N ev'ry Town where Thamis rolls his Tyde,
A narrow Pass there is, with Houses low;
Where ever and anon, the Stream is ey'd,
And many a Boat soft sliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller
How can ye, Mothers, vex your children so ?
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 sprat 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 ev'ry door are fun-burnt matrons seen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry,
Now finging shrill, and scolding eft between;
Scolds answer foul-mouth'd scolds; bad neighbour
The snappish cur, (the passengers annoy)
Close at my heel with yelping treble flies;
The whimp'ring girl, and hoarfer-screaming boy,
Join to the yelping treble, shrilling cries;
The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise,
And her full pipes those shrilling cries confound;
To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
And curs, girls, boys, and scolds, in the deep base are
Hard by a Sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billinsgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:
There learn'd she speech from tongues that never
Slander beside her, like a Mag-pie, chatters,
With Envy, (spitting Cat) dread foe to peace;
Like a curs'd Cur, Malice before her clatters,
And vexing ev'ry wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.
Her dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's hand,
Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall:
She scratched, bit, and spar'd ne lace ne band,
And bitch and rogue her answer was to all;
Nay, e'en the parts of shame by name would call :
Yea, when the passed by or lane or nook,
Would greet the man who turn'd him to the Wall,
And by his hand obscene the porter took,
Nor ever did askance 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 Twiek'nam fuch, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, statues, 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 felf, from whose tall front are ey'd
Vales, spires, meandring streams, and Windfor's
Of a LADY finging to her LUTE.
AIR Charmer, cease, nor make your voice's
prize
A heart resign'd the conquest of your eyes:
Well might, alas! that threatned vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once affail.
We were too blest with these inchanting lays,
Which must be heav'nly when an Angel plays:
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Left heav'nly 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 pursue,
This vocal wood had drawn the Poet too.
On a FAN of the Author's design, in which was painted the story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, AURA VENI.
COME, gensle Air! th' Folian shepherd faid,
While Procris panted in the secret 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 those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wounds the gives:
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies,
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