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 |  |
The next sad Chance that did ensue,
More fatal than the former Two,
Was that destructive Conflagration,
Dreadful to human Observation,
Begun, as Fame reports, by those
Preparing Fire-works, to expose
And burn the Effigies of the best
Of Queens, whose Mem'ry they detest,
Because she strove our Wounds to heal,
And bless'd Her Foes against their Will.
So Drunkards, when with Wine o'ercome,
Abuse their Friends that lead 'em home,
And tho' the Way, they're forc'd along,
Be right, they'll swear, in spight, 'tis wrong.
More fatal than the former Two,
Was that destructive Conflagration,
Dreadful to human Observation,
Begun, as Fame reports, by those
Preparing Fire-works, to expose
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Of Queens, whose Mem'ry they detest,
Because she strove our Wounds to heal,
And bless'd Her Foes against their Will.
So Drunkards, when with Wine o'ercome,
Abuse their Friends that lead 'em home,
And tho' the Way, they're forc'd along,
Be right, they'll swear, in spight, 'tis wrong.
Deep in a Cellar under Ground,
Where Night was always to be found,
A Work-house proper for the Makers
Of whizing Squibs and bouncing Crackers,
There, for some time, Hell's Engineers
Had been contriving artful Fires,
And dressing Puppits to delight
Their Malice on some Publick Night;
But Providence, displeas'd to see
Their mad ingrateful Mockery,
Made their own Carelesness the ruin
Of all the Mischiefs they'd been brewing,
And by some Accident or other
Turn'd their ill Works to Smoke and Smother,
Which fled before a Sou-West Wind,
And left a raging Fire behind,
Such as consum'd whole Streets and Lanes,
And gave to sundry Men their Banes,
Who lab'ring to preserve the Wealth
Of others, perish'd in their Health;
Whilst many more, who stood to see
The Flames, thro' Curiosity,
Came lamely off, with Maims and Bruises,
By Timber from the blown-up Houses.
Therefore, let their Misfortunes learn us,
To shun what Hazards don't concern us,
And rather hear, from Friend or Stranger,
What can't be seen without much Danger.
Where Night was always to be found,
A Work-house proper for the Makers
Of whizing Squibs and bouncing Crackers,
There, for some time, Hell's Engineers
Had been contriving artful Fires,
And dressing Puppits to delight
Their Malice on some Publick Night;
But Providence, displeas'd to see
Their mad ingrateful Mockery,
Made their own Carelesness the ruin
Of all the Mischiefs they'd been brewing,
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Turn'd their ill Works to Smoke and Smother,
Which fled before a Sou-West Wind,
And left a raging Fire behind,
Such as consum'd whole Streets and Lanes,
And gave to sundry Men their Banes,
Who lab'ring to preserve the Wealth
Of others, perish'd in their Health;
Whilst many more, who stood to see
The Flames, thro' Curiosity,
Came lamely off, with Maims and Bruises,
By Timber from the blown-up Houses.
Therefore, let their Misfortunes learn us,
To shun what Hazards don't concern us,
And rather hear, from Friend or Stranger,
What can't be seen without much Danger.
Claret, that universal Wine,
That makes the Poet's Fancy shine,
And wins more Favours from the Fair,
Than all that Man can say or swear,
Was now in Pipes and Hogsheads burn'd,
And into Fun'ral Liquors turn'd,
Or coddl'd Hogwash, fit to bring
To Gossips at a Christening;
Whilst Thousands that ador'd the Juice,
As Heaven's Gift for Humane Use,
Curs'd the invidious Fire that boil'd
The noble Creature 'till 'twas spoil'd,
And wept to see the drougthy Flames
Drink Wine by Tuns, so near the Thames,
When Water from the swelling Current,
Had sooner cool'd the raging Tyrant.
That makes the Poet's Fancy shine,
And wins more Favours from the Fair,
Than all that Man can say or swear,
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And into Fun'ral Liquors turn'd,
Or coddl'd Hogwash, fit to bring
To Gossips at a Christening;
Whilst Thousands that ador'd the Juice,
As Heaven's Gift for Humane Use,
Curs'd the invidious Fire that boil'd
The noble Creature 'till 'twas spoil'd,
And wept to see the drougthy Flames
Drink Wine by Tuns, so near the Thames,
When Water from the swelling Current,
Had sooner cool'd the raging Tyrant.
