Doll every day had walk'd these treach'rous roads,
Her neck grew warpt beneath autumnal loads
Of various fruit; she now a basket bore;

That head, alas! shall basket bear no more.
Each booth she frequent past in quest of gain,
And boys with pleasure heard her shrilling strain.
Ah! Doll! all mortals must resign their breath,
And industry itself submit to death.

The cracking crystal yields; she sinks, she dies;
Her head, chopt off, from her lost shoulders flies: 390
Pippins she cr'd, but death her voice confounds,
And pip, pip, pip, along the ice resounds.

So when the Thracian furies Orpheus tore,
And left his bleeding trunk deform'd with gore,
His sever'd head floats down the silver tide,"
His yet warm tongue for his lost consort cry'd;
Eurydice with quiv'ring voice he mourn'd,
And Hebe's banks Eurydice return'd.

But now the western gale the flood unbinds,

And black'ning clouds move on with warmer winds, The wooden town its frail foundation leaves,

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And Thames' full urn rolls down his plenteous waves;
From ev'ry penthouse streams the fleeting snow,
And with dissolving frost the pavements flow.

Experienc'd men, inur'd to city ways,
Need not the calendar to count their days:
When thro' the town, with slow and solemn.air,
Led by the nostril, walks the muzzled bear,

Behind him moves, majestically dull,
The pride of Hockley-hole, the surly bull,
Learn hence the periods of the week to name:
Mondays and Thursdays are the days of game.
When fishy stalls with double store are laid,
The golden-belly'd carp, the broad finn'd maid,
Red speckled trouts, the salmon's silver jowl,
The jointed lobster, and unscaly sole,
And luscious 'scallops to allure the tastes
Of rigid zealots to delicious fasts,

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Wednesdays and Fridays, you'll observe from hence, Days when our sires were doom'd to abstinence. When dirty waters from balconies drop,

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And dext'rous damsels twirl the sprinkling mop,' And cleanse the spatter'd sash, and scrub the stairs, Know Saturday's conclusive morn appears.

Successive cries the season's change declare,
And mark the monthly progress of the year.
Hark! how the streets with treble voices ring,
To sell the bounteous product of the spring:
Sweet-smelling flow'rs, and elder's early bud,
With nettle's tender shoots, to cleanse the blood: 430
And when June's thunder cools the sultry skies,
Ev'n Sundays are profan'd by mack'rel cries.
Walnuts the fruit'rer's hand, in autumn, stain,
Blue plums and juicy pears augment his gain;
Next oranges the longing boys entice

To trust their copper fortunes to the dice.
Gay.1

Fij

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When rosemary and bays, the poet's crown,
Are bawl'd in frequent cries thro' all the town,
Then judge the festival of Christmas near,
Christmas! the joyous period of the year.
Now with bright holly all your temples strow,
With laurel green, and sacred misletoe :
Now, heav'n born Charity! thy blessings shed,
Bid meagre Want uprear her sickly head:
Bid shiv'ring limbs be warm; let Plenty's bow!
In humble roofs make glad the needy soul.
See, see! the heaven-born maid her blessings shed;
Lo! meagre Want uprears her sickly head;
Cloth'd are the naked, and the needy glad,
While selfish Avarice alone is sad.

Proud coaches pass, regardless of the moan
Of infant orphans, and the widow's groan,
While Charity still moves the Walker's mind,
His liberal purse relieves the lame and blind..
Judiciously thy halfpence are bestow'd,
Where the laborious beggar sweeps the road.
Whate'er you give, give ever at demand,
Nor let Old Age long stretch his palsy'd hand.
Those who give late are importun'd each day,
And still are teas'd because they still delay.
If e'er the miser durst his farthings spare,
He thinly spreads them thro' the public square,
Where, all beside the rail, rang'd beggars lie,
And from each other catch the doleful cry:

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With Heav'n, for twopence, cheaply wipes his score,
Lifts up his eyes, and hastes to beggar more.
Where the brass-knocker, wrapt in flannel band,
Forbids the thunder of the footman's hand,
Th' upholder, rueful harbinger of death,
Waits with impatience for the dying breath;
As vultures o'er a camp, with hov'ring flight,
Snuff up the future carnage of the fight.
Here can'st thou pass unmindful of a pray❜r,
That Heav'n in mercy may thy brother spare?
Come, F***! sincere, experienc'd friend,
Thy briefs, thy deeds, and ev'n thy fees, suspend:
Come let us leave the Temple's silent walls,
Me business to my distant lodging calls:
Thro' the long Strand together let us stray;
With thee conversing I forget the way.
Behold that narrow street which steep descends,
Whose building to the slimy shore extends,
Here Arundel's fam'd structure rear'd its frame,
The street alone retains an empty name.

Where Titian's glowing paint the canvas warm'd,
And Raphael's fair design with judgment charm'd,
Now hangs the bellman's song, and pasted here
The colour'd prints of Overton appear.

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Where statues breath'd, the works of Phidias' hands,
A wooden pump or lonely watchhouse stands.
There Essex' stately pile adorn'd the shore,
There Cecil's, Bedford's, Villiers' now no more.

Yet Burlington's fair palace still remains;
Beauty within, without proportion reigns,
Beneath his eye declining Art revives,
The wall with animated picture lives.

There Handel strikes the strings, the melting strain
Transports the soul, and thrills thro' ev'ry vein.
There oft' I enter, (but with cleaner shoes)
For Burlington's belov'd by ev'ry Muse.

O ye associate Walkers! O my Friends!
Upon your state what happiness attends!
What tho' no coach to frequent visit rolls,
Nor for your shilling chairmen sling their poles?
Yet still your nerves rheumatic pains defy,
Nor lazy jaundice dulls your saffron eye;
No wasting cough discharges sounds of death,
Nor wheezing asthma heaves in vain for breath;
Nor from your restless couch is heard the groan
Of burning gout or sedentary stone.

Let others in the jolting coach confide,
Or in the leaky boat the Thames divide;
Or, box'd within the chair, contemn the street,
And trust their safety to another's feet:
Still let me walk: for oft' the sudden gale
Ruffles the tide, and shifts the dang'rous sail :
Then shall the passenger too late deplore
The whelming billow and the faithless oar;
The drunken chairman in the kennel spurns,
The glasses shatters, and his charge o'erturns.

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