 | The Field-Spy |  |
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THE Field-Spy:
OR, THE Walking Observator.
When worldly Cares my pensive Soul opprest,And humane Wrongs inflam'd my throbbing Breast,
I turn'd my back upon the noisy Town,
Where Faction and Sedition first are sown,
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Where Wretches vent their Suff'rings as they tread,
Might cool my Passion, pacify my Grief,
And yield my troubl'd Bosom some Relief;
For Sorrows that we labour to o'erpow'r
With Wine, like a drown'd Corps, but swell the more;
True Contemplation gives the only ease,
And guards the Mind 'gainst all Calamities.
These Recollections caus'd me to withdraw
From Trade, Dissention, and contentious Law,
At such a time when cunning Gownmen arm,
To fleece their Clients in a bustling Term,
When o'er their Breviates they confus'dly bawl,
And fill with Noise the ancient Gothick-Hall;
Where injur'd Poverty distress'd appears,
Whilst Justice to the wealthy Side adheres,
And where the longest Purse, too oft, in spight
Of awful Furr, usurps the Pauper's Right.
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Where swarms of Knaves by hidden baseness thrive,
And pious Dames with Sham-Devotion hide
Their craving Lust, and more insatiate Pride;
And tho' themselves their Husbands Brows cornute,
Cry shame upon the starving Prostitute.
So wealthy Villains, who have long betray'd
Their Native Land, and on the Publick prey'd,
Condemn the needy Rogues that rob for Bread.
No sooner was I stroll'd into the Fields,
Where e'ery Hill a pleasing Prospect yields,
But I began to feast my wandring Sight,
With all the various Objects of Delight,
That Heav'n and Earth presented to my view,
And as I turn'd my Eye still render'd new:
Above me I beheld the marbl'd Skies,
Thro' which the Sun with so much swiftness flies,
And thought his single Evidence alone,
Sufficient to assert the Heav'nly Throne;
Gaz'd on the Clouds that skudded o'er my Head,
And chang'd their Figures as aloft they fled,
From seeming Rocks to Castles in the Air,
And all that Fancy could suggest they were;
Whilst Phœbus gilt their Edges with his Beams,
And pierc'd their smoaky sides with fiery Streams.
Above the Clouds I view'd the boundless space,
Where wand'ring Planets measure out our Days,
Look'd up and ponder'd, till, alas, I found
My Eyes were in the limpid distance drown'd;
Nor had dim Reason strength enough to see
What dwelt beyond the vast Immensity;
No Light, but that of Faith could give my Mind
A glimm'ring of the Pow'r enthron'd behind,
Without which Blessing our imprison'd Souls
Could no discov'ry make beyond the Poles;
By that extensive Line we only reach
Those Sacred Myst'ries which the Rev'rend teach;
'Tis Faith alone that rectifies our Wits,
And frees rude Nature from her vain Conceits,
Without it, Man would silly Man confound,
And Reason would in Attoms Sea be drown'd.
Where e'ery Hill a pleasing Prospect yields,
But I began to feast my wandring Sight,
With all the various Objects of Delight,
That Heav'n and Earth presented to my view,
And as I turn'd my Eye still render'd new:
Above me I beheld the marbl'd Skies,
Thro' which the Sun with so much swiftness flies,
And thought his single Evidence alone,
Sufficient to assert the Heav'nly Throne;
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And chang'd their Figures as aloft they fled,
From seeming Rocks to Castles in the Air,
And all that Fancy could suggest they were;
Whilst Phœbus gilt their Edges with his Beams,
And pierc'd their smoaky sides with fiery Streams.
Above the Clouds I view'd the boundless space,
Where wand'ring Planets measure out our Days,
Look'd up and ponder'd, till, alas, I found
My Eyes were in the limpid distance drown'd;
Nor had dim Reason strength enough to see
What dwelt beyond the vast Immensity;
No Light, but that of Faith could give my Mind
A glimm'ring of the Pow'r enthron'd behind,
Without which Blessing our imprison'd Souls
Could no discov'ry make beyond the Poles;
By that extensive Line we only reach
Those Sacred Myst'ries which the Rev'rend teach;
'Tis Faith alone that rectifies our Wits,
And frees rude Nature from her vain Conceits,
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And Reason would in Attoms Sea be drown'd.
Now, leaning on my Staff, I stood and view'd
The couchant Cattle as their Cud they chew'd;
No threat'ning Envy in their Looks appear'd,
A gen'ral Peace seem'd settl'd thro' the Herd,
Each casting, as he lodg'd upon the Ground,
A friendly Eye upon his Neighbours round.
How bless'd, thought I, are these that know no Care,
Whose short-liv'd Comforts unmolested are!
How happy above Man, who sheds their Blood,
And rends their Muscles from their Bones for Food.
That he may satiate an intemp'rate gust,
And in his Veins support a pamper'd Lust.
Thus Man who does so oft for Mercy pray,
To savage Brutes less Mercy shews than they.
With Pleasure here I stood a while to see
The Herd, tho' arm'd, from War and discord free.
No Whig, thought I, or Tory can be here;
No Av'rice, Jealousy, Revenge or Fear,
No Rivals to contend for Pow'r and Place,
No Knaves disguis'd with a Religious Face,
No flagrant Orators to sow the Seeds
Of Envy, or to prune Rebellious Weeds:
These less offensive Brutes enjoy the Fields,
And feed, in Peace, on what kind Nature yields,
Whilst craving Man pursues a needless Store,
That wretched Thousands may become more poor,
And his proud Self unhappier than before.
Next these I glanc'd upon a neighb'ring Mill,
The couchant Cattle as their Cud they chew'd;
No threat'ning Envy in their Looks appear'd,
A gen'ral Peace seem'd settl'd thro' the Herd,
Each casting, as he lodg'd upon the Ground,
A friendly Eye upon his Neighbours round.
How bless'd, thought I, are these that know no Care,
Whose short-liv'd Comforts unmolested are!
How happy above Man, who sheds their Blood,
And rends their Muscles from their Bones for Food.
That he may satiate an intemp'rate gust,
And in his Veins support a pamper'd Lust.
Thus Man who does so oft for Mercy pray,
To savage Brutes less Mercy shews than they.
With Pleasure here I stood a while to see
The Herd, tho' arm'd, from War and discord free.
