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To seek amours: the vice the monarch lov'd
Soon thro' the wide ethereal court improv❜d,
And ev❜n the proudest Goddess now and then
Would lodge a night among the sons of men;
To vulgar deities descends the fashion,
Each, like her betters, had her earthly passion.
Then Cloacina* (Goddess of the tide

Whose sable streams beneath the city glide)
Indulg'd the modish flame; the Town she rov'd;
A mortal scavenger she saw; she lov'd;

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The muddy spots hat dry'd upon his face,
Like female patches, heighten'd ev'ry grace:
She gaz'd; she sigh'd: for Love can beauties spy
In what seems faults to ev'ry common eye.
Now had the watchman walk'd his second round,
When Cloacina hears the rumbling sound
Of her brown lover's cart, for well she knows
That pleasing thunder: swift the Goddess rose,
And thro' the streets pursu'd the distant noise,
Her bosom panting with expected joys.
With the night-wand'ring harlot's airs she past,
Brush'd near his side, and wanton glances cast:
In the black form of cinder-wench she came,
When love, the hour, the place, had banish'd shame;

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* Cloacina was a Goddess, whose image Tatius (a king of the Sabines) found in the common sewer, and not knowing what Goddess it was, he called it Cloacina, from the place in which it was found, and paid to it divine honours. Lactant. 1, 20. Minuc. Fel. Oct. p. 232.

To the dark alley arm and arm they move;
O may no linkboy interrupt their love!

When the pale moon had nine times fill'd her space,
The pregnant Goddess (cautious of disgrace)
Descends to earth, but sought no midwife's aid,
Nor midst her anguish to Lucina pray'd;
No cheerful gossip wish'd the mother joy;
Alone, beneath a bulk, she dropt the boy.

The child thro' various risks in years improv'd;

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At first a beggar's brat, compassion mov'd;
His infant tongue soon learnt the canting art,
Knew all the pray'rs and whines to touch the heart.
O happy unown'd Youths! your limbs can bear
The scorching dogstar and the winter's air;
While the rich infant, nurs'd with care and pain,
Thirsts with each heat, and coughs with ev'ry rain!
The Goddess long had mark'd the child's distress,
And long had sought his suff'rings to redress;
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She prays the Gods to take the fondling's part,
To teach his hands some beneficial art
Practis'd in streets: the Gods her suit allow'd,
And made him useful to the walking crowd,
To cleanse the miry feet, and o'er the shoe
With nimble skill the glossy black renew.
Each power contributes to relieve the poor:
With the strong bristles of the mighty boar
Diana forms his brush; the God of Day
A tripod gives, amid the crowded way

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"To raise the dirty foot, and ease his toil;
Kind Neptune fills his vase with fetid oil

Prest from th' enormous whale; the God f Fire,
From whose dominions smoky clouds aspire,
Among these generous presents joins his part,
And aids with scot the new japanning art.
Pleas'd she receives the gifts; she downward glides,
Lights in Fleet-ditch, and shoots beneath the tides.
Now dawns the morn, the sturdy lad awakes,
Leaps from his stall, his tangled hair he shakes,
Then leaning o'er the rails, he musing stood,
And view'd below the black canal of mud,
Where common sew'rs a lulling murmur keep,
Whose torrents rush from Holborn's fatal steep:
Pensive thro' idleness, tears flow'd apace,

Which eas'd his loaded heart, and wash'd his face;
At length he sighing cry'd, That boy was blest,
Whose infant lips have drain'd a mother's breast;
But happier far are those, (if such be known)
Whom both a father and a mo her own:
But I, alas! hard Fortune's utmost scorn,
Who ne'er knew parent, was an orphan born!
Some boys are rich by birth beyond all wants,
Belov'd by uncles, and kind good old aunts;

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When time comes round, a Christmas box they bear, And one day makes them rich for all the year.

Had I the precepts of a father learn'd,

Perhaps I then the coachman's fare had earn'd;

For lesser boys can drive; I thirsty stand,
And see the double flagon charge their hand;
See them puff off the froth, and gulp a main,
While, with dry tongue, I lick my lips in vain.
While thus he fervent prays, the heaving tide
In widen'd circles beats on either side;
The Goddess rosé amid the inmost round,
With wither'd turnip tops her temples crown'd;
Low reach'd her dripping tresses, lank, and black
As the smooth jet, or glossy raven's back;
Around her waist a circling eel was twin'd,

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Which bound her robe that hung in rags behind: 200 Now, beck'ning to the boy, she thus begun : "Thy pray'rs are granted; weep no more, my son; "Go thrive. At some frequented corner stand; "This brush I give thee, grasp it in thy hand; "Temper the soot within this vase of oil, "And let the little tripod aid thy toil: "On this methinks I see the walking crew, "At thy request, support the miry shoe;

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"The foot grows black that was with dirt imbrown'd, "And in thy pocket jingling halfpence sound." The Goddess plunges swift beneath the flood, And dashes all around her show'rs of mud:

The youth straight chose his post; the labour ply'd, Where branching streets from Charing-cross divide; His treble voice resounds along the Meuse,

And Whitehall echces---Clean your Honour's shoes.

Like the sweet ballad, this amusing lay Too long detains the walker on his way;

While he attends, new dangers round him throng; The busy City asks instructive song.

Where elevated o'er the gaping crowd,

Clasp'd in the board, the perjur'd head is bow'd,
Betimes retreat; here, thick as hailstones pour,
Turnips and half-hatch'd eggs (a mingled show'r)
Among the rabble rain: some random throw
May, with the trickling yolk, thy cheek o'erflow,
Tho' expedition bids, yet never stray

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Where no rang'd posts defend the rugged way.
Here laden carts with thund'ring waggons meet,
Wheels clash with wheels, and bar the narrow street;
The lashing whip resounds, the horses strain,
And blood in anguish bursts the swelling vein.
O barb'rous Men! your cruel breasts assuage;
Why vent ye on the gen'rous steed your rage;
Does not his service earn your daily bread?
Your wives, your children, by his labours fed!
If, as the Samian taught, the soul revives,
And, shifting seats, in other bodies lives,
Severe shall be the brutal coachman's change,
Doom'd in a hackney horse the Town to range;
Carmen, transform'd, the groaning load shall draw,
Whom other tyrants with the lash shall awe.

Who would of Watling-street the dangers share,
When the broad pavement of Cheapside is near?

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