The tuck'd-up sempstress walks with hasty strides,
While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides.
Here various kinds, by various fortunes led,
Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.
Triumphant Tories, and desponding Whigs,
Forget their feuds, and join to save their wigs.
Box'd in a chair the beau impatient sits,
While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits,
And ever and anon with frightful din
The leather sounds; he trembles from within.
So when Troy chairman bore the wooden steed,
Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed,
(Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do,
Instead of paying chairmen, ran them through,)
Laocoon struck the outside with his spear,
And each imprison'd hero quaked for fear.

Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go:
Filth of all hues and odor seem to tell

What street they sail'd from by their sight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives with rapid force,
From Smithfield to St. Sepulchre's shape their course,
And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill-ridge,
Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn-bridge.
Sweeping from butchers' stalls dung, guts, and blood;
Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in mud,
Dead cats, and turnip-tops come tumbling down the flood.




WHOEVER pleases to inquire
Why yonder steeple wants a spire
The grey old fellow, poet Joe,'
The philosophic cause will show.
Once on a time a western blast
At least twelve inches overcast,
Reckoning roof, weathercock, and all,
Which came with a prodigious fall;
And tumbling topsy-turvy round,
Lit with its bottom on the ground:
For by the laws of gravitation,
It fell into its proper station.

This is the little strutting pile
You see just by the churchyard stile;
The walls in tumbling got a knock,
And thus the steeple got a shock;
From whence the neighboring farmer calls
The steeple, Knock; the vicar Walls.2

'Mr. Beaumont of Trim, remarkable for venerable white locks.

The vicar once a-week creeps in,
Sits with his knees up to his chin;
Here cons his notes and takes a whet,
Till the small ragged flock is met.

A traveller, who by did pass,
Observed the roof behind the grass;
On tiptoe stood and rear'd his snout,
And saw the parson creeping out:
Was much surprised to see a crow
Venture to build his nest so low.

A schoolboy ran unto't, and thought
The crib was down, the blackbird caught.
A third, who lost his way by night,
Was forced for safety to alight,
And, stepping o'er the fabric roof,
His horse had like to spoil his hoof.

Warburton took it in his noddle,
This building was design'd a model;
Or of a pigeon-house or oven,

To bake one loaf, or keep one dove in.

Then Mrs. Johnson [Stella] gave her verdict,
And every one was pleased that heard it;
All that you make this stir about
Is but a still which wants a spout.
The reverend Dr. Raymond 2 guess'd
More probably than all the rest;
He said, but that it wanted room,
It might have been a pigmy's tomb.
The doctor's family came by,
And little miss began to cry,
Give me that house in my own hand!
Then madam bade the chariot stand,
Call'd to the clerk, in manner mild,
Pray reach that thing here to the child:
That thing, I mean, among the kale,
And here's to buy a pot of ale.

The clerk said to her in a heat,
What! sell my master's country seat,
Where he comes every week from town!
He would not sell it for a crown.
Poh! fellow, keep not such a pother;
In half an hour thou'lt make another.

Says Nancy, I can make for miss
A finer house ten times than this;
The dean will give me willow sticks,
And Joe my apronful of bricks.

'Dr. Swift's curate at Laracor.


The waiting-woman.

"Minister of Trim.

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Now the keen rigor of the winter's o'er,
No hail descends, and frosts can pinch no more,
While other girls confess the genial spring,
And laugh aloud or amorous ditties sing,
Secure from cold their lovely necks display,
And throw each useless chafing-dish away,
Why sits my Phillis discontented here,
Nor feels the turn of the revolving year?
Why on that brow dwell sorrow and dismay,
Where Loves were wont to sport and Smiles to play?


Ah, Corydon! survey the 'Change around,

Through all the 'Change no wretch like me is found:
Alas! the day when I, poor heedless maid,
Was to your rooms in Lincoln's-inn betray'd;
Then how you swore, how many vows you made!
Ye listening Zephyrs, that o'erheard his love,
Waft the soft accents to the gods above.
Alas! the day; for (O, eternal shame!)
I sold you handkerchiefs, and lost my fame.