No Whig, thought I, or Tory can be here;
No Av'rice, Jealousy, Revenge or Fear,
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No Knaves disguis'd with a Religious Face,
No flagrant Orators to sow the Seeds
Of Envy, or to prune Rebellious Weeds:
These less offensive Brutes enjoy the Fields,
And feed, in Peace, on what kind Nature yields,
Whilst craving Man pursues a needless Store,
That wretched Thousands may become more poor,
And his proud Self unhappier than before.
Which forc'd by Wind, drives Water up the Hill,
Making both Elements perform their Part,
And mutually obey the Power of Art;
A useful Engine, curious in its frame,
A standing moving Monument of Fame,
To that Ingenious Artist who contriv'd the same.
By this time having climb'd the rising Ground,
I view'd the Tippling-Huts and Brothels round,
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In Summer-time, for Liquors or for Sport:
To one fam'd House which near the River stood,
Where wholsome toothsome nappy Ale is brew'd,
And many harmless merry Whims within,
By sweating Crowds in sunny Days are seen;
Grave City Dons and Matrons, side by side,
Frosted with Age and to the Grave ally'd,
Follow'd by Sons and Daughters young and gay,
In Companies and Couples made their way,
That at a small Expence they might delight
The Taste, and equally oblige the Sight,
Where various Entertainments are contriv'd,
To pleasure those that seek to be reviv'd,
Free from all ill Example, or Offence
To sober Age or youthful Innocence,
But where conversing Friends in order sit,
And to the Rules of decency submit,
Whilst Musick's sound delights the list'ning Ear,
And active Dancers the Spectators chear.
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Of Huts, where noisy Sots to Nine-Pins go,
That they may slave and squabble to expend
Their Pence, more hardly than the same were gain'd,
Quitting the Hod or Sledge to recreate
Their tired Limbs with Labour full as great.
So the poor Clown, when weary of Plow-tail,
Forsakes the forked Handle for the Flayl.
Thither went Butchers, Porters, Smiths, in Setts,
To bowl for Pots of Ale and Peny Betts,
And to debase the wholsome Air, and choak
The Standers-by with Clouds of fetid Smoke:
Thither the wadling Taylor also steals,
With Hose ungarter'd hanging o'er his Heels,
That at Board's-end he may his Itch pursue,
And lose in one Day what he's earn'd in two.
Among the rest St. Martin's Garretteers,
With their lank Rats-tails tuck'd behind their Ears,
In merry parcels thither had recourse,
To spend their Time and Money at All-Fours,
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For want of what their Backs and Guts requir'd,
Were hunting e'ery neighb'ring Alehouse round,
In hopes they might in some old Haunt be found,
That with their Tongues they might the Sots o'ercome
Destroy the Devil's Books and scold 'em Home.
My Muse these Observations having made,
Her distant Eye New-Tunbridge-Wells survey'd,
Where that notorious Game the Royal-Oak,
In times of Yore so many Hundreds broke,
And where distemper'd Beaus, Rakes, Jilts, and Sluts,
Met to intrigue and rince their slimy Guts,
And where dejected Scrapers us'd to tune
Their Catcall-Instruments from Six to One,
Thrash their smooth Cats-guts with unrozen'd Bows,
Begin in one Key, in another close,
Whilst Punks and Cullies danc'd their Waters down,
To cool those Flames they'd kindl'd in the Town:
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Of these fam'd Wells which near the River lay,
Methoughts the fading unfrequented Shade,
Like an old wither'd Strumpet, look'd decay'd,
Its ancient drooping Trees unprun'd appear'd,
No Ladies to be seen, no Fiddles heard;
No Rabble crowding at the Grate without,
To see the Beaus and Beauties frisk about,
Nor other Objects that my Eyes could find,
Than Water in the Front and Wood behind.
So looks the Garden of a Spendthrift's Seat,
Whose Lands are mortgag'd and himself in Debt,
That in his Walks and Walls the World may see
The symptoms of approaching Poverty.
A naked Fabrick next to this I view'd,
Which in the midst of flowing Waters stood,
Unarm'd against the North, as if design'd,
When edify'd, to brave the fiercest Wind.
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The droughty Town and pleasures humane Eyes,
Some odd-look'd Mortals here and there appear'd,
Girt in Great-Coats, and each a frowzy Beard,
With Baskets by their Sides, and in their Hands
Extended Angles, like Magicians Wands,
Themselves appearing ghastly, pale and lean,
Like Wizards rather than like Fishermen,
Who thither came from some disturb'd abode,
To conjure Ghosts into the peaceful Flood,
All fix'd as Statues on the River's brink,
As if they wanted Life to Speak or Think,
Alike intent in Body and in Mind,
Upon the Sport they hop'd in vain to find,
Viewing the Fish that play'd around the Hook,
But shun'd the Bait that did so tempting look.
So beauteous Dames, too cunning to be catch'd,
By am'rous Sportsmen are pursu'd and watch'd,
Who, where the Nymphs resort, admiring stand,
And only wish for what they can't command.
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Where, in Welch Mugs, good English Ale they draw,
Balsamick Liquor that will heal the Lungs,
Inspire our Brains and actuate our Tongues,
Thither declining Mortals flock'd in shoals,
To heal their Bodies and revive their Souls;
Some to force Urine and relieve the Stone
Or Gout, whose rigid Pains they long had known;
Some to repair their Tenements of Clay,
By Phtysicks and Consumptions worn away;
Others, more youthful, to delight their Taste,
And husband well that Health they fear'd to waste,
Also to fillip Nature with a Mug,
And o'er their Liquor preach, like Peter Lug,
Whilst Tradesmen and their Wives step'd in by Pairs,
In Cakes and Ale to bury Nuptial Cares,
And Lovers with their Mates to sit unseen,
In am'rous Bowers cover'd close with Green,
That soothing Draughts might make the Damsel kind,
And prompt the bashful Youth to speak his Mind;
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Desponding Fear, and prove a Friend to Love.
Tow'rds Old Sir John's, where Gyants guard the door,
To keep back those who are in Pocket poor,
I turn'd my Head to see the doughty Knight
Stand ready drawn to hit the distant White;
And as I look'd that way, an armed File
Of Warriers sally'd from the House the while,
In dapper Beavers, edg'd about with Green,
Never but on the Heads of Archers seen,
With Braces on their Arms in quirpo worn,
To save their Bow-hand Sleeves from being torn;
Each with his Arrows girted by his Side,
To which a dangling Muckender was ty'd,
To wipe his Shafts, just such as Children wear,
When with their Hornbooks they to School repair;
In their Left-hands their crooked Weapons hung,
For Execution ready bent and strung;
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To save their Fingers from the galling Twine.
