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O moder, moder !' quoth the daughter, Be thilke same thing maids longen a'ter ? * Bette is to pine on coals and chalke, * Then trust on mon, whose yerde can talke.'
In ev'ry town where Thainis rolls his tyde,
squall : How can ye, mothers, vex your children so ? Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall, And, as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
II. 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 ey'ry door are sunburnt matrons seen, Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry;
Now singing shrill, and scolding oft between : Scolds answer foul-mouth'd scolds bad neighbora hood I ween.
III. The snappish cur (the passenger's annoy) Close at my heel, with yelping treble flies; The whimp'ring 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 base are drown'd.
IV. 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 curs'd cur, Malice before her clatters, And vexing ev'ry wight, tears clothes and all to
Her dugs were markd by ev'ry collier's hand; Her mouth was black as þull dogs at the stall;
She scratched, bit, and spar'd ne lace, ne band,
On a Lady singing to her lute.
fair charmer! cease, nor make your voice's prize
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
On a fan of the Author's design, in which was
painted the story of Cephalus and Procris, with the motto “ Aura Veni,"
Come, gentle Air! th' Æolian shepherd said,
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 ker lover dies,
Fain would my Muse the flow'ry treasure sing,