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] |
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 | British Wonders |  |
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As soon as Britain had sustain'd
That fatal Loss which Heav'n has gain'd,
And Parties squabbl'd to a Madness,
About their Sorrows and their Gladness,
A Plague unprophesy'd succeeded,
That only reach'd the Horniheaded,
And like a fatal Rot or Murrain,
Turn'd all our Bulls and Cows to Carrion;
That even Cuckolds pray'd, to pity,
This Horn-plague might not reach the City,
And from the Kine, who daily ran
Hornmad, extend itself to Man.
The Leacher, tho' he's cold, we find
Is always Goatishly inclin'd:
And the young buxom Female Creature,
As oft contracts a Pole-cat Nature.
Since brutal Passions thus infect us,
When Guardian Vertue does neglect us,
The Wicked may, if Heaven pleases,
As well be ting'd with Brutes Diseases.
That fatal Loss which Heav'n has gain'd,
And Parties squabbl'd to a Madness,
About their Sorrows and their Gladness,
A Plague unprophesy'd succeeded,
That only reach'd the Horniheaded,
And like a fatal Rot or Murrain,
Turn'd all our Bulls and Cows to Carrion;
That even Cuckolds pray'd, to pity,
This Horn-plague might not reach the City,
And from the Kine, who daily ran
Hornmad, extend itself to Man.
The Leacher, tho' he's cold, we find
Is always Goatishly inclin'd:
And the young buxom Female Creature,
As oft contracts a Pole-cat Nature.
Since brutal Passions thus infect us,
When Guardian Vertue does neglect us,
The Wicked may, if Heaven pleases,
As well be ting'd with Brutes Diseases.
5
The Farriers now their Skill imploy'd,
But still the Cows in Number dy'd,
And with their Horns and Hides together,
Were burnt, without reserve of Leather,
To shew their Owners were almost
As frantick as the Beasts they lost.
Some cunning Huxters, who had Cows
Old, Dry and Lean, not worth a Souse,
Tho' sound in Health, but scarce deserving
Of Pasture, to prevent their Starving,
These wisely knock'd 'em on the Head
By Night, when Neighbours were in Bed,
Next Day assign'd their Expiration
To this new fatal Visitation:
So bore 'em to some distant Pit,
Or Ditch, for such a Purpose fit;
There, to the Terror of our Isle,
Consum'd 'em in their Fun'ral Pile,
Then, like true Hipocrites, put on
A mournful Look, as if undone,
And claim'd the Sum of Forty Shilling,
For e'ery Cow of Heaven's killing.
A gen'rous Bounty! that destroy'd
More Cattle than the Plague annoy'd;
For not a worthless Runt past Thriving,
Wh' in Lanes and Commons sought her Living,
But dy'd, if not of Pest, by Slaughter,
Because o'th' Money that came a'ter:
For Hay was dear, and Grass but scarce,
Which made Lean Cattle fare the worse,
And caus'd their Owners to dispatch 'em,
For fear the Plague should not attack 'em.
But still the Cows in Number dy'd,
And with their Horns and Hides together,
Were burnt, without reserve of Leather,
To shew their Owners were almost
As frantick as the Beasts they lost.
Some cunning Huxters, who had Cows
Old, Dry and Lean, not worth a Souse,
Tho' sound in Health, but scarce deserving
Of Pasture, to prevent their Starving,
These wisely knock'd 'em on the Head
By Night, when Neighbours were in Bed,
Next Day assign'd their Expiration
To this new fatal Visitation:
So bore 'em to some distant Pit,
Or Ditch, for such a Purpose fit;
There, to the Terror of our Isle,
Consum'd 'em in their Fun'ral Pile,
Then, like true Hipocrites, put on
A mournful Look, as if undone,
6
For e'ery Cow of Heaven's killing.
A gen'rous Bounty! that destroy'd
More Cattle than the Plague annoy'd;
For not a worthless Runt past Thriving,
Wh' in Lanes and Commons sought her Living,
But dy'd, if not of Pest, by Slaughter,
Because o'th' Money that came a'ter:
For Hay was dear, and Grass but scarce,
Which made Lean Cattle fare the worse,
And caus'd their Owners to dispatch 'em,
For fear the Plague should not attack 'em.
In all the filthy Skirts around
The Town, where nasty Scents abound,
O'er-roasted Beef was now the Stink
Predominant o'er Ditch or Sink;
And Surloins broiling in their Flames,
The Foh of Hogmen and their Dames;
Burnt Horns and Hoofs, and hairy Hides,
Offended e'ery Nose besides,
And out-stunk all the Bulls and Bears,
Old Dunghils, Night-men, Slaughterers,
Jayls, Butchers Dogs and Hogs that dwell
In sweet St. James's Clerkenwel;
Or all the Stinks that rise together,
From Hockley-Hole, in sultry Weather.