Thus formally equip'd, the Fields they rang'd,
And e'ery time they shot their Mark they chang'd,
Drawing their Bows at e'ery Bank and Post,
Till half their Arrows in the Grass were lost.
Thus rov'd till vex'd and weary, then, for ease,
Return'd to Pots of Belch and Bread and Cheese;
O'er which, as soon as Boozy with their Beer,
And Brandy-Drams, they reach'd my distant Ear,
With Songs of Robin Hood and Little John,
To th'Tune of, Hey down, ho down, derry down.
What more do grave Historians than extol
Their ancient Worthies when around the Bowl;
Or Scholars, Wits, and Criticks, than rehearse
The Songs of some old Bard renown'd for Verse.
From thence I turn'd more Westward to behold
Black-Mary's little Sodom, fam'd of old
For odious Prostitutes, more fit to fire
The Reins, than cool the am'rous Youth's desire,
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To sooth their flaming Lusts for small Reward;
And Thieves and Ruffains with their Brimstone Jades,
Consum'd the Profits of their impious Trades;
Till War, the Gallows, Pox and Poverty,
Reform'd the wicked Hole in some Degree,
And only left in the declining Place,
A tincture of its former Wickedness;
Where Scoundrels live beneath the Worlds disdain,
And wink at any Vice for little Gain.
Thus does the ruin'd Brothel oft become
The famous Dwelling of some Catchpole Bum,
Where Hand and Tipstaff hangs above the Door,
To shew that there we may command a poor
Tremendous Rogue, instead of Bawd or Whore.
Such Reformations we too often make,
And change, as if we chang'd for changing's sake,
Not with intent to mend, but dispossess
One Ill to plant a greater in its place.
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Shy Leachers steer'd, with Harlots in their Hands,
Ill dress'd, with daggl'd Tails, and out at Heels,
Pick'd up as strolling round the dewy Fields.
These in their Walks did other Persons shun,
As if they dreaded to be dog'd or known,
And when they came to that notorious Sink
Of Vice, where Sinners meet to Hug and Drink,
With watchful Eyes they gaz'd about, for fear
Some sly Reforming Hireling should be near;
And when the Coast was clear, the Loving-Souls
Pop'd in like frighted Conies into Holes,
Dreading that Justice they in Conscience knew
Were to their Crimes in agitation due.
Next these a Gang of Rogues, that look'd as fierce
As Wolves or Tygers, and as rough as Bears,
Stole in, as if 'twere to consult what Shop
Or House, at Midnight, should be broken ope,
What Watchman they should bribe to step aside,
Whilst they their Saws, their Screws, and Betties try'd;
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Or to neglect some Bolt or Window Bar,
That they might enter with the greater ease,
And perpetrate their daring Villanies:
Such sort of Guests seem'd only to frequent
The sinful Mansions of this vile descent,
Preserving still a liking to the Place,
In mem'ry of its former Wickedness.
As Rooks and Crows long after do retain
A kindness for the Ditch where Carrion once has lain.
Now up the airy Hill I made my way,
Where Flocks of Innocents in Prison lay,
Till doom'd to Execution, to sustain
The wretched Life of more unhappy Man.
Thro' these, that fall a Sacrifice to feed
Our craving Lusts, and cloath us in our need,
I sail'd along, till I o'erheard a Crowd,
Fenc'd in with Pails, their Tongues confus'dly loud,
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An Inch! Pox on't, you're short a Mile you see.
Another roaring, who had Betted-bye,
Nouns, you're both wide and gone, O fie! O fie!
O Rub! you're in the Ditch, upon my Soul.
I tell you No, I'm a good over Bowl.
Hearing these words I search'd the Pails to find,
In some odd Nook, a Peephole to my Mind,
Where I commodiously might stand unseen,
And view the various Humours of the Green:
At length I fix'd, where I at once descry'd,
A Throng of Mortals antickly employ'd;
Some without Coats, to keep their Bodies cool,
Yet, for the sake of warmth, wore Caps of Wool,
Discov'ring plainly, by their partial Care,
Their Heads more tender than their Bodies were.
So am'rous Nymphs, who for the Sport undress,
Take always wondrous pains about the Face;
Because they think that tempting place alone,
The charming Sauce that makes the Meat go down.
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Behind their wooden Idols, as they rowl'd,
Screwing their Bodies into all the Shapes
And commick Gestures incident to Apes,
Raving aloud, as bounding thro' the Air,
O flee and hold! or, Rub, O Rub, forbear!
Whilst others in a Lane stood Betting by,
Watching which Bowl came right, and which awry,
Changing their Tones according as they found
The Leader or the Follower hit the Ground.
Well bowl'd'efaith, I'll hold Three Crowns to Two.
'Tis greater odds, cries Snap, I'll hold it you.
Right as my Leg, I hold you Two to One.
I say he's short, I take your Two. It's done.
Now Doctor mind, put in and save the Game.
You're narrow all the way: O fie for shame!
Narrow and short: Ah! Doctor, I'm afraid
You have not pray'd to Day you bowl so bad.
Did you not see the Rub that I had there?
Nouns, such Ill-luck would make a Parson swear.
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'Tis true, what then, 'twas I that won the last.
But you that Bett, like Carriers in an Inn,
VVho at All-Fours or Putt divert their Spleen,
Growl when you lose and Hollow when you win.
The Leader to the Foll'wer. VVhat d'ye hold?
A Guinea. Done. He's right, O rarely bowl'd!
Now, Mr. Vincent, here's your Ground. O flee!
Flee home. I run it e'ery Inch I see.
Forbear a little and I touch the Block.
A Bowler, Bowler, Bowler! There's my Cock.
Throw, Mr. Plunket, you've no other way.
Ah wide a Mile! your Hand's quite out to Day.
For more, for more. He's the true Ground again.
O nobly bowl'd as e'er was bowl'd by Man!
Your Guinea, Sir. Pox on him! there it is.
VVhen e'er I take his Side he bowls amiss:
But if I Bett against him, to be sure
His spiteful Hand lays e'ery Cast secure,
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He bowls like Twiford, with a Knave in's Sleeve.
