useless in winter i. 43
1)rugget-silk, improper in cold weather i. 44
Dress, propriety therein to be observed i. 129
Drummers, improper at a wedding ii. 17
Dustman, to whom offensive ii. 37
Drays, when not to be walked behind ii. 288
Doll, a melancholy story of her death ii. 382
Dustman, spiteful to gilded chariots ii. 527
Drury-lane, dangerous to virtue iii. 259
E --

Evening described ... iii.9
Eddystone light-house iii. 345
Frieze, its defects i. 45
Footman, his prudence in rainy weather i. 127
Fair weather, signs of it i. 143
Farrier's shop, a description of one i, 251
Fop, the description of one walking ii. 53
—the ill consequence of passing too near

one ii. 57
Female guides, not to be made use of ii. 87
Foot-ball described ii. 347
Frost, an episode of the great one ii. 357
Fair, one kept on the Thames ii. 369
Fishmonger, the description of his stall ii. 414
Friday, how to know it ii. 416
Friend, the author walks with one ii. 276
-rules to walk with one iii. 87
Fox, like a pick-pocket iii. 67
Footman very arrogant iii. 157
Fleet-ditch iii. 189

Funeral, the walker's contemplation of one iii. 225

Fire, the description of one iii. 353
Fireman, his virtue iii. 362
Fire-engines iii. 369
Father, the happiness of a child who knows
his own ii. 177
Female walkers, what necessary for them i. 209
G
Gamester, his chariot described i. 115
Glazier, his skill at foot-ball ii. 355
Guinea-droppers iii. 249
Health acquired by walking i. 69

Holland, the streets of that country described i. 87
Hosiers' poles, what observed by them i., 165
Hawker, at what time he cries news ii. 21

Horses, like Parthians ii. 294
Hands, their use iii. 24.
House blown up, the description of it iii. 38.
Holborn-hill ii. 174
I
Invention of pattens i. 219
Jugglers to be avoided 11. 285
Industry not exempt from death ii. 389
June, what cry denotes that month .* 432
James, St. its market iii. 546
K
Knocker of a door, an observation on one ii. 497
- L
london, its happiness before the invention of
coaches and chairs i. 101

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Ladies walking the streets i. 105
—-in the Park, what they betoken
i. 145
dress neither by reason nor instinct i. 149
Letchers old, where they frequent ii. 280
Leadenhall-market ii. 546
Lintot, Mr. advice to him ii. 565
Lawyer passing the street in a coach ii. 579
Labourers returned from work iii. 13
Lincoln’s-inn-fields iii. 133
Link-man, where not to be trusted iii. 139
Luxury, a reflection on it , iii. 195
Legs, their use iii. 241
Lantern, what it shows in the middle of the
street iii. 335
Ludgate-hill ii. 292
M
Martha, a milk-maid of Lincolnshire i. 125
Morning, then what first to be considered i. 121
Morning described ii. 7
Milford-lane iii. 25
Meuse, jugglers often ply thereabouts to in-
veigle walkers to play ii. 287
Milk-maid of the city, unlike a rural one ii. 11
Mercy recommended to coachmen and car-
men ii. 237
Masons, dangerous to pass where at work ii. 266
Modesty not to be offended ii. 298
Monday, by what observations to know it ii. 408
Miser, his manner of charity ii. 462
Moorfields ii. 548
Monmouth-street ibid.
Mobs to be avoided iii. 51
Mohocks, a set of modern rakes iii. 326
Matrons put in hogsheads iii. 329
N
Naples, the streets of that city i. 93
Newgate-market ii. 544
Nisus and Euryalus iii. 97
Nose, its use iii. 245
Nicker, his art iii. 323
Naples, its future fate iii. 387
O
Oysters, at what time first cry’d i. 28
Old woman, an observation upon one i. 139
Observations on the looks of walkers ii. 274
Ox roasted on the Thames ii. 368
Orpheus, his death ii. 393
Overton the print-seller ii. 489
Oyster-wench iii. 185
Oyster, the courage of him that first ate one
iii. 195
Oedipus P iii. 215
Pavers, their duty i. 11
Paris, the streets of that city i. 85
Poor, their murmurs, what the sign of i. 178
Paul, St. his festival i 176

