University of Virginia Library

4. Part the Fourth.

CANTO V.

When thus my Friend had let me know
The Diff'rence 'twixt the High and Low,
By which a Man might eas'ly see
True Zeal from canting Knavery,
And learn most rightly to distinguish
The Mod'rate from the Church that's English.
His Bus'ness calling him aside,
I parted with my Rev'rend Guide,
Who left me now to walk, and ponder
On many Things that rais'd my Wonder;
When (after I was thus forsaken)
A thoughtful Turn or two I'd taken,
For th'Benefit of Rumination,
On Matters worth Consideration;
I bid adieu to th'Holy Ile,
And wander'd from the awful Pile;
Down Ludgate-Street I gently strol'd,
Where Helps for blinking Age are sold,
And where Quack Surgeon, or Physician,
That doubts of Harvey's Proposition,
May also see, for Confirmation,
The Blood of Fish in Circulation.
Thus scated I with Care along
The slip'ry Stones, amidst the Throng,
Kept level for old Cuckolds Corns,
Whose Feet, as well as Heads, wear Horns:
It is but Justice that each Toe
Should the same Pennance undergo,
Because they treach'rously together
Conspire to carr'us God knows whether,
Whilst Cuckold-makers who are crafty,
Graft on our Antlets with more Safety.
I shot the Porch that bears the Name
Of good King Lud, of ancient Fame;
Within whose Monument lies bury'd
A living Tribe, by Fortune worry'd,
First squeez'd, then hither haul'd and hurry'd:
A greater Number, let me tell ye,
Than dwelt in Trojan Horse's Belly:
Besides the Legeons that they wear,
In matted Locks of uncomb'd Hair,
And listed Troops of eight-leg'd Strolers,
That march from Wrist-bands to their Collars.
What Pity 'tis, thought I, that Men
Should live, like Sheep, within a Pen!
Or else, like Owles, that hate the Light,
Lie hidden in perpetual Night!
There forc'd to spend their Days in Lousing,
Debauching, Gaming, and Carousing,
To th'Shame and Scandal of a Nation,
When Fighting is so much in Fashion!
These Stony Traps the Laws have set
To catch the poor Unfortunate,
Thought I, most strangely disagree
With boasted Christian Charity.
If Men, for Poverty alone,
Must wear such Dublets made of Stone;
We wrong the Faith that we pretend to,
And punish those we should be kind to;
For Heav'n Commands us o'er and o'er
To be assisting to the Poor,
And not take Liberty from those
Who've nothing else to give or lose;
And make their Misery more compleat,
Which is already much too great.
Thus persecute our Fellow-Creature,
Ruin'd perhaps by's own good Nature.
The King of Christians gave his Bosome
To Lazarus, when poor and lo'hsome,
But modern Christians now, instead,
Would heap more Mis'ries on his Head,
And give him Stones, instead of Bread.
From thence, along that tipling Street,
Distinguish'd by the Name of Fleet,
Where Tavern-Signs hang thicker far,
Than Trophies down at Westminster;
And ev'ry Bacchanalian Landlord
Displays his Ensign, or his Standard,
Bidding Defiance to each Brother,
As if at Wars with one another:
Their only Quarrel being, who
Can with most Art and Int'rest Brew;
That is, in short, about who is't
That can the most deceive his Guest:
Draw the worst Wine, and thrive the best.
I pass'd the Bridge, whose Sides were loaden
With Holland Socks, and hot bak'd Puddin,
And where nice Epicures may see
Knit Night-caps, and rare Furmity;
Plaisters for Corns, and Well-fleet Oysters,
Standing in Rows, and some in Clusters.
All girt with Chaps, Men, Boys, and Women,
Traps, Divers, Punks, and Serjeants, Yeomen;
Some chaff'ring for their Feet or Toes,
Some judging Oysters by the Nose,
And others buying Balls for Cloths.
So have I seen on Board of Ship,
Some knawing Beeff, some spewing Flip;
Another smoaking Indian Fuel,
A sick Man sipping Water-Gruel:
Some others chewing Bisket-Bread
Round one that's lousing Shirt or Head:
Some making of a Sea-man's Pye,
And others picking Toes just by:
A curious Mixture to invite
A squeamish Lady's Appetite.
From thence I gently pass'd along,
Where num'rous Hierogliphicks hung;
Such Whims that would, I dare engage ye,
Have puzzl'd an Egyptian Magi:
A Swan, a Mortar and a Pestle,
