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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 sailor's jacket hangs to dry.
At every door are sun-burnt matrons seen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry,
Now singing shrill, and scolding oft between ; [I ween.
Scolds answer foul-mouth'd scolds; bad neighbourhood
The snappish cur (the passenger's annoy)
Close at my heel with yelping treble flies ;
The whimpering girl, and hoarser 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 bass are

Hard by a sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:
There learn'd she speech from tongues that never cease.
Slander beside her, like a magpie, chatters,
With Envy (spitting cat), dread foe to peace;
Like a cursed cur, Malice before her clatters,
And, vexing every wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.
Her dugs were mark'd by every collier's hand,
Her mouth was black as bull-dog's at the stall:
She scratched, bit, and spared 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 she 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 Twickenham such, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, statues, urns, and Jo-n's dog and bitch.

Ne village is without, on either side,

up the silver Thames, or all adown; Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall front are eyed Vales, spires, meandering streams, and Windsor's

towery pride.



Fair charmer, cease, nor make your voice's prize
A heart resign'd the conquest of your eyes :
Well might, alas! that threaten'd vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once assail.
We were too bless'd with these enchanting lays,
Which must be heavenly when an angel plays:
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Lest heavenly 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 silent wood pursue,
This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.

In which was painted the Story of Cephalus and

Procris, with the Motto, · Aura veni.'
• COME, gentle air !' th' Æolian shepherd said,
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 surely wound:
Both gifts destructive 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 wound she gives ;
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.


THE GARDEN. Fain would my muse the flowery treasure sing, And humble glories of the youthful spring : Where opening roses breathing sweets diffuse, And soft carnations shower their balmy dews; Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white, The thin undress of superficial light, And varied tulips shew so dazzling gay, Blushing in bright diversities of day. Each painted floweret in the lake below Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow; And pale Narcissus on the bank, in vain Transformed, gazes on himself again. Here aged trees cathedral walks compose, And mount the hill in venerable rows; There the green infants in their beds are laid, The garden's hope, and its expected shade. Here orange-trees with blooms and pendants shine, And vernal honours to their autumn join; Exceed their promise in their ripen'd store, Yet in the rising blossom promise more. There in bright drops the crystal fountains play, By laurels shielded from the piercing day; Where Daphne, now a tree, as once a maid, Still from Apollo vindicates her shade, Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam, Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream; The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves, At once a shelter from her boughs receives, Where summer's beauty midst of winter stays, And winter's coolness spite of summer's rays.

While Celia's tears make sorrow bright,

Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes :
The sun, next those the fairest light,

Thus from the ocean first did rise :
And thus through mists we see the sun,
Which else we durst not gaze upon.

These silver drops, like morning dew,

Foretel the fervour of the day:
So from one cloud soft showers we view,

And blasting lightnings burst away.
The stars that fall from Celia's eye,
Declare vur doom is drawing nigh.
The baby in that sunny sphere

So like a Phaëton appears,
That heaven, the threaten'd world to spare,

Thought fit to drown him in her tears :
Else might th' ambitious nymph aspire
To set, like him, heaven too on fire.


ON SILENCE. SILENCE! coeval with eternity,

Thou wert, ere nature's self began to be; 'Twas one vast nothing, all, and all slept fast in thee. Thine was the sway, ere heaven was form'd, or

earth, Ere fruitful thought conceived creation's birth, Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.

Then various elements against thee join'd,

In one more various animal combined, And framed the clamorous race of busy human-kind.

The tongue moved gently first, and speech was low,

Till wrangling science taught it noise and show, And wicked wit arose, thy most abusive foe.

But rebel wit deserts thee oft in vain;

Lost in the maze of words he turns again, And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.

Afflicted sense thou kindly dost set free,

Oppress'd with argumental tyranny,
And routed reason finds a safe retreat in thee.

With thee in private modest dulness lies,

And in thy bosom lurks in thought's disguise ; Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise !

Yet thy indulgence is by both confess'd;

Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
And 'tis in thee at last that wisdom seeks for rest.

Silence, the knave's repute, the whore's good name,

The only honour of the wishing dame; Thy very want of tongue makes thee a kind of fame. But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are

free, How church and state should be obliged to thee; At senate, and at bar, how welcome wouldst thou be!

Yet speech e'en there submissively withdraws,

From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause: Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy laws.

Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,

What favourites gain, and what the nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose,

The country wit, religion of the town,

The courtier's learning, policy of the gown, Are best by thee express'd; and shine in thee alone.

The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry,

Lord's quibble, critic's jest, all end in thee, All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.


THOUGH Artemisia talks, by fits,
Of councils, classics, fathers, wits;

Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke!
Yet in some things methinks she fails ;
"Twere well if she would pare her nails,

And wear a cleaner smock.
Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such nastiness, and so much pride,

Are oddly join'd by fate :
On her large squab you find her spread,
Like a fat corpse upon a bed,

That lies and stinks in state.

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