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what most proper for walkers

Surtout, kersey, its description i. 55
Shower, a man in one described i. 191
Shins, what they betoken when scorched i. 137
Signs creaking, what they betoken i. 157
Superstition to be avoided i. 175
Swithin, St. his festival i. 183
Smallcoal-man, by whom to be avoided ii. 35
Summer, foreign to the author's design ii. 31.5
Signs, the use of them ii. 67
Seven dials of St. Giles's parish described i. 80
Stockings, how to prevent their being spat-
tered ii. 91
Streets, narrow ones to be avoided ii. 247
Snowy weather ii. 320
Shoes, how to free them from snow ii. 325
Snow.balls, coachmen pelted with them ii. 329
Schoolboys, mischievous in frosty weather ii. 331
Sempstress, the description of her in a frosty
morning ii. 337
advice to her ii. 341
Saturday, by what observations to know it ii. 422
Spring, the cries then in use ii. 428
Streets formerly noblemen's houses ii. 492
Swords, silver, lure thieves iii. 53
Street, how to cross it iii. 165
Scylla and Charybdis iii. 183
Street, where to cross it by night iii. 185
Shoe-cleaning boy, his birth ii. 135
- his lamentation ii. 177
his happiness ii. 145
without father or mother ii. 181
Scowerers, a set of rakes iii. 325
Snow-hill iii. 330

T Trivia, the goddess of streets and highways, . invoked i. 5 Trades prejudicial to walkers ii. 25 Tradesmen, in what to be trusted ii. 71 Theseus in the labyrinth of Crete ii. 85 Thames-street ii. 244 Trades offensive to the smell ii. 245 Tea-drinkers, a necessary caution to them ii. 285 Thames, coaches driven over it ii. 565 Thaw, the description of one ii. 400 Thursday, by what observations to know it ii. 40s Titian ii. 486 Trivia invoked as Cynthia iii. 1 Turn-stiles iii. 107 Tragedies, their fate iii. 414 u Umbrella, its use i. 211 Venice, the streets of it - i. 97 Vaults, an observation upon them i. 172 Vulcan in love with a milk-maid i. 941 advice to him i. 245 —metamorphosed to a country farrier i. 255 the invent rof hobnails and sparrables i. 263 the inventor of pattens i. 27.5 Upholder, where he frequents ii. 470 W Winter, the beginning of it described i. ? Weather, signs of cold i. 133 signs of fair i. 143 signs of rainy i. 157 Witney broad-cloth proper for horsemen i. 47 Wig competed to Alecto's snakes i. 212 —to Glaucus's beard i. 205 what to be worn in a mist i. 125 Waterman, judicious in the weather i. 153 Winds whistling, what they foretel i. 169 Wall, to whom to be given ii. 45 - to whom to be denied ii. 59 —when to keep it iii. 205 Way, of whom to be inquired ii. 65 Watling-street ii. 237 Walkers inadvertent, to what misfortunes liable ii. 285 Wits, a caution to them ii. 296 Walker distressed by a foot-ball ii. 347 Waterman, his dominion invaded ii. 361 Wednesday, how to know it ii. 415 Walkers, their happiness ii. 502 free from diseases ii. 506 Water, the danger of being upon it ii. 515 Walking advantageous to learning ii. 551 Women, the ill consequence of gazing on them iii. 101 Wheel-barrows, how they prejudice walkers iii. 107 Whore, how to know one iii. 267 Whores, the streets where they ply iii. 259 Watchmen, the method of treating with them iii. Soo their signal to their fellows iii. 311 what to do if taken by them iii. 313 Y Yeoman, a dreadful story of one iii. 235

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EPISTLES ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

Epistle i.

