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Reaums shall daunce honde in honde *,
And it shall be merye in old Inglonde,
Then old Inglonde shall be no more,
And no man shall be forie therefore.
Geryon + shall have three hedes agayne,
Till Hapsburge I makyth them but twayne.
A DESCRIPTION OF Τ Η Ε MORN IN G. 1709. Now hardly here and there an hackney.coach
Appearing, shew'd the ruddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And softly stole to discompose her own;
The slipshod 'prentice from his master's door
Had par'd the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirld her mop with dextrous airs,
Prepar'd to scrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy stumps began to trace
The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The small-coal-man was heard with cadence deep
Till drown'd in Thriller notes of chimney-sweep :
Duns at his Lordship’s gate began to meet ;
And brick-dust Moll had scream'd through half the street.
The turnkey now his flock returning sees,
Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees :
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands,
And school-boys lag with satchels in their hands.
By the Union. † A king of Spain sain by Hercules.
The Archduke Charles was of the Hapsburg family.
A DESCRIPTION OF
A CITY.S HOW E A
In Imitation of Virgil's Georgics. 1710.
"AREFUL observers may foretel the hour
(By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower.
While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o’er
Her frolicks, and pursues her tail no more.
Returning home at night, you 'll find the link
Strike your offended sense with double stink.
If you be wise, then go not far to dine ;
You 'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.
A coming shower your shooting corns prefage,
Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage ;
Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman feen ;
He damns the climate, and complains of flees.
Meanwhile the fouth, rising with daubled wings,
A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings,
That swill'd more liquor than it could contain,
And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.
Brisk Susan whips her linen troin the rope,
While the first drizzling shower is borne allope :
Such is that sprinkling which some careless queax
Flirts on you from her mop, but not fo clean :
You fly, invoke the gouis; then, turning, stop
To rail; she, singing, full whirls on her mop.
Not yet the duft had ihuni'd th' unequal itrite,
But, aided by the wind, fought still for life,
And, wafted with its foe by violent gust,
'Twas doubtful wlich was rain, and which was duft.
Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid,
When dust and rain at once his coat 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 crouds the daggled females fly,
Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.
The templar spruce, while every spout 's abroach,
Stays till ’ris fair, yet seems to call a coach.
The tuck’d-up semstress walks with hasty strides,
While streams run down her oild umbrella's fides.
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 quak'd for fear.
Now from all parts the swelling kennels flow, And bear their trophies with thom as they go :
Filths of all hues and odours seem to tell
What street they fail'd from by their fight and smell.
They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force,
From Smithfield or St 'Pulchre's shape their course,
And in huge confluence join'd-at Snowhill ridge,
Fall from the conduit prone to Holbourn bridge.
Sweepings from butchers' Nalls, dung, guts, and
blood, Drown'd puppies, stinking sprats, all drench'd in
mud, Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down
ON THE Little HOUSE BY THE CHURCH-YARD
of CASTLENOCK. 1710.
WHOEVER pleafeth to enquire
Why yonder steeple wants a spire,
old fellow poet * Joe
The philosophic cause will show.
Once on time a western blaft
At least twelve inches overcast,
Reckoning roof, weathercock, and an,
Which came with a prodigious fall;
And tumbling topsy-turvy round
Light with its bottom on the ground.
For, by the laws of gravitation,
It fell into its
THE LITTLE HOUSE AT CASTLENOCK, 63
This is the little strutting pile,
You see just by the church-yard stile ;
The walls in, tumbling gave a knock;
And thus the steeple got a thock;
From whence the neighbouring farmer calls,
The steeple, Kaock; the vicar, * Walls.
The vicar once a week creeps in,
Sits with his knees up to his chin;
Here conns his notes, and takes a whet,
'Till the small ragged flock is met.
A traveller, who by did pass,
Observ'd the roof behind the grass;
On tiptoe stood, and rear'd his snout,
And saw the parson creeping out ;
Was much surpriz’d to see a crow
Venture to build his nest so low.
A school-boy ran unto 't, and thought,
The crib was down, the blackbird caught
A third, who lost his way by night,
Was forc'd 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, and keep one dove in.
Then Mrs Johnson I gave her verdict,
And every one was pleas'd that heard it :
* Archdeacon Wall, a correspondent of Swift's.
+ Dr. Swift's curate at Laracor.