Not yet the dust had shunn'd th' unequal strife,
But, aided by the wind, fought still for life:
And, wafted with its foe by violent gust,
'Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was dust.
Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid,
When dust and rain his coat at once invade?
Sole coat! where dust cemented by the rain
Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain!
Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down
Threatening with deluge this devoted town.
To shops in crowds the draggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy,
The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach,
Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.
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 chairmen 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 with fear.
Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow,
And bear their trophies with them as they go:
Filths of all hues and odours seem to tell
What street they sail'd from, by their sight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,
From Smithfield or S't 'Pulchre's, shape their course,
And in huge confluence join'd at Snow-hill ridge,
Fall from the Conduit prone to Holborn bridge.
Sweepings 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.
C. GEORGE GRANVILLE LORD LANSDOWN, 1. THE CAPTIVE CANNIBAL.
The captive cannibal, weigh'd down with chains,
Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, disdains;
Of nature fierce, untameable, and proud,
He grins defiance at the gaping crowd,
And spent at last and speechless as he lies,
With looks still threatening, mocks their rage and dies
Good unexpected, evil unforeseen,
Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene:
Some rais'd aloft come tumbling down amain,
And fall so hard, they bound and rise again.
CI. SIR RICHARD STEELE.
Why, lovely charmer, tell me why
So very kind and yet so shy:
Why does the cold forbidding air
Give damps of sorrow and despair?
Or why that smile my soul subdue,
And kindle up my flames anew?
In vain you strive with all your art
By turns to freeze and fire my heart:
When I behold a face so fair,
So sweet a look so soft an air,
My ravished soul is charmed all o'er,
I cannot love thee less nor more.
Music has charms to soothe the savage breast,
To soften rocks and bend a knotted oak:
I've read that things inanimate have moved,
And, as with living souls, have been inform'd
By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
Defer not till tomorrow to be wise:
Tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise;
Or should tomorrow chance to cheer thy sight
With her enlivening and unlook'd for light,
How grateful will appear her dawning rays!
Its favours unexpected doubly please.
CIII. SAMUEL GARTH.
1. THE GOD OF SLOTH.
This place so fit for undisturbed repose
The god of sloth for his asylum chose.
Upon a couch of down in these abodes,
Supine with folded arms he thoughtless nods:
Indulging dreams his godhead lull to ease,
With murmurs of soft rills and whispering trees.
The poppy and each numbing plant dispense
Their drowsy virtue and dull indolence.
A careless deity.
No passions interrupt his easy reign,
No problems puzzle his lethargic brain:
But dull oblivion guards his peaceful bed;
And lazy fogs bedew his gracious head.
Thus at full length the pamper'd monarch lay,
Batt'ning in ease, and slumbering life away
An inner room receives the num'rous shoals
Of such as pay to be reputed fools:
Globes stand on globes, volumes on volumes lie,
And planetary schemes amuse the eye.
The sage in velvet chair here lolls at ease,
To promise future health for present fees,
Then, as from tripod, solemn shams reveals,
And what the stars know nothing of, fortells
One asks how soon Panthea may be won,
And longs to feel the marriage fetters on.
Others, convinc'd by melancholy proof,
Enquire when courteous fates will strike 'em off.
Some by what means they may redress the wrong,
When fathers the possession keep too long.
And some would know the issue of their cause,
And whether gold can solder up its flaws.
Poor pregnant Laïs his advice would have,
To lose by art what fruitful nature gave :
And Portia, old in expectation grown,
Laments her barren curse, and begs a son:
Whilst Iris his cosmetick wash would try,
To make her bloom revive, and lover die.
Some ask for charms, and others philtres choose,
To gain Corinna, and their quartans lose.
Young Hylas, botch'd with stains too foul to naris,
In cradle here renews his youthful frame :
Cloy'd with desire, and surfeited with charms,
A hot-house he prefers to Julia's arms:
And old Lucullus would th' Arcanum prove
Of kindling in cold veins the sparks of love.
Dissentions, like small streams, at first begun,
Scarce seen they rise, but gather as they run:
So lines that from their parallel decline,
More they advance, the more they still disjoin.
4. THE APOTHECARY'S SHOP.
His shop the gazing vulgar's eyes employs
With foreign trinkets and domestic toys:
Here mummies lay, most reverendly stale,
And there the tortoise hung her coat of mail;
Not far from some huge shark's devouring head,
The flying fish their finny pinions spread;
Aloft in rows large poppy-heads were strung,
And near a scaly alligator hung;
In this place drugs, in musty heaps decayed,
In that dried bladdersand drawn teeth were laid,
Away! let naught to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care;
Let naught delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.
What though no grants of royal donors
With pompous titles grace our blood;
We'll shine in more substantial honours,
And to be noble we'll be good.
Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke; And all the great ones, they shall wonder How they respect such little folk.
What though from fortune's lavish bounty
No mighty treasures we possess;
We'll find within our pittance plenty,
And be content without excess.
Still shall each returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,
And that's the only life to live!
Through youth and age in love excelling, We'll hand in hand together tread; Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures,
While round my knees they fondly clung
To see them look their mother's features,
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue.
And when with envy time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys,
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I'll go wooing in my boys.
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