TO A LADY. accAslow ED BY THE ARRival of Iler Roy AL HIGHNF-35 THE PRINCESS OF WALES.

Manaw, to all your censures I submit, and frankly own I should long since have writYou 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 vour commands and inclination sway’d, 1 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 ! Fxalt my genius, and my verse refine. My strains with Carolina's name I grace, The lovely parent of our royal race. . Breathe soft, ve winds! ye waves, in silence sleep! Let prosperous breezes wanton o'er the deep, sweil 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 Caesar 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. a 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 discription wish'd to know the daune. Fach day my pleasing labour larger grew, For still new graces open'd to my view. Twelve limes 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 emanatious of the mind; The soul, trauspiercing through the shining frame, Forms all the graces of the princely dame: Benevolence her conversation guides, Smiles on her check, and in her eye resides. Such harmony upon her tongue is found, As softens Fnglish 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 l'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 came, and my new plan was lost.
Since all my schemes were baulk'd, (my last
I left the Muses, to frequent the court: fresort)
Pensive each night from room to room I walk'd,
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 snceeed;
But now preferments so possess'd my brain,
That scarce I could produce a single strain:

Indeed, I sometimes hammer"d out a line,
Without connection, as without design.
One morn upon the princess this I writ,
An epigram that boasts more truth than wit.
“The pomp of titles easy faith might shake,
She scorn’d an empire for religion's sake:
For this on Earth the British crown was given,
And an immortal crown decreed in Heaven.”
Again, while George's virtues rais'd my thought,
The following lines prophetic Fancy wrought.
“Methinks I see some bard, whose heavenly rage
Shall rise in song, and warm a future age,
Look back through time, and, wrapt in wonder,
The glorious series of the Brunswick race. . [trace
“From the first George these godlike kings de-
scend,
A line which only with the world shall end.
The next a generous prince, renown'd in arms,
And bless'd, long bless'd, in Carolina's charms;
From these the rest. 'Tis thus, secure in peace,
We plow the fields, and reap the year's increase:
Now Commerce, wealthy goddess, rears her head,
And bids Britannia's fleets their canvass spread;
Unnumber'd ships the peopled ocean hide,
And wealth returns with each revolving tide.”
Here paus’d the sullen Muse; in haste I dress'd,
And through the crowd of needy courtiers press'd;
Though unsuccessful, happy whilst I see
Those eyes, that glad a nation, shine on me.

Epistle it.

To The right honour ABLP THE EARL OF BURLINGTON.

A jounxey to ExETER.
1716.

while you, my lord, bid stately piles ascend, or in your Chiswick bowers enjoy your friend; where Pope unloads the boughs within his reach, the purple vine, blue plum, and blushing peach; I journey far.—You knew fat bards might tire, And, mounted, sent me forth your trusty squire.

'Twas on the day when city-dames repair To take their weekly dose of Hyde-park air; When forth we trot: no carts the road infest, For still on Sundays country horses rest. Thy gardens, Kensington, we leave unseen ; Thro' Hammersmith jog on to Turnham-green. That Turnham-green, which dainty pigeons fed, But feeds no more: for Solomon' is dead. Three dusty miles reach Brentford's tedious town, For dirty streets and white-legg'd chickens known. Thence, o'er wide shrubby heaths and furrow'd

lanes, [Staines.

We come where Thames divides the meads of
we ferry'd o'er; for late the winter's flood
Shook her frail bridge, and tore her piles of wood.
Prepar'd for war, now Bagshot-heath we cross,
Where broken gamesters oft repair their loss.
At Hartley-row the foaming bit we prest,
While the fat landlord welcom'd every guest.
supper was ended, healths the glasses crown'd,
Our host extoll'd his wine at every round;
Relates the justices late meeting there,
How many bottles drank, and what their cheer;

"A man once famous for breeding pigeons.