Brandy, that Cordial of the Town,
In fiery Streams flow'd up and down,
And turn'd (if Poets leave may take)
Each Kennel to a Stygian Lake;
Whilst Coachmen, Carmen, Porters, Seamen,
Trulls, Orange-Drabs and Oyster-Women,
Licking their Lips, in clusters stood,
And griev'd to see the burning Flood.
(In Frosty Morns the best of Drinks)
Ran flaming down the dirty Sinks,
When they'd have all been glad, I'll warrant,
To've stop'd the Fury of the Torrent,
But that it flow'd as scalding hot,
As Pottage boiling o'er the Pot.
So have I seen a Hound stand peeping
At roasting Beef and melted Dripping,
And like a pregnant Gossip long,
But durst not touch it with his Tongue.
In fiery Streams flow'd up and down,
And turn'd (if Poets leave may take)
Each Kennel to a Stygian Lake;
Whilst Coachmen, Carmen, Porters, Seamen,
Trulls, Orange-Drabs and Oyster-Women,
Licking their Lips, in clusters stood,
And griev'd to see the burning Flood.
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Ran flaming down the dirty Sinks,
When they'd have all been glad, I'll warrant,
To've stop'd the Fury of the Torrent,
But that it flow'd as scalding hot,
As Pottage boiling o'er the Pot.
So have I seen a Hound stand peeping
At roasting Beef and melted Dripping,
And like a pregnant Gossip long,
But durst not touch it with his Tongue.
Tobacco, that Narcotick Funk,
That fluxes Mortals till they're drunk,
And tempts the marry'd Sot to slight
The Nuptial Blessings of the Night,
Was now, instead of Pipes of Clay,
Consum'd in Hogsheads as it lay;
From whence ascended Fumes so choaking,
As if the Dev'l himself was smoaking,
And, knocking out his Pipes, forgot
To tread the stinking Ashes out,
But left 'em burning on the Ground,
To poyson all his Friends around.
That fluxes Mortals till they're drunk,
And tempts the marry'd Sot to slight
The Nuptial Blessings of the Night,
Was now, instead of Pipes of Clay,
Consum'd in Hogsheads as it lay;
From whence ascended Fumes so choaking,
As if the Dev'l himself was smoaking,
And, knocking out his Pipes, forgot
To tread the stinking Ashes out,
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To poyson all his Friends around.
Sugar, whose pleasing taste imparts
Such Life to Puddings, Pies and Tarts,
And stops the Cries of swaddl'd Babes,
When pop'd into their Mouths by Dabs.
Sugar, the grand Support that bears
Up all Confectionary Wares,
And makes the Wife's Loblolly sooth
The kind Uxorious Husband's Tooth,
In Loads now perish'd in the Flames,
And burnt in Dunghils near the Thames,
Till melted and reduc'd to Wax,
Then stoll'n away by crafty Quacks,
And sold as new-discover'd Physick,
To cure Consumption, Cough, or Phthysick;
A Nostrum also never failing,
In any other inward Ailing.
So Dogs-turd, when it's dry'd, becomes
A Med'cine rare for ulcer'd Gums,
And of all Powders is the best
For a Sore-Throat. Probatum est.
But why our Quack-Administrators
Of Physick, use such trifling Matters,
Is 'cause they're cheap to him that gives 'em,
And dear toth' Patient that receives 'em.
Such Life to Puddings, Pies and Tarts,
And stops the Cries of swaddl'd Babes,
When pop'd into their Mouths by Dabs.
Sugar, the grand Support that bears
Up all Confectionary Wares,
And makes the Wife's Loblolly sooth
The kind Uxorious Husband's Tooth,
In Loads now perish'd in the Flames,
And burnt in Dunghils near the Thames,
Till melted and reduc'd to Wax,
Then stoll'n away by crafty Quacks,
And sold as new-discover'd Physick,
To cure Consumption, Cough, or Phthysick;
A Nostrum also never failing,
In any other inward Ailing.
So Dogs-turd, when it's dry'd, becomes
A Med'cine rare for ulcer'd Gums,
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For a Sore-Throat. Probatum est.
But why our Quack-Administrators
Of Physick, use such trifling Matters,
Is 'cause they're cheap to him that gives 'em,
And dear toth' Patient that receives 'em.
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