Are rang'd beside the posts; there stay thy haste,'
And with the sav'ry fi-h indulge thy taste:

The damsel's knife the gaping shell commands,
While the salt liquor streams between her hands.

The man had sure a palate cover'd o'er
With brass or steel, that on the rocky shore
First broke the oozy oyster's pearly coat,

And risk'd the living morsel down his throat.
What will not Lux'ry taste? Earth, sea, and air,
Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare,
Blood stuff'd in skins is British Christian's food,
And France robs marshes of the croaking brood;
Spongy morels in strong ragouts are found,
And in the soup the slimy snail is drown'd.

200

When from high spouts the dashing torrents fall, Ever be watchful to maintain the wall;

For shouldst thou quit thy ground, the rushing throng
Will with impetuous fury drive along;

All press to gain those honours thou hast lost,
And rudely shove thee far without the post.
Then to retrieve the shed you strive in vain,
Draggled all o'er, and soak'd in floods of rain.
Yet rather bear the show'r, and toils of mud,
Than in the doubtful quarrel risk thy blood.
O think on Oedipus' detested state,

And by his woes be warn'd to shun thy fate.

210

Where three roads join'd he met his sire unknown (Unhappy sire, but more unhappy son!)

Each claim'd the way; their swords the strife decide; The hoary monarch fell; he groan'd and dy'd!

220

Hence sprung the fatal plague that thinn'd thy reign,
Thy cursed incest! and thy children slain!

Hence wert thou doom'd in endless night to stray
Thro' Theban streets, and cheerless grope thy way,
Contemplate, Mortal! on thy fleeting years;
See, with black train the funeral pomp appears!
Whether some heir attends in sable state,
And mourns with outward grief a parent's fate,
Or the fair virgin, nipt in beauty's bloom,
A croud of lovers follow to her tomb;

230

Why is the hearse with 'scutcheons blazon'd round,
And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd?
No; the dead know it not, nor profit gain;

It only serves to prove the living vain.
How short is life! how frail is human trust!
Is all this pomp for laying dust to dust?

Where the nail'd hoop defends the painted stall,
Brush not thy sweeping skirt too near the wall;
Thy heedless sleeve will drink the colour'd oil,
And spot indelible thy pocket soil.

Has not wise Nature strung the legs and feet
With firmest nerves, design'd to walk the street?
Has she not given us hands to grope aright,
Amidst the frequent dangers of the night?
And thinks thou not the double nostril meant
To warn from oily woes by previous scent?

240

Who can the various City frauds recite,
With all the pretty rapines of the night?
Who now the Guinea-dropper's bait regards,
Trick'd by the sharper's dice or juggler's cards?
Why should I warn thee ne'er to join the fray
Where the sham quarrel interrupts the way?
Lives there in these our days so soft a clown,
Brav'd by the bully's oaths or threat'ning frown?
I need not strict enjoin the pocket's care,
When from the crouded play thou lead'st the fair:
Who has not here or watch or snuff-box lost,
Or handkerchiefs that India's shuttle boast?

250

260

O! may thy virtue guard thee thro' the roads Of Drury's mazy courts and dark abodes, The harlots' guileful paths, who nightly stand Where Catherine-street descends into the Strand. Say, vagrant Muse! their wiles and subtle arts, To lure the strangers' unsuspecting hearts; So shall our youth on healthful sinews tread, And City cheeks grow warm with rural red. 'Tis she who nightly strolls with saunt'ring pace, No stubborn stays her yielding shape embrace; Beneath the lamp her tawdry ribands glare, The new-scour'd manteau and the slattern air; High draggled petticoats her travels show, And hollow cheeks with artful blushes glow;

Various cheats formerly in practice.

270

With flatt'fing sounds she soothes the cred❜lous ear,

My noble Captain! Charmer! Love! my Dear!
In ridinghood near tavern-doors she plies,
Or muffled pinners hide her livid eyes:
With empty bandbox she delights to range,
And feigns a distant errand from the 'Change:
Nay, she will oft' the Quaker's hood profane,
And trudge demure the rounds of Drury-lane :
She darts from sarcenet ambush wily leers,
Twitches thy sleeve, or with familiar airs
Her fan will pat thy cheek; these snares disdain,
Nor gaze behind thee when she turns again.
I knew a yeoman who, for thirst of gain,
To the great City drove, from Devon's plain,
His num'rous lowing herd: his herds he sold,
And his deep leathern pocket bagg'd with gold:
Drawn by a fraudful nymph, he gaz'd, he sigh'd;
Unmindful of his home, and distant bride,
She leads the willing victim to his doom,
Thro' winding alleys to her cobweb room.

Thence thro' the street he reels, from post to post,
Valiant with wine, nor knows his treasure lost.
The vagrant wretch th' assembled watchmen spies,
He waves his hanger, and their poles defies:
Deep in the Roundhouse pent, all night he snores,
And the next morn in vain his fate deplores.

280

290

Ah! hapless Swain!-unus'd to pains and ills,
Can'st thou forego roast beef for nauseous pills? 300

How wilt thou lift to Heav'n thy eyes and hands,
When the long scroll the surgeon's fees demands!
Or else (ye Gods! avert that worst disgrace)
Thy ruin'd nose falls level with thy face;

Then shall thy wife thy loathsome kiss disdain,
And wholesome neighbours from thy mug refrain.
Yet there are watchmen, who, with friendly light,
Will teach thy reeling steps to tread aright;
For sixpence will support thy helpless arm,
And home conduct thee safe from nightly harm; 310
But if they shake their lanterns, from afar
To call their brethren to confed'rate war,
When rakes resist their pow'r; if hapless you
Should chance to wander with the scouring crew!
Tho' Fortune yield thee captive, ne'er despair,
But seek the constable's consid❜rate ear;
He will reverse the watchman's harsh decree,
Mov'd by the rhet'rick of a silver fee.

Thus would you gain some fav'rite courtier's word,
Fee not the petty clerks, but bribe my Lord.

Now is the time that rakes their revels keep,
Kindlers of riot, enemies of sleep.

His scatter'd pence the flying Nicker* flings,
And with the copper show'r the casement rings.
Who has not heard the Scourer's midnight fame?
Who has not trembled at the Mohock's name?

320

* Gentlemen who delighted to break windows with halfpence.