What lords had been his guests in days of yore,
And prais'd their wisdom much, their drinking
Let travellers the morning-vigils keep: [more.
The Morning rose, but we lay fast asleep.
Twelve tedious miles we bore the sultry Sun,
And Popham-lane was scarce in sight by one:
The straggling village harbour'd thieves of old,
'Twas here the stage-coach'd lass resign'd her gold;
That gold which had in London purchas'd gowns,
And sent her home a belle to country towns.
But robbers haunt no more the neighbouring wood:
Here unown'd infants find their daily food;
For, should the maiden-mother nurse her son,
'Twould spoil her match when her good name is
Our jolly hostess nineteen children bore, [gone.
Nor fail'd her breast to suckle nineteen more.
Be just, ye prudes, wipe off the long arrear:
Be virgins still in town, but mothers here.
Sutton we pass, and leave her spacious down,
And with the setting Sun reach Stockbridge town.
O'er our parch'd tongue the rich metheglin glides,
And the red dainty trout our knife divides.
Sad melancholy every visage wears;
What! no election come in seven long years!
Of all our race of mayors, shall Snow alone"
Be by sir Richard's dedication known 2
Our streets no more with tides of ale shall float,
Nor coblers feast three years upon one vote.
Next morn, twelve miles led o'er th’ unbounded
plain,
Where the cloak'd shepherd guides his fleecy train.
No leafy bowers a noon-day shelter lend,
Nor from the chilly dews at night defend:
With wondrous art, he counts the straggling flock
And by the Sun informs you what's o'clock.
How are our shepherds fall'n from ancient days :
No Amaryllis chants alternate lays
From her no listening Echos learn to sing,
Nor with his reed the jocund valleys ring.
Here sheep the pasture hide, there harvests
See Sarum's steeple o'er yon hill ascend; [bend,
Our horses faintly trot beneath the heat,
And our keen stomachs know the hour to eat.
Who can forsake thy walls, and not admire
The proud cathedral, and the lofty spire 2
What sempstress has not prov'd thy scissars good?
From hence first came th' intriguing riding-hood.
Amid three boarding-schools well stock'd with
misses”,
Shall three knight-errants starve for want of kisses?
O'er the green turf the miles slide swift away,
And Blandford ends the labours of the dav.
The morning rose; the supper reckoning paid,
And our due fees discharg'd to man and maid,
The ready ostler near the stirrup stands,
And, as we mount, our halfpence load his hands.
Now the steep hill fair Dorchester o'erlooks,
Border'd by meads, and wash'd by silver brooks.

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Here sleep my two companions eyes supprest,
And, propt in elbow-chairs, they snoring rest:
I weary sit, and with my pencil trace
Their painful postures, and their eyeless face;
Then dedicate each glass to some fair name,
And on the sash the diamond scrawls my flame.
Now o'er true Roman way our horses sound,
Graevius would kneel, and kiss the sacred ground,
On either side low fertile valleys lie,
The distant prospects tire the travelling eye.
Through Bridport's stony lanes our route we take,
And the proud steep descend to Morcombe's lake.
As hearses pass'd, our landlord robb'd the pall,
And with the mournful 'scutcheon hung his hall.
On unadulterate wine we here regale,
And strip the lobster of his scarlet mail.
We climb'd the hills, when starry Night aros0,
And Axminster affords a kimd repose.
The maid, subdued by fees, her trunk unlocks,
And gives the cleanly aid of dowlass-smocks.
Mean time our shirts her busy fingers rub,
While the soap lathers o'er the foaming tub,
If women's geer such pleasing dreams incite,
Lend us your smocks, ye damsels, every night!
We rise, our beards demand the barber's art;
A female enters, and performs the part.
The weighty golden chain adorns her neck,
And three gold rings her skilful hand bedeck :
Smooth o'er our chim her easy fingers move,
Soft as when Venus stroak'd the beard of Jove.
Now from the steep, midst scatter'd farms and
groves,
Our eye through Honiton's fair valley roves.
Behind us soon the busy town we leave,
Where finest lace industrious lasses weave.
Now swelling clouds roll'd on; the rainy load
Stream'd down our hats, and smok'd along the
road;
when (obiest sight!) a friendly sign we spy'd,
Our spurs are slacken'd from the horses side;
For sure a civil host the house commands,
Upon whose sign this courteous motto stands:
“This is the ancient hand, and eke the pen ;
Here is for horses hay, and meat for men.”
How rhyme would flourish, did each son of fame
Know his own genius, and direct his flame!
Then he, that could not epic flights rehearse,
Might sweetly mourn in elegiac verse.
But, were his Muse for elegy unfit.
Perhaps a distich might not strain his wit:
If epigram offend, his harmless lines
Might in gold letters swing on ale-house signs.
Then Hobbinol might propagate his bays,
And Tuttle-fields record his simple lays; [eyes,
where rhymes like these might lure the nurses'
while gaping infants squawl for farthing pies:
“Treat here, ye shepherds blithe, your damsels
sweet,
For pies and cheesecakes are for damsels meet.”
Then Maurus in his proper sphere might shine,
and these proud numbers grace great William's