The Town, where nasty Scents abound,
O'er-roasted Beef was now the Stink
Predominant o'er Ditch or Sink;
And Surloins broiling in their Flames,
The Foh of Hogmen and their Dames;
Burnt Horns and Hoofs, and hairy Hides,
Offended e'ery Nose besides,
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Old Dunghils, Night-men, Slaughterers,
Jayls, Butchers Dogs and Hogs that dwell
In sweet St. James's Clerkenwel;
Or all the Stinks that rise together,
From Hockley-Hole, in sultry Weather.
Thus English Beef, that glorious Food,
Once held so preferably good,
The most substantial of our Meats,
And noblest of our Friendly Treats;
That Flesh which makes the Briton bolder
Than any Foreign Country Soldier,
And gives him Strength, in time of War,
To cleave a Sultan or a Czar;
Yet was it now despis'd by Porters,
And hungry Red-Coats in their Quarters;
Dreading to catch, from Cow or Ox,
The Plague, who never fear'd the Pox.
So the Fair Mistress of the Town,
When Young and Wholsome, will go down,
But with the Crinkums once infected,
She's by the meanest Rake rejected.
Once held so preferably good,
The most substantial of our Meats,
And noblest of our Friendly Treats;
That Flesh which makes the Briton bolder
Than any Foreign Country Soldier,
And gives him Strength, in time of War,
To cleave a Sultan or a Czar;
Yet was it now despis'd by Porters,
And hungry Red-Coats in their Quarters;
Dreading to catch, from Cow or Ox,
The Plague, who never fear'd the Pox.
So the Fair Mistress of the Town,
When Young and Wholsome, will go down,
8
She's by the meanest Rake rejected.
Nor was the Flesh alone refus'd,
But Milky Diets much disus'd:
Pudding, that universal Dish,
The Swain's Delight, the Plowman's Wish,
The Housewife's Pride, the Husband's Choice,
The darling Food of Girls and Boys,
Now dwindl'd to such low esteem,
'Twould scarce go down, tho' made of Cream;
For the Horn'd Cattle running Mad,
Had brought on Milk a Name so bad,
That even Pudding lost its vogue,
And for a Season prov'd a Drug.
Pudding! the Idol of the Priest,
The Farmer's constant Sunday's Feast,
The Ornament of each Man's Table,
Down from the Noble to the Rabble,
The sole Characteristick Food
Of true-born Englishmen abroad:
From whence, to good Old-England's Fame,
Jack-Pudding takes his ancient Name.
As the French Fool is titl'd John-
Pottage, from Soops he feeds upon.
And the Dutch Zany for preferring
His Fish, is nick-nam'd Pickl'd-Herring.
Thus e'ery Fool is call'd, in Jest,
By what his Country loves the best,
That those who crowd to see the Pranks
On Stages play'd by Mountebanks,
May know what Country Fool attends
The Doctor, to engage his Friends,
For his assum'd or given Name,
Discovers whence the Zany came.
But Milky Diets much disus'd:
Pudding, that universal Dish,
The Swain's Delight, the Plowman's Wish,
The Housewife's Pride, the Husband's Choice,
The darling Food of Girls and Boys,
Now dwindl'd to such low esteem,
'Twould scarce go down, tho' made of Cream;
For the Horn'd Cattle running Mad,
Had brought on Milk a Name so bad,
That even Pudding lost its vogue,
And for a Season prov'd a Drug.
Pudding! the Idol of the Priest,
The Farmer's constant Sunday's Feast,
The Ornament of each Man's Table,
Down from the Noble to the Rabble,
The sole Characteristick Food
Of true-born Englishmen abroad:
9
Jack-Pudding takes his ancient Name.
As the French Fool is titl'd John-
Pottage, from Soops he feeds upon.
And the Dutch Zany for preferring
His Fish, is nick-nam'd Pickl'd-Herring.
Thus e'ery Fool is call'd, in Jest,
By what his Country loves the best,
That those who crowd to see the Pranks
On Stages play'd by Mountebanks,
May know what Country Fool attends
The Doctor, to engage his Friends,
For his assum'd or given Name,
Discovers whence the Zany came.
Butter, that old Balsamick Sauce,
Was also now made scandalous,
That even 'Prentice-Boys would flout it,
And eat their very Roots without it,
For fear the Cream should prove contagious,
And make 'em, like the Cows, outragious;
For no Distemper, Plague, or Sadness,
Infects the English like to Madness.
