Where the mob gathers, swiftly shoot along,
Nor idly. mingle in the noisy throng.
Lur'd by the silver hilt, amid the swarm
The subtle artist will thy side disarm.
Nor is thy flaxen wig with safety worn;
High on the shoulder, in a basket borne,
Lurks the sly boy, whose hand, to rapine bred,
Plucks off the curling honours of thy head.
Here dives the skulking thief, with practis'd sleight
And unfelt fingers makes thy pocket light.
Where's now thy watch, with all its trinkets, flown?
And thy late snuff-box is no more thy own.
But, lo! his bolder thefts some tradesman spies,
Swift from his prey the scudding lurcher flies;
Dext'rous he 'scapes the coach with nimble bounds,
Whilst ev'ry honest tongue Stop thief!' resounds.
So speeds the wily fox, alarm'd by fear,
Who lately filch'd the turkey's callow care;
Hounds following hounds, grow louder as he flies,
And injur'd tenants join the hunter's cries.
Breathless he stumbling falls. Ill-fated boy!
Why did not honest work thy youth employ ?
Seiz'd by rough hands, he's dragg'd amid the rout,
And stretch'd beneath the pump's incessant spout;
Or plung'd in miry ponds he gasping lies,
Mud chokes his mouth, and plaisters o'er his eyes.
Let not the ballad-singer's shrilling strain
Amid the swarm thy list'ning ear detain;
Guard well thy pocket; for these Syrens stand
To aid the labours of the diving hand:
Confed'rate in the cheat, they draw the throng,
And cambrick handkerchiefs reward the song.
But soon as coach or cart drives rattling on,
The rabble part, in shoals they backward run;
So Jove's loud bolts the mingled war divide,
And Greece and Troy retreat on either side.
If the rude throng pour on with furious pace, And hap to break thee from a friend's embrace, Stop short; nor struggle thro' the crowd in vain, But watch with careful eye the passing train. Yet I (perhaps too fond) if chance the tide, Tumultuous, bear my partner from my side, Impatient venture back; despising harm, I force my passage where the thickest swarm. Thus his lost bride the Trojan sought in vain Thro' night, and arms, and flames, and hills of slain: Thus Nisus wander'd o'er the pathless grove, To find the brave companion of his love: The pathless grove in vain he wanders o'er; Euryalus, alas! is now no more.
That Walker who, regardless of his pace, Turns oft' to pore upon the damsel's face, From side to side by thrusting elbows tost, Shall strike his aching breast against a post; Or water, dash'd from fishy stalls, shall stain His hapless coat with spirts of scaly rain. Volume I.
But if unwarily he chance to stray
Where twirling turnstiles intercept the way,
The thwarting passenger shall force them round,
And beat the wretch half breathless to the ground. 110
Let constant vigilance thy footsteps guide,
And wary circumspection guard thy side;
Then shalt thou walk unharm'd the dang'rous night,
Nor need th' officious linkboy's smoky light.
Thou never wilt attempt to cross the road
Where alehouse benches rest the porter's load,
Grievous to heedless shins; no barrow's wheel,
That bruises oft' the truant schoolboy's heel,
Behind thee rolling, with insidious pace,
Shall mark thy stocking with a miry trace.
Let not thy vent'rous steps approach too nigh
Where, gaping wide, low steepy cellars lie;
Should thy shoe wrench aside, down, down you fall,
And overturn the scolding huckster's stall:
The scolding huckster shall not o'er thee moan,
But pence exact for nuts and pears o'erthrown.
Tho' you thro' cleanlier alleys wind by day,
To shun the hurries of the public way,
Yet ne'er to those dark paths by night retire;
Mind only safety, and contemn the mire.
Then no impervious courts thy haste detain,
Nor sneering alewives bid thee turn again.
Where Lincoln's-Inn, wide space, is rail'd around,
Cross not with vent'rous step.; there oft' is found
The lurking thief, who, while the day-light shone,
Made the walls echo with his begging tone:
That crutch which late compassion mov'd, shall wound
Thy bleeding head, and fell thee to the ground.
Tho' thou art tempted by the linkman's call,
Yet trust him not along the lonely wall;
In the midway he'll quench the flaming brand,
And share the booty with the pilf'ring band.
Still keep the public streets, where oily rays,
Shot from the crystal lamp, o'erspread the ways.
Happy Augusta! law-defended Town!
Here no dark lanterns shade the villain's frown;
No Spanish jealousies thy lanes infest,
Nor Roman vengeance stabs th' unwary breast;
Here Tyranny ne'er lifts her purple hand,
But Liberty and Justice guard the land:
No brayoes here profess the bloody trade,
Nor is the church the murd'rer's refuge made.
Let not the chairman, with assuming stride,
Press near the wall, and rudely thrust thy side;
The laws have set him bounds; his servile feet
Should ne'er encroach where posts defend the street.
Yet who the footman's arrogance can quell,
Whose flambeau gilds the sashes of Pall-Mall,
When in long rank a train of torches flame,
To light the midnight visits of the dame?
Others, perhaps, by happier guidance led,
May where the chairman rests with safety tread;
Gay]
Whene'er I pass, their poles unseen below,
Make my knee tremble with the jarring blow.
If wheels bar up the road where streets are cross'd, With gentle words the coachman's ear accost: He ne'er the threat or harsh command obeys, But with contempt the spatter'd shoe surveys, Now man with utmost fortitude thy soul, To cross the way where carts and coaches roll; Yet do not in thy hardy sklll confide, Nor rashly risk the kennel's spacious stride; Stay till afar the distant wheel you hear, Like dying thunder in the breaking air: Thy foot will slide upon the miry stone, And passing coaches crush thy tortur'd bone, Or wheels enclose the road; on either hand, Pent round with perils, in the midst you stand, And call for aid in vain; the coachman swears, And carmen drive, unmindful of thy prayers. Where wilt thou turn? ah! whither wilt thou fly ? On ev'ry side the pressing spokes are nigh. So sailors, while Charybdis' gulf they shun, Amaz'd, on Scylla's craggy dangers run.
Be sure observe where brown Ostrea stands, Who boasts her shelly ware from Wallfleet sands; There may'st thou pass, with safe unmiry feet, Where the rais'd pavement leads athwart the street. If where Fleet-ditch with muddy current flows
You chance to roam; where oyster-tubs in rows 190
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