And thence exerting his refulgent ray,
Difpels the darkness, and reveals the day.
Force he prepar'd, but check'd the rash design;
For when, appearing in a form divine,
The Nymph furveys him, and beholds the grace
Of charming features, and a youthful face;
In her foft breast consenting paffions move,
And the warm maid confefs'd a mutual love.
Evicit nubes, nullaque obftante reluxit.
Vimque parat: fed vi non eft opus: inque figura
Capta Dei Nympha est, et mutua vulnera fentit.
WOMEN ben full of Ragerie,
Yet fwinken nat fans fecrefie.
Thilke moral fhall ye understond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Irelond:
Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
To filch the gray Ducke fro the Lake.
Right then, there paffen by the way
His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway.
Ducke in his Trowses hath he hent,
Not to be spied of Ladies gent.
"But ho! our Nephew, (crieth one)
"Ho! quoth another, Cozen John;"
And stoapen, and lough, and callen out,-
This filly Clerk full low doth lout:
They asken that, and talken this,
"Lo here is Coz, and here is Mifs."
But, as he glozeth with speeches foote,
The Ducke fore tickleth his Erfe roote:
Fore-piece and buttons all-to-brest,
Forth thrust a white neck, and red creft.
Te-he, cry'd Ladies; Clerke nought spake:
Mifs ftar'd; and gray Ducke cryeth Quake.
"O Moder, Moder, (quoth the daughter)
"Be thilke fame thing Maids longen a'ter?
"Bette is to pine on coals and chalke,
"Then truft on Mon, whofe yerde can talke."
IN every Town where Thamis rolls his Tyde,
A narrow Pafs there is, with Houfes low; Where ever and anon, the Stream is ey'd, And many a Boat, foft fliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
The fhort thick Sob, loud Scream, and fhriller Squall:
How can ye, Mothers, vex your children fo?
Some play, fome eat, some 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 fhop is near,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs are feeding by ;
And here a failor's jacket hangs to dry.
At every door are fun-burnt matrons feen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry,
Now finging fhrill, and scolding eft between ;
Scolds anfwer foul-mouth'd fcolds; bad neighbourhood
The fappifh cur (the paffengers annoy)
Clofe at my heel with yelping treble flies;
The whimp'ring girl, and hoarfer-fcreaming boy,
Join to the yelping treble, fhrilling cries
The fcolding Quean to louder notes doth rife,
And her full pipes those fhrilling cries confound;
To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
And curs, girls, boys, and fcolds, in the deep base are
drown'd.
Hard by a Sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billinfgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:
There learn'd she speech from tongues that never cease.
Slander befide her, like a Magpie, chatters,
With Envy, (fpitting Cat) dread foe to peace;
Like a curs'd 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 spar'd ne lace ne band,
And bitch and rogue her answer was to all;
Nay, e'en the parts of fhame by name would call:
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