VVho, Mr. Vincent, Sir? you speak in Spleen,
A truer Bowler does not tread the Green,
But e'ery Man sometimes must lose as well as win.
Among the rest, in a great Napless Coat,
And shabby Pissburnt Wig, not worth a Groat,
A Copper-nos'd Cadator leaning stood,
To pass his Judgment on the rowling Wood,
And hedge in Sixpence at the best o'th' lay,
With some old Friend that pity'd his Decay;
Who, if he won, a Sice in Honour tost,
But never call'd for t'others when he lost.
Thus broken Gamesters, Rakes, and ruin'd Beaus,
Jilted by Fortune, must depend on those
VVho knowing better how to please the Trull,
Preserve her Smiles, and keep their Pockets full.
Some crazy Ancients, subject to the tease
Of Phtysick, seem'd to come for Air and Ease,
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Of Life, to pick up Breath instead of Pence,
Whilst others step'd aside to Smoak and Chat
(Like busy Partizans) of this and that,
Scanning the Royal Peace, whence Plenty flows,
Or the late Conduct of our Plenipo's:
For Politicks and News are now become
The Husband's Theme abroad, the Wife's at home,
And e'ery Blockhead claims a Right to prate
Of Government, at such a saucy rate,
As if they only Traded in Affairs of State.
Thus, with no little pleasure, having view'd
The antick Bowlers and the rowling Wood,
What Ways, thought I, do humane Race devise,
To gratify their Ease and Avarice!
Hither the grave Physician flies to hide
From dying Patients, when with Bus'ness cloy'd,
Hoping to double, in the Afternoon,
His Morning Guinea-Fees pick'd up in Town.
The antick Bowlers and the rowling Wood,
What Ways, thought I, do humane Race devise,
To gratify their Ease and Avarice!
Hither the grave Physician flies to hide
From dying Patients, when with Bus'ness cloy'd,
Hoping to double, in the Afternoon,
His Morning Guinea-Fees pick'd up in Town.
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Hither the Doctor of the Soul retires,
And leaves his Duty unto those he hires;
Forsakes his Study to pursue the Block,
And with a gainful Prospect tries his Luck;
Like other Men courts Fortune for the Pence,
Submitting all the rest to Providence.
And leaves his Duty unto those he hires;
Forsakes his Study to pursue the Block,
And with a gainful Prospect tries his Luck;
Like other Men courts Fortune for the Pence,
Submitting all the rest to Providence.
Hither declining Traders also come,
By pressing Duns uneasy made at home;
Or wanting Bus'ness ramble to divert
The shocking anguish of an aching Heart,
And fool away their Time at Bowls, in hopes
To make the Green more gainful than their Shops;
But finding Fortune an Inconstant Jade,
They draw that Ruine on they would evade,
And by pursuing a deceitful Course,
Make what was bad before abundance worse.
So he that's not contented with his Store,
But with vain Projects aims to make it more,
Most commonly lets fly the Bird in Hand,
To beat the Bush for what he can't command.
By pressing Duns uneasy made at home;
Or wanting Bus'ness ramble to divert
The shocking anguish of an aching Heart,
And fool away their Time at Bowls, in hopes
To make the Green more gainful than their Shops;
But finding Fortune an Inconstant Jade,
They draw that Ruine on they would evade,
And by pursuing a deceitful Course,
Make what was bad before abundance worse.
So he that's not contented with his Store,
But with vain Projects aims to make it more,
Most commonly lets fly the Bird in Hand,
To beat the Bush for what he can't command.
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From hence into the neighb'ring Fields I mov'd,
And up and down the verdent Meadows rov'd,
Like pining Lover whose impatient Flame
Was slighted by some loose capricious Dame;
As thus I wander'd round the pleasant Hills,
Where wholsome Air suspends the Doctors Bills,
I met a strolling poor dejected Lass,
Uncouthly dress'd, with Bedlam in her Face,
Gazing about as if she walk'd in quest
Of some green Pool, by croaking Frogs possess'd,
With Briars, Shrubs, and Teasels overgrown,
Shading the ill-look'd Water from the Sun,
Hid in some Corner from the Path remote,
Scarce known to Man or visited by Brute,
That at one dreadful Plunge she might conclude
A Life perhaps both Indigent and Lewd,
And there Intomb, regardless of her Soul,
Her Self and Sorrows in the dismal Hole,
Where Dragon-Flies and Hornets come by Day,
There sporting Hum and Buz their Time away,
And where, at Night, the crawling Vermin use
To shelter from the cold destructive Dews,
Till the next Sunshine tempts 'em to forsake
The weedy Covert where their Beds they make.
These melancholy Whims engag'd my Eyes
To watch the Vagrant Wretch, lest my surmise
Should happen true; instead of which I found
The careless Wanton took a Circuit round
The Meadows, till a lusty Granadier,
With Leathern-Pouch and Copple-crown'd Mountier,
Did nimbly to the daggl'd Punk advance,
By Assignation, I suppose, not Chance;
For down they sate together, Cheek by Jowl,
And did most friendly tow'rds each other loll;
At length he doft his tall tremendous Cap,
And lean'd his Noddle on the Damsel's Lap,
Who with his frowzy Locks in dalliance play'd,
Or else sate Lousing of her Champion's Head.
Nay, nay, thought I, since so familiar grown,
The Danger's past, I need not fear you'll drown,
But rather fall by some Mercurial Stroke
Of Death, in Kingstand-Hospital or Lock.
For she that follows Mars must never fear
The fiery Influence of her Warlike Dear.
And up and down the verdent Meadows rov'd,
Like pining Lover whose impatient Flame
Was slighted by some loose capricious Dame;
As thus I wander'd round the pleasant Hills,
Where wholsome Air suspends the Doctors Bills,
I met a strolling poor dejected Lass,
Uncouthly dress'd, with Bedlam in her Face,
Gazing about as if she walk'd in quest
Of some green Pool, by croaking Frogs possess'd,
With Briars, Shrubs, and Teasels overgrown,
Shading the ill-look'd Water from the Sun,
Hid in some Corner from the Path remote,
Scarce known to Man or visited by Brute,
That at one dreadful Plunge she might conclude
A Life perhaps both Indigent and Lewd,
And there Intomb, regardless of her Soul,
Her Self and Sorrows in the dismal Hole,
Where Dragon-Flies and Hornets come by Day,
There sporting Hum and Buz their Time away,
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To shelter from the cold destructive Dews,
Till the next Sunshine tempts 'em to forsake
The weedy Covert where their Beds they make.
