British Wonders Or, A Poetical Description of the Several Prodigies and Most Remarkable Accidents That have happen'd in Britain since the Death of Queen Anne [by Edward Ward] |
 |
 | British Wonders |  |
Now bald-pate Winter shiv'ring rear'd
His wrinkl'd Brows and hoary Beard,
And flying Southward from the North,
In Anger breath'd cold Weather forth;
Puff'd, as he made uncommon speed,
And by the Way kill'd Herb and Weed;
Did on the Clouds with Passion blow,
And turn'd their Rain to flakes of Snow,
Congeal'd Earth's Surface in a trice,
And Rivers chang'd to Rocks of Ice,
That working Tradesmen and their Spouses,
Forsook their Terra firma Houses,
And with old Blankets, Poles and Sheets,
On Frozen Thames built Lanes and Streets,
Where many Trades and Crafts of Hand
Were follow'd, in contempt of Land;
And Hackny Whores and Coaches ply'd
With more Success than in Cheapside;
Tho' Winds that made 'em blow their Nails,
In Reason might have cool'd their Tails.
But Lust is such a warm Desire,
It feels no Cold, and needs no Fire;
And rather than abstain from Vice,
Will Sin, tho' on a Bed of Ice.
So vicious Dogs, who slyly run
At harmless Sheep, and pull 'em down,
Ne'er leave the Sport, tho' beat and bang'd,
But still love Mutton till they're hang'd.
His wrinkl'd Brows and hoary Beard,
And flying Southward from the North,
In Anger breath'd cold Weather forth;
Puff'd, as he made uncommon speed,
And by the Way kill'd Herb and Weed;
Did on the Clouds with Passion blow,
And turn'd their Rain to flakes of Snow,
Congeal'd Earth's Surface in a trice,
And Rivers chang'd to Rocks of Ice,
37
Forsook their Terra firma Houses,
And with old Blankets, Poles and Sheets,
On Frozen Thames built Lanes and Streets,
Where many Trades and Crafts of Hand
Were follow'd, in contempt of Land;
And Hackny Whores and Coaches ply'd
With more Success than in Cheapside;
Tho' Winds that made 'em blow their Nails,
In Reason might have cool'd their Tails.
But Lust is such a warm Desire,
It feels no Cold, and needs no Fire;
And rather than abstain from Vice,
Will Sin, tho' on a Bed of Ice.
So vicious Dogs, who slyly run
At harmless Sheep, and pull 'em down,
Ne'er leave the Sport, tho' beat and bang'd,
But still love Mutton till they're hang'd.
The Thames was now the Mart or Fair,
For e'ery sort of common Ware.
Here Names were Printed, Medals Stamp'd,
New Garments sold, and Old new vamp'd,
Young Lasses spoil'd by Rakes and Bullies,
And old ones starv'd for want of Cullies;
Base Rings, and Spelter Trinkets sold
To Fools, for Silver and for Gold;
And to the great reproach of France,
Damn'd English Spirits vouch'd for Nantz:
Besides rare Wines of e'ery sort,
White, Claret, Sherry, Mountain, Port,
Tho' none of't e'er had cross'd the Seas,
Or from the Grape deriv'd its Lees,
But made at Home, 'twixt Chip and Dash,
Of Sugar, Sloes, and Grocer's Trash,
Or Cyder dy'd with Cochineal,
If Fame their Secrets can reveal.
For e'ery sort of common Ware.
38
New Garments sold, and Old new vamp'd,
Young Lasses spoil'd by Rakes and Bullies,
And old ones starv'd for want of Cullies;
Base Rings, and Spelter Trinkets sold
To Fools, for Silver and for Gold;
And to the great reproach of France,
Damn'd English Spirits vouch'd for Nantz:
Besides rare Wines of e'ery sort,
White, Claret, Sherry, Mountain, Port,
Tho' none of't e'er had cross'd the Seas,
Or from the Grape deriv'd its Lees,
But made at Home, 'twixt Chip and Dash,
Of Sugar, Sloes, and Grocer's Trash,
Or Cyder dy'd with Cochineal,
If Fame their Secrets can reveal.
Here Beaus appear'd with Ladies fine,
To toy and fool away their Coin,
In hopes the Fair might slip awry,
And blushing show a Leg or Thigh.
For she that on the Ice will venture,
May chance to turn up all God sent her,
And by one heedless Fall discover
The hidden Bait that charms her Lover.
Here Neptune's Slaves, who ply'd the Ferries,
And us'd to row the Town in Wherries,
Made Whigwams now of Tilts and Sails,
And dealt in Brandy, Wines and Ales,
To gain by Ice what they had lost
By want of Water and by Frost.
So common Jilts, those drudging Jades,
When Winter Age has spoil'd their Trades,
Take Brothels near some Chanc'ry Inn,
And deal in Coffee, Whores and Gin.
To toy and fool away their Coin,
In hopes the Fair might slip awry,
And blushing show a Leg or Thigh.
39
May chance to turn up all God sent her,
And by one heedless Fall discover
The hidden Bait that charms her Lover.
Here Neptune's Slaves, who ply'd the Ferries,
And us'd to row the Town in Wherries,
Made Whigwams now of Tilts and Sails,
And dealt in Brandy, Wines and Ales,
To gain by Ice what they had lost
By want of Water and by Frost.
So common Jilts, those drudging Jades,
When Winter Age has spoil'd their Trades,
Take Brothels near some Chanc'ry Inn,
And deal in Coffee, Whores and Gin.
The Dutchmen, tho' to Cold inur'd,
Who in our Harbours liv'd Aboard.
Those Sandy Brandybottle Boors,
Those brawny Slaves to Sails and Oars,
With Rats-tail Locks, Thrum Woollen Caps,
And pissburnt Whiskers round their Chaps,
Now left their frozen Decks and Shrouds,
Where piercing Winds congeal'd their Bloods,
And nimbly scating on the Ice,
Thaw'd their numb'd Limbs by Exercise,
And show'd us how their Lords at Home,
With Fish to Market go and come;
Who tho' they help to Rule the State,
Think it no Shame to sell their Scate.
No Wonder, since there's no such thing
As Honour, where there is no King;
For Honour, every Body knows,
From Crowns originally flows:
And where there's no Crown'd-Head to give it,
No Man can merit or receive it.
Besides, where Honour has no place,
There's nothing scandalous or base,
That carries Int'rest in its face.
Who in our Harbours liv'd Aboard.
Those Sandy Brandybottle Boors,
Those brawny Slaves to Sails and Oars,
With Rats-tail Locks, Thrum Woollen Caps,
And pissburnt Whiskers round their Chaps,
40
Where piercing Winds congeal'd their Bloods,
And nimbly scating on the Ice,
Thaw'd their numb'd Limbs by Exercise,
And show'd us how their Lords at Home,
With Fish to Market go and come;
Who tho' they help to Rule the State,
Think it no Shame to sell their Scate.
No Wonder, since there's no such thing
As Honour, where there is no King;
For Honour, every Body knows,
From Crowns originally flows:
And where there's no Crown'd-Head to give it,
No Man can merit or receive it.
Besides, where Honour has no place,
There's nothing scandalous or base,
That carries Int'rest in its face.
| British Wonders | |