sign: * This is the man, this the Nassovian, whom I nam'd the brave deliverer to come'.” But now the driving gales suspend the rain, we mount our steeds, and Devon's city gain. Hail, happy native land!—but I forbear What other counties must with envy hear.

* Blackmore's Prince Arthur, book v.

rpistle III, to the Richt honourable WILLIAM PULTENEY, ESQ. 1717.

Purteney, methinks you blame my breach of What cannot Paris one poor page afford [word; Yes, I can sagely, when the times are past, Laugh at those follies which l strove to taste, And each amusement, which we shar'd, review, Pleas'd with mere talking, since I talk to you. But how shall I describe, in humble prose, Their balls, assemblies, operas, and beaux 2 said, “In prose?” you cry: “oh, no, the Muse must And leave Parnassus for the Tuilleries' shade: Shall he (who late Britannia's city tood, And led the draggled Muse, with pattens shod, Through dirty lames, and alleys' doubtful ways) Refuse to write, when Paris asks his lays '" Well then, I'll try. Descend, ye beauteous Nine, In all the colours of the rainbow shine, Let sparkling stars your neck and ear adorn, Lay on the blushes of the crimson Morn; So may ye balls and gay assemblies grace, And at the opera claim the foremost place. Travellers should ever fit expression choose, Nor with low phrase the lofty theme abuse. When they describe the state of eastern lords, Pomp and magnificence should swell their words; And when they paint the serpent's scaly pride, Their lines should hiss, their numbers smoothly But they, unmindful of poetic rules, [slide; Describe alike Mockaws and Great Moguls. Dampier would thus, without ill-meaning satire, Dress forth in simple style the Petit-maitre : “In Paris, there's a race of animals (I've seen them at their operas and balls): They stand erect, they dance whene'er they walk, Monkeys in action, perroquets in talk; They're crown'd with feathers, like the cockatoo, And, like camelions, daily change their hue; From patches justly plac'd they borrow graces, And with vermilion lacquer o'er their faces. This custom, as we visibly discern, They, by frequenting ladies' toilettes, learn.” Thus might the traveller easy truth impart. Into the subject let me nobly start. How happy lives the man, how sure to charm, Whose knot embroider'd flutters down his arm | On him the ladies cast the yielding glance, Sigh in his songs, and languish in his dance : While wretched is the wit, contemm'd forlorn, Whose gummy hat no scarlet plumes adorn; No broider'd flowers his worsted ankle grace, Nor came emboss'd with gold directs his pace; No lady's favour on his sword is hung; What though Apollo dictate from his tongue, His wit is spiritless and void of grace, Who wants th' assurance of brocade and lace, While the gay fop genteelly talks of weather, The fair in raptures doat upon his feather; Like a court-lady though he write and spell, His minuet-step was fashion'd by Marcell"; He dresses, fences. What avails to know * For women choose their men, like silks, for show

* A famous dancing-master.

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