These melancholy Whims engag'd my Eyes
To watch the Vagrant Wretch, lest my surmise
Should happen true; instead of which I found
The careless Wanton took a Circuit round
The Meadows, till a lusty Granadier,
With Leathern-Pouch and Copple-crown'd Mountier,
Did nimbly to the daggl'd Punk advance,
By Assignation, I suppose, not Chance;
For down they sate together, Cheek by Jowl,
And did most friendly tow'rds each other loll;
At length he doft his tall tremendous Cap,
And lean'd his Noddle on the Damsel's Lap,
Who with his frowzy Locks in dalliance play'd,
Or else sate Lousing of her Champion's Head.
Nay, nay, thought I, since so familiar grown,
The Danger's past, I need not fear you'll drown,
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Of Death, in Kingstand-Hospital or Lock.
For she that follows Mars must never fear
The fiery Influence of her Warlike Dear.
The next uncommon Object I beheld,
Was a Spark walking in a lonely Field,
By a Ditch-side, with Arms a-cross his Breast,
In threadbare Coat and dirty Linen drest,
His Peruke lank, like those hung out for show,
Upon the Barber's Blocks in Middle-Row,
With Stubble-Beard, about a Fortnight's growth,
That outward Sign of Poverty and Sloth,
Crown'd with an old Umbrella-Hat, too broad
By sev'ral Inches for the present Mode;
A Brazen-Sword, which I suppose the Rake
Wore not for Safeguard, but Distinction's sake,
Hung bobbing at his Heels, as if he meant
To shew thereby he was no less than Gent.
Thus ill-equip'd he santer'd to and fro,
Like a strip'd Gamester or a ruin'd Beau,
Stol'n from the Confines of the Fleet, to take
A little Air, for Health or Pleasure's sake.
Sometimes he made a stop, and scratch'd his Ears,
As if tormented with uncommon Cares;
Then turn'd his Eyes tow'rds Heaven, look'd perplex'd,
And stamp'd and nodded like a Ram when vex'd.
At length he briskly started from the place,
And walk'd tow'rds Town a Peny-post-Man's pace,
As if h'ad recollected where, at Night,
He might refresh his hungry Appetite.
Was a Spark walking in a lonely Field,
By a Ditch-side, with Arms a-cross his Breast,
In threadbare Coat and dirty Linen drest,
His Peruke lank, like those hung out for show,
Upon the Barber's Blocks in Middle-Row,
With Stubble-Beard, about a Fortnight's growth,
That outward Sign of Poverty and Sloth,
Crown'd with an old Umbrella-Hat, too broad
By sev'ral Inches for the present Mode;
A Brazen-Sword, which I suppose the Rake
Wore not for Safeguard, but Distinction's sake,
Hung bobbing at his Heels, as if he meant
To shew thereby he was no less than Gent.
Thus ill-equip'd he santer'd to and fro,
Like a strip'd Gamester or a ruin'd Beau,
27
A little Air, for Health or Pleasure's sake.
Sometimes he made a stop, and scratch'd his Ears,
As if tormented with uncommon Cares;
Then turn'd his Eyes tow'rds Heaven, look'd perplex'd,
And stamp'd and nodded like a Ram when vex'd.
At length he briskly started from the place,
And walk'd tow'rds Town a Peny-post-Man's pace,
As if h'ad recollected where, at Night,
He might refresh his hungry Appetite.
Soon after this I met a charming Pair
Of am'rous Ladies, wanton, young and fair,
Link'd Arm in Arm, in Indian Sattins dress'd,
Their Faces patch'd, their flaunting Pinners lac'd,
In cleanly Gloves, and modish Ticking-Shoes,
Their Scarves adorn'd with Rainbow Furbiloes;
Smiling they pass'd me, full of tempting Air,
And look'd as if they knew no worldly Care,
But had as yet preserv'd their Beauty free
From Pleasures that destroy Tranquility;
Or that they'd scarce been long enough subdu'd,
To feel the smart of being Poor and Lewd;
But hop'd, like giddy Girls when first they try,
To live by Love and flourish by the Joy.
These were not sail'd far from me e're I met
A Beau pursuing in a puffing Sweat,
With open Breast and Skimming-dish beneath
His Arm, fatigu'd and almost out of Breath,
As if he fear'd some other Hawk should fly
At the same tempting Quarry in his Eye,
And circumvent him, e'er he could secure
The charming Birds upon the Wing before:
I fac'd about, to gratify my Sight
With the young Lover's warm impatient flight,
At length the Damsels turning back espy'd
Their kind Gallant advancing Stride by Stride,
And seem'd with mutual eagerness to mend
Their loit'ring Pace to meet their hasty Friend,
Who quickly join'd, and by their greeting shew'd,
'Twas by Appointment he the Dames pursu'd,
That Love, the grand Affair of Humane Race,
At last might center in a kind Embrace;
For the fond Lover, like a rowling Stone
On a smooth Table, cannot rest, but run
Round Beauty's Surface, till he drops at last
Into the Nuptial Chink that holds him fast.
Of am'rous Ladies, wanton, young and fair,
Link'd Arm in Arm, in Indian Sattins dress'd,
Their Faces patch'd, their flaunting Pinners lac'd,
In cleanly Gloves, and modish Ticking-Shoes,
Their Scarves adorn'd with Rainbow Furbiloes;
Smiling they pass'd me, full of tempting Air,
And look'd as if they knew no worldly Care,
But had as yet preserv'd their Beauty free
From Pleasures that destroy Tranquility;
28
To feel the smart of being Poor and Lewd;
But hop'd, like giddy Girls when first they try,
To live by Love and flourish by the Joy.