COR. When I forget the favor you bestow'd,
Red-herrings shall be spawn'd in Tyburn-road:
Fleet-street, transform'd, become a flowery green,
And mass be sung where operas are seen.
The wealthy cit and the St. James's beau
Shall change their quarters and their joys forego;
Stock-jobbing this to Jonathan's shall come,
At the groom porter's, that play off his plum.

PHIL. But what to me does all that love avail, If, while I dose at home o'er porter's ale, Each night with wine and wenches you regale? My livelong hours in anxious cares are pass'd, And raging hunger lays my beauty waste. On templars spruce in vain I glances throw, And with shrill voice invite them as they go. Exposed in vain my glossy ribbons shine, And unregarded wave upon the twine. The week flies round, and when my profit's known, I hardly clear enough to change a crown.

COR. Hard fate of virtue thus to be distress'd,
Thou fairest of thy trade and far the best;
As fruitmen's stalls the summer market grace,

Plumcake is seen o'er smaller pastry ware,
And ice on that; so Phillis does appear
In playhouse and in park above the rest
Of belles mechanic, elegantly drest.

PHIL. And yet Crepundia, that conceited fair
Amid her toys affects a saucy air,
And views me hourly with a scornful eye.

COR. She might as well with bright Cleora vie.

PHIL. With this large petticoat I strive in vain
To hide my folly past and coming pain;
'Tis now no secret; she and fifty more
Observe the symptoms I had once before:
A second babe at Wapping must be placed,
When I scarce bear the charges of the last.

COR. What I could raise I sent; a pound of plums
Five shillings, and a coral for his gums;
To-morrow I intend him something more.

PHIL. I sent a frock and pair of shoes before.

COR. However, you shall home with me to-night,
Forget your cares, and revel in delight.
I have in store a pint or two of wine,
Some cracknels and the remnant of a chine.

And now on either side, and all around,
The weighty shop-boards fall and bars resound;
Each ready sempstress slips her pattens on,
And ties her hood, preparing to be gone.

L. B. W. H. J. S. S. T.


AMONG the members who employ
Their tongues and pens to give you joy,
Dear Harley! generous youth, admit
What friendship dictates more than wit.
Forgive me when I fondly thought
(By frequent observations taught)
A spirit so inform'd as yours
Could never prosper in amours.
The god of wit, and light, and arts,
With all acquired and natural parts,
Whose harp could savage beasts enchant,
Was an unfortunate_gallant.

Had Bacchus after Daphne reel'd,

The nymph had soon been brought to yield;
Or, had embroider'd Mars pursued,

The nymph would ne'er have been a prude.
Ten thousand footsteps, full in view,

For such is all the sex's flight,
They fly from learning, wit, and light;
They fly, and none can overtake
But some gay coxcomb or a rake.

How then, dear Harley, could I guess That you should meet in love success? For, if those ancient tales be true, Phoebus was beautiful as you; Yet Daphne never slak'd her pace, For wit and learning spoil'd his face. And since the same resemblance held In gifts wherein you both excell'd, I fancied every nymph would run From you, as from Latona's son. Then where, said I, shall Harley find A virgin of superior mind, With wit and virtue to discover, And pay the merit of her lover? This character shall Ca'endish claim, Born to retrieve her sex's fame. The chief among the glittering crowd, Of titles, birth, and fortune proud (As folks are insolent and vain), Madly aspired to wear her chain; But Pallas, guardian of the maid, Descending to her charge's aid, Held out Medusa's snaky locks, Which stupified them all to stocks. The nymph with indignation view'd The dull, the noisy, and the lewd; For Pallas, with celestial light, Had purified her mortal sight; Show'd her the virtues all combined, Fresh blooming, in young Harley's mind. Terrestrial nymphs, by formal arts, Display their various nets for hearts: Their looks are all by method set, When to be prude and when coquette; Yet wanting skill and power to choose, Their only pride is to refuse. But when a goddess would bestow Her love on some bright youth below, Round all the earth she casts her eyes; And then, descending from the skies, Makes choice of him she fancies best, And bids the ravish'd youth be bless'd. Thus the bright empress of the morn Chose for her spouse a mortal born: The goddess made advances first; Else what aspiring hero durst? Though, like a virgin of fifteen, She blushes when by mortals seen; Still blushes, and with speed retires,

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