And in the Air a swinging Castle;
A Shopful of Mundungus Ware,
A Grey-Hound mouthing of a Hare,
Who wins the Course from all the rest,
Because his Master draws the best.
Three Tuns, that very lately started,
A huge white Horse that never farted.
A Flemish Boar in a blue Jerkin,
One Tun no bigger than a Firkin.
A Leg, that as some People say,
Instead of running, hopp'd away.
A Bishop's Mitre and a Horn,
Both which may at one time be worn;
For since, like us, our Prelates Marry,
Why not their Wives, like ours, miscarry?
A Black Bull's-Head, a Dragon Green,
A King, two Devils, and a Queen;
A brace of Logg'r-Heads o'er the Porch,
To guard the Clock, and grace the Church,
Which serve to shew each Lady bright,
That stroles that way by Day or Night,
That Wooden Men, like Brasen Whore,
By Clock-work Art, obtain the Pow'r,
To knock four Times within the Hour;
That is, can thump about the Quarters
As roundly as two living Porters:
Who then can blame the Maids, that under
Stand gaping at so strange a Wonder,
To see two Block-heads made of Wood,
Perform like any Flesh and Blood.
As I was taking this my View,
Like Country Hodge at Barthol'mew,
Observing here a Temple Fop,
And there a Cuckold in his Shop;
A Cutler fixing up Sword Hilts,
Informers dogging Punks and Jilts;
A Gold-smith telling o'er his Cash,
A Pipping-monger selling Trash;
One Sempstress in her Hut a stitching,
Another just strol'd out a B---ing;
A Country Ruddy-fac'd Attorney
Just lighted from his dirty Journey,
In stubborn Coat of Drab-de-berry,
And wrinkl'd Boots all over Miry;
A huge long Sword, with which he Vapours,
In's Hand a Wallet stuff'd with Papers,
To some old Inn of Chanc'ry trudging,
In which he keeps a dusty Lodging,
Lock'd closely up from Term to Term,
Where Fleas, instead of Clients, swarm,
And Cobweb-Emblems of his Trade,
Hang full of Pris'ners o'er his Head.
As I was thus amus'd to see
This Mixture of Humanity,
Who should step by, but Doctor Trotter,
That Astrological Promoter,
Reeling from E---ms's Diapente,
Advanc'd at least to nine and twenty,
With a long Cole-black Fury's Wig on,
And flaming Nose, like fiery Trigon:
He sometimes run a-head straight forward,
Then tack'd from Southward to the Norward;
And sometimes like a wand'ring Star,
Mov'd Retrograde, then Circular:
Finding himself in Dangers tost,
At last, for fear he should be lost,
He anchor'd safely at a Post:
With that, said I, old Friend, how chear ye,
I'm glad to see you here so merry:
Come, let's go drink some Turky Puddle;
'Tis Cordial for a swimming Noddle:
Thou'lt grow, with one half Pint of Coffee,
As sober as a Persian Sophy.
With that, I took him by the Arm,
And led the Wizard out of Harm,
Who, for my Kindness, was as Civil
As Doctor Faustus to the Devil.
So Cheek by Jole away we went,
Like old Nick, and the Earl of Kent,
'Till to a Coffee-House we came,
To quench the Doctor's liquid Flame,
Where at a Table down we sat,
And gravely talk'd of this and that;
Drank Coffee, 'till the Doctor found
The World that turn'd so lately round,
Had of a suddain stopp'd its Motion,
In spight to the Copernian Notion;
When the reviving Fumes that rose
From scolding Ninny-broth to's Nose,
Had soberiz'd his Brains a little,
And made him fit for Tattle Tittle.
(Pray let not this my Transposition
Incur your Censure or Derision:
Poets are apt to change a Letter,
Or Word, to make their Rime the better:
For when we Pegasus bestride,
And after Wit a Hunting ride,
Our noisy Lines would all run single,
Were they not coupl'd by their Jingle.)
I say, when Coffee piping hot,
Had rais'd the Man, and cur'd the Sot,
And by its Crust-burnt Excellencies,
Restor'd the Conj'rer to his Senses;
Doctor, said I, then bowing low,
You, I, and all the Kingdom, know
Your're famous in your Generation,
And learn'd in ev'ry Constellation;
I therefore beg you'll answer me
One Question in Astrology,
Because I'm sure, were Albumazer,
Or Ptolomy, the Plannet-gazer,
Tom Saffold, Lilly, or old Coley,
Now living, none could tell more truly;
Therefore I beg, that you'll impart
One Spec'men of your noble Art.

CANTO VI.