These were not sail'd far from me e're I met
A Beau pursuing in a puffing Sweat,
With open Breast and Skimming-dish beneath
His Arm, fatigu'd and almost out of Breath,
As if he fear'd some other Hawk should fly
At the same tempting Quarry in his Eye,
And circumvent him, e'er he could secure
The charming Birds upon the Wing before:
I fac'd about, to gratify my Sight
With the young Lover's warm impatient flight,
At length the Damsels turning back espy'd
Their kind Gallant advancing Stride by Stride,
And seem'd with mutual eagerness to mend
Their loit'ring Pace to meet their hasty Friend,
Who quickly join'd, and by their greeting shew'd,
'Twas by Appointment he the Dames pursu'd,
29
At last might center in a kind Embrace;
For the fond Lover, like a rowling Stone
On a smooth Table, cannot rest, but run
Round Beauty's Surface, till he drops at last
Into the Nuptial Chink that holds him fast.
Now tir'd with walking I fat down for ease,
On a green Bank expos'd to e'ery Breeze,
Where neither thorny Hedge nor Tree appear'd,
From scorching Beams to shade the grazing Herd,
Or to conceal familiar Love between
Those shameless Wretches who desire no Skreen,
But in the open Dikes and Meadows sin.
Here I began to ponder on the Strife,
Fears, Cares, and Cross Events that punish Life,
And to consider coolly, whilst alone,
What Brutes and Monsters humane Race were grown;
What Hypocrites to God, how false to Friends,
How base to gain their own ignoble Ends,
How stubborn to the Pow'rs they should obey,
And treacherous to Kings who bear the sway;
How warm about Religion o'er their Wine,
Yet break thro' all that's Moral and Divine,
And strain the Holy Text to e'ery ill Design:
How Factious Villains Cant with Pious Face,
And nurse Rebellion up 'twixt Faith and Grace,
New Names for Christianity devise,
And clog its Heav'nly Truths with impious Lyes,
Extend its Doctrines into wild Extreams,
And slight its Laws to follow Madmen's Dreams;
Quarrel about Distinctions Knaves invent,
In order to subvert the Government,
And to confound that Unity and Peace,
Which only can preserve our Happiness;
Our Guides forgetting to remind the Land,
That a divided Kingdom cannot stand;
And that our Home-Divisions, lest they're heal'd,
Will turn the Nation to a bloody Field,
Where desp'rate Villains shall succeed the best,
And with the Sword of Violence scourge the rest;
To Holy Stations raise dissembling Knaves,
And make the Patient and the Just their Slaves.
So ancient Rome, by an Intestine War,
Became at last her own Self-murderer.
Therefore let Fair Britannia from thence,
Take warning, lest it proves her fatal Chance,
To perish by her own destructive Lance.
On a green Bank expos'd to e'ery Breeze,
Where neither thorny Hedge nor Tree appear'd,
From scorching Beams to shade the grazing Herd,
Or to conceal familiar Love between
Those shameless Wretches who desire no Skreen,
But in the open Dikes and Meadows sin.
Here I began to ponder on the Strife,
Fears, Cares, and Cross Events that punish Life,
And to consider coolly, whilst alone,
What Brutes and Monsters humane Race were grown;
What Hypocrites to God, how false to Friends,
How base to gain their own ignoble Ends,
How stubborn to the Pow'rs they should obey,
And treacherous to Kings who bear the sway;
30
Yet break thro' all that's Moral and Divine,
And strain the Holy Text to e'ery ill Design:
How Factious Villains Cant with Pious Face,
And nurse Rebellion up 'twixt Faith and Grace,
New Names for Christianity devise,
And clog its Heav'nly Truths with impious Lyes,
Extend its Doctrines into wild Extreams,
And slight its Laws to follow Madmen's Dreams;
Quarrel about Distinctions Knaves invent,
In order to subvert the Government,
And to confound that Unity and Peace,
Which only can preserve our Happiness;
Our Guides forgetting to remind the Land,
That a divided Kingdom cannot stand;
And that our Home-Divisions, lest they're heal'd,
Will turn the Nation to a bloody Field,
Where desp'rate Villains shall succeed the best,
And with the Sword of Violence scourge the rest;
To Holy Stations raise dissembling Knaves,
And make the Patient and the Just their Slaves.
31
Became at last her own Self-murderer.
Therefore let Fair Britannia from thence,
Take warning, lest it proves her fatal Chance,
To perish by her own destructive Lance.
As thus upon the Bank I stretch'd my Limbs,
And pleas'd my Fancy with a thousand Whims,
I heard a Voice on t'other side the Ditch,
Repeating, as I thought, some Playhouse Speech;
For what was utter'd I conceiv'd to be
Mouth'd with due Emphasis and Cadency:
By slow degrees the vocal Sound drew near,
Whilst I, unseen, apply'd a List'ning Ear;
At length discover'd plainly what he said
Was Verse; from thence conjectur'd that he read,
And that the Speaker, who at e'ery Line
Cry'd, This is neatly couch'd, That's really fine,
Must be a Poet hither stroll'd, to please
Himself with some of his own Rapsodies:
At last being tempted by the verdent Grass,
And silence of the solitary Place,
He sat him down in a Poetick Rage,
And like a Buskin'd Hero on the Stage,
Began afresh to earnestly rehearse,
Or read with tuneful Voice the foll'wing Verse.
And pleas'd my Fancy with a thousand Whims,
I heard a Voice on t'other side the Ditch,
Repeating, as I thought, some Playhouse Speech;
For what was utter'd I conceiv'd to be
Mouth'd with due Emphasis and Cadency:
By slow degrees the vocal Sound drew near,
Whilst I, unseen, apply'd a List'ning Ear;
At length discover'd plainly what he said
Was Verse; from thence conjectur'd that he read,
And that the Speaker, who at e'ery Line
Cry'd, This is neatly couch'd, That's really fine,
Must be a Poet hither stroll'd, to please
Himself with some of his own Rapsodies:
At last being tempted by the verdent Grass,
And silence of the solitary Place,
He sat him down in a Poetick Rage,
And like a Buskin'd Hero on the Stage,
32
Or read with tuneful Voice the foll'wing Verse.
Jove gave the Frogs a Log to be their King,
But they, alas, despis'd the sensless thing,
And pray'd, a second time, he'd drop them down
An active Prince, more worthy of a Crown:
Jove heard their Pray'rs and sent the Fools a Stork,
Who with his Subjects soon made fatal work,
Crush'd 'em, devour'd 'em, like a Tyrant reign'd;
Till, for redress, in vain the Frogs complain'd.
Thus those that slight their Lawful Kings, and blame
Their patient Rulers when too kind and tame
Deserve the smart of such a Sov'reign Lord,
As turns the Palm into the cruel Sword.