Was also now made scandalous,
That even 'Prentice-Boys would flout it,
And eat their very Roots without it,
For fear the Cream should prove contagious,
And make 'em, like the Cows, outragious;
10
Infects the English like to Madness.
Fish now were forc'd to swim, alas,
In Oil, to th' Table of His Grace,
Or naked in the Dish appear,
Till Butter had a time to clear
Its present odious Reputation,
That it might come once more in fashion;
And, like some Lords turn'd out of Post,
Regain the Credit it had lost.
In Oil, to th' Table of His Grace,
Or naked in the Dish appear,
Till Butter had a time to clear
Its present odious Reputation,
That it might come once more in fashion;
And, like some Lords turn'd out of Post,
Regain the Credit it had lost.
Custard, that noble cooling Food,
So toothsome, wholsome, and so good,
That Dainty so approv'd of old,
Whose yellow surface shines like Gold;
That Idol of our City Halls,
Which crowns our solemn Festivals,
And adds unto my Lord-May'r's Board,
A Grace more pleasing than his Sword.
That crusty Fort, whose Walls of Wheat,
Contain such tender lusheous Meat,
And us'd so often to be storm'd
By hungry Gownmen sharply arm'd,
Was now, alas, despis'd as nought,
And slighted wheresoe'er 'twas brought;
Whilst Lumber-Pies came more in play,
And bore, at Feasts, the Bell away.
So in wet Seasons, when our Mutton
Is e'ery where cry'd down as rotten,
Cow-heel becomes a Dish of State,
And climbs the Tables of the Great.
So toothsome, wholsome, and so good,
That Dainty so approv'd of old,
Whose yellow surface shines like Gold;
That Idol of our City Halls,
Which crowns our solemn Festivals,
And adds unto my Lord-May'r's Board,
A Grace more pleasing than his Sword.
That crusty Fort, whose Walls of Wheat,
Contain such tender lusheous Meat,
11
By hungry Gownmen sharply arm'd,
Was now, alas, despis'd as nought,
And slighted wheresoe'er 'twas brought;
Whilst Lumber-Pies came more in play,
And bore, at Feasts, the Bell away.
So in wet Seasons, when our Mutton
Is e'ery where cry'd down as rotten,
Cow-heel becomes a Dish of State,
And climbs the Tables of the Great.
O wretched Times, when People fear'd
Their Chops with Custard should be smear'd,
Lest the Cow-plague should seize their Skulls,
And make 'em all as mad as Bulls!
So the wise Whigs, to Int'rest hearty,
Abjure the Disaffected Party,
Lest Tory-Breath should taint their Wits,
And make 'em all turn Jacobites.
Their Chops with Custard should be smear'd,
Lest the Cow-plague should seize their Skulls,
And make 'em all as mad as Bulls!
So the wise Whigs, to Int'rest hearty,
Abjure the Disaffected Party,
Lest Tory-Breath should taint their Wits,
And make 'em all turn Jacobites.
The Milk-Maids now began to mourn
The Brindle, Red, and Crumpl'd Horn,
And dream'd at Night they saw the Ghost
Of e'ery Fav'rite Cow they'd lost:
Then rising early, having none
To stroke but Udders of their own:
They wept in Clusters near their Houses,
Like Widows parted from their Spouses,
Till Tears and Pissing made a Flood,
In e'ery Corner where they stood.
Thus moaning, now the Cows were dead,
The Loss of them and of their Bread:
Some singing Ballads for support,
New merry Strains with aching Heart,
As Malefactors, when they're dying,
Howl out a Psalm, next kin to crying:
Others, their Modesty forsaking,
Took up the Trade of Basket-making,
And humbly ply'd for small Rewards,
Among His Majesty's Foot-Guards,
To gain, by Poxing and by Whoring,
What they had lost by Plague or Murrain.
Thus Girls of honest Means bereft,
Who've nothing but their Quistrils left,
Must live by Jading or by Theft.
The Brindle, Red, and Crumpl'd Horn,
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Of e'ery Fav'rite Cow they'd lost:
Then rising early, having none
To stroke but Udders of their own:
They wept in Clusters near their Houses,
Like Widows parted from their Spouses,
Till Tears and Pissing made a Flood,
In e'ery Corner where they stood.
Thus moaning, now the Cows were dead,
The Loss of them and of their Bread:
Some singing Ballads for support,
New merry Strains with aching Heart,
As Malefactors, when they're dying,
Howl out a Psalm, next kin to crying:
Others, their Modesty forsaking,
Took up the Trade of Basket-making,
And humbly ply'd for small Rewards,
Among His Majesty's Foot-Guards,
To gain, by Poxing and by Whoring,
What they had lost by Plague or Murrain.
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Who've nothing but their Quistrils left,
Must live by Jading or by Theft.
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