How oft, O Britain! has it been thy Curse,
To madly change the better for the worse,
And, like the croaking Vermine, to despise
Those peaceful Kings, too just to Tyrannize,
Till Heaven grown angry at thy Discontent,
When happy in a gracious Government,
Hath suffer'd thee to trample down the good,
And sent thee Tyrants that delight in Blood!
Therefore, O Britain! Honour and Caress
The Royal Dove that brings thee downy Peace,
Lest she retires to her Eternal Home,
And leaves thee Kites and Vultures in her room.
But they, alas, despis'd the sensless thing,
And pray'd, a second time, he'd drop them down
An active Prince, more worthy of a Crown:
Jove heard their Pray'rs and sent the Fools a Stork,
Who with his Subjects soon made fatal work,
Crush'd 'em, devour'd 'em, like a Tyrant reign'd;
Till, for redress, in vain the Frogs complain'd.
Thus those that slight their Lawful Kings, and blame
Their patient Rulers when too kind and tame
Deserve the smart of such a Sov'reign Lord,
As turns the Palm into the cruel Sword.
How oft, O Britain! has it been thy Curse,
To madly change the better for the worse,
And, like the croaking Vermine, to despise
Those peaceful Kings, too just to Tyrannize,
Till Heaven grown angry at thy Discontent,
When happy in a gracious Government,
Hath suffer'd thee to trample down the good,
And sent thee Tyrants that delight in Blood!
Therefore, O Britain! Honour and Caress
The Royal Dove that brings thee downy Peace,
33
And leaves thee Kites and Vultures in her room.
Thus went the Poet forward with his Strains,
The Fruits, no doubt, of his own teeming Brains,
Till a rude Soldier, boozy as a Lord,
Perhaps by spunging at some Shovel-board,
Or in some Ninepin-Yard, where he had been
Imploy'd in rearing now and then a Pin,
O'ercharg'd with Guzzle, step'd into the Ditch,
To give a needful airing to his Britch,
Which Object prov'd offensive, I suppose,
Toth' Poets Eyes, at least, if not his Nose,
That mutt'ring he arose, forsook his Seat,
And mov'd disgusted into Air more sweet:
Nor did he in those Meadows longer stay,
But cross tow'rds Hoxton Asses made his way.
So the rough Badger, when the Fox offends
His Nostrils with the Hogo that ascends
From his rank Carcase, does his Hole despise,
And to some sweeter place in Anger flies.
The Fruits, no doubt, of his own teeming Brains,
Till a rude Soldier, boozy as a Lord,
Perhaps by spunging at some Shovel-board,
Or in some Ninepin-Yard, where he had been
Imploy'd in rearing now and then a Pin,
O'ercharg'd with Guzzle, step'd into the Ditch,
To give a needful airing to his Britch,
Which Object prov'd offensive, I suppose,
Toth' Poets Eyes, at least, if not his Nose,
That mutt'ring he arose, forsook his Seat,
And mov'd disgusted into Air more sweet:
Nor did he in those Meadows longer stay,
But cross tow'rds Hoxton Asses made his way.
So the rough Badger, when the Fox offends
His Nostrils with the Hogo that ascends
From his rank Carcase, does his Hole despise,
And to some sweeter place in Anger flies.
A Gang of Butchers next came trotting by,
Swearing and giving that ill word the Lye,
With their Sheepbiters dogging at their Heels,
To fetch home Cattle from the neigb'ring Fields,
Striking each other with their bended Sticks,
And playing twenty rude unlucky Tricks,
Whilst their Steels, hanging at their Arses, bore
A Bob to e'ery startling Oath they swore:
Ram ye, cries one, Jack Dickins, what d'ye think!
Dick Fulks and I went t'other day to drink
At Clouters, there with an old greasy Pack
Of Cards I strip'd the Rogue of e'ery Jack:
Then tir'd with Putt, and falling to All-Fours,
Before we'd done I bit him of his Horse,
A Jolly Tit, he carr'd me on the scowr,
But Yesterday, to Rumpford in an Hour.
The best on't was, he sent his Wife next Day,
To call me fifty Rogues for cheating Play,
I only laugh, and bid her Saddle Ball,
And ride to Green-Goose-Fair with Humphry Hall,
As once she'd done before. She swore I ly'd,
And grew so mad she scolded till she cry'd,
At last I pack'd her off with much ado,
But kept the Money and the Palfry too.
Such sort of Stuff as this arose among
The greasy Killcalves as they jog'd along,
Pointing each Sentence of their vile Discourse,
With some tremendous Oath or wicked Curse:
For as Dame Nature does allot and sute
A sev'ral Language to each diff'rent Brute,
So do the loose Lanarian Tribe affect
An odious lewd peculiar Dialect.
Swearing and giving that ill word the Lye,
With their Sheepbiters dogging at their Heels,
To fetch home Cattle from the neigb'ring Fields,
34
And playing twenty rude unlucky Tricks,
Whilst their Steels, hanging at their Arses, bore
A Bob to e'ery startling Oath they swore:
Ram ye, cries one, Jack Dickins, what d'ye think!
Dick Fulks and I went t'other day to drink
At Clouters, there with an old greasy Pack
Of Cards I strip'd the Rogue of e'ery Jack:
Then tir'd with Putt, and falling to All-Fours,
Before we'd done I bit him of his Horse,
A Jolly Tit, he carr'd me on the scowr,
But Yesterday, to Rumpford in an Hour.
The best on't was, he sent his Wife next Day,
To call me fifty Rogues for cheating Play,
I only laugh, and bid her Saddle Ball,
And ride to Green-Goose-Fair with Humphry Hall,
As once she'd done before. She swore I ly'd,
And grew so mad she scolded till she cry'd,
At last I pack'd her off with much ado,
But kept the Money and the Palfry too.
Such sort of Stuff as this arose among
The greasy Killcalves as they jog'd along,
Pointing each Sentence of their vile Discourse,
With some tremendous Oath or wicked Curse:
35
A sev'ral Language to each diff'rent Brute,
So do the loose Lanarian Tribe affect
An odious lewd peculiar Dialect.
Amidst my Solitude I now began
To think again upon Ingrateful Man;
What Pains our Mothers bear to bring us forth!
What lasting Cares accompany our Birth!
What trouble to our Parents we create,
When in our infant, weak, and helpless State!
What Doubts and Fears incorp'rate with their Love!
How much our Cries their tender Pity move!
What bleeding Sorrows, when infirm or ill,
Their mournful Hearts incontinently feel!
What sudden Grief allarms 'em when we meet
The least Mischance in gaining of our Feet!
When riper grown how great is their Expence,
To cultivate our youthful Innocence,
And to preserve us till we're taught to gain
Our Bread by honest Labour when we're Men!
Their Care t'improve the Money or the Land,
Together scrap'd with an industrious Hand,
To make us happy, tho' themselves refuse
Those Comforts they perhaps provide for us!
Yet when grown up, how thankless do we prove,
Forgetting all their past Paternal Love,
And think what's done by Providence and them,
No more than what by Nature we may claim;
Slight all the filial Duties that we owe,
To both, Rebellious to our Parents grow,
And cause their silver Hairs to pass away in Woe.
To think again upon Ingrateful Man;
What Pains our Mothers bear to bring us forth!
What lasting Cares accompany our Birth!
What trouble to our Parents we create,
When in our infant, weak, and helpless State!
What Doubts and Fears incorp'rate with their Love!
How much our Cries their tender Pity move!
What bleeding Sorrows, when infirm or ill,
Their mournful Hearts incontinently feel!
What sudden Grief allarms 'em when we meet
The least Mischance in gaining of our Feet!
When riper grown how great is their Expence,
To cultivate our youthful Innocence,
And to preserve us till we're taught to gain
Our Bread by honest Labour when we're Men!
Their Care t'improve the Money or the Land,
Together scrap'd with an industrious Hand,
To make us happy, tho' themselves refuse
Those Comforts they perhaps provide for us!
36
Forgetting all their past Paternal Love,
And think what's done by Providence and them,
No more than what by Nature we may claim;
Slight all the filial Duties that we owe,
To both, Rebellious to our Parents grow,
And cause their silver Hairs to pass away in Woe.
As thus my Thoughts were busily employ'd,
A Jangling Pair approach'd on t'other side
The Bank, and right against me took their Seats,
Seeming sometimes all Love, sometimes in Heats:
At length I heard a Woman sobbing cry,
How base are you, and what a Fool was I:
Remember, now we're here, pray call to mind
The Promises you made if I'd be kind;
Did not you vow and Swear, upon your Life,
If I'd oblige you, I should be your Wife.
Besides, I told you e'er you brought me to't,
What would come on't, if I should let you do't.
I'm Three Months gone, you know it to my shame,
And can't much longer hide it from my Dame:
Therefore pray tell me, now you've serv'd me so,
Whether you mean to marry me or no?
Dear Dick, resolve, before it proves too late,
Or Matters will break out in spight of Fate;
And when the Parish our Misfortunes hear,
What a sad Rogue and Jade shall we appear:
You they'll take up, except you fly the Town,
And should you prove so wicked as to run
From your poor Babe and me, you'll make me hang or drown.
A Jangling Pair approach'd on t'other side
The Bank, and right against me took their Seats,
Seeming sometimes all Love, sometimes in Heats:
At length I heard a Woman sobbing cry,
How base are you, and what a Fool was I:
Remember, now we're here, pray call to mind
The Promises you made if I'd be kind;
Did not you vow and Swear, upon your Life,
If I'd oblige you, I should be your Wife.
Besides, I told you e'er you brought me to't,
What would come on't, if I should let you do't.
I'm Three Months gone, you know it to my shame,
And can't much longer hide it from my Dame:
Therefore pray tell me, now you've serv'd me so,
Whether you mean to marry me or no?
Dear Dick, resolve, before it proves too late,
Or Matters will break out in spight of Fate;
37
What a sad Rogue and Jade shall we appear:
You they'll take up, except you fly the Town,
And should you prove so wicked as to run
From your poor Babe and me, you'll make me hang or drown.
You know (quoth Richard) I shall scarce be clear
Of my Indentures, I may say, this Year:
And till one Wife is dead, should I espouse
Another, I should then my Freedom lose;
Therefore don't seek my Ruine, dearest Nan,
But find some other Father if you can.
Wom.
Of my Indentures, I may say, this Year:
And till one Wife is dead, should I espouse
Another, I should then my Freedom lose;
Therefore don't seek my Ruine, dearest Nan,
But find some other Father if you can.
Lord! how you talk to one that never knew
What 'twas to sin with any Man but you!
How then can I a Child so falsly swear
On him that never touch'd me, you know where.
No, no, you got it, Richard, and shall be
The Father; it shall have none else for me.
Such wicked Tricks its likely may be done
By naughty Women, Strumpets of the Town,
I hope you take not me for such a one.
Man.
No, no, I only thought, as Matters go,
You might be kind to two or three, or so,
That in your Case you might have grounds to take
An abler Father than myself can make;
38
A Crown tow'rds keeping either Cow or Calf:
How should we Marry then, you know we must
Have Money to be Wed, the Priest won't trust.
Wom.
That shan't excuse, if 'tis so low with you,
I'll find the Ring and pay the Parson too:
Not only so, but when I once am made
An honest Woman, I can go, when Wed,
To my own Friends at Dunstable, and there
Be brought to Bed beneath my Mother's Care;
And till your Time's expir'd, and you have gain'd
Your Freedom, be at Bed and Board maintain'd.
Quoth Dick, That's some Encouragement I own.
But prithee let's be jogging tow'rds the Town;
Next time we meet I'll tell you how my Mind
Tow'rds Matrimonial Bondage stands inclin'd.
Thus cunning Jilts by am'rous Arts decoy
Unwary Youth to nibble at the Joy;
Then with great Bellies fright the Fools to run
Into worse Mischiefs than they Wed to shun:
For when with two such Evils we're beset,
Pray which of both the Dangers seems most great,
The Parish Trap or Matrimonial Net.
But prithee let's be jogging tow'rds the Town;
Next time we meet I'll tell you how my Mind
Tow'rds Matrimonial Bondage stands inclin'd.
Thus cunning Jilts by am'rous Arts decoy
Unwary Youth to nibble at the Joy;
Then with great Bellies fright the Fools to run
Into worse Mischiefs than they Wed to shun:
For when with two such Evils we're beset,
Pray which of both the Dangers seems most great,
The Parish Trap or Matrimonial Net.
FINIS.
| The Field-Spy | |