I ftill prevail'd, and would be in the right,.
Or curtain-lectures made a reftlefs night.
If once my husband's arm was o'er my fide,
What! fo familiar with your spouse? I cry'd:
I levied first a tax upon his need;
Then let him-'twas a nicety indeed!
Let all mankind this certain maxim hold,
Marry who will, our fex is to be fold.
With empty hands no taffels you can lure,
But fulfome love for gain we can endure;
For gold we love the impotent and old,
And heave, and pant, and kifs, and cling, for gold.
Yet with embraces, curfes oft I mix'd,
'Then kifs'd again, and chid, and rail'd betwixt.
Well, I may
make my will in peace, and die,
For not one word in man's arrears am I,
To drop a dear difpute I was unable,
E'en though the Pope himself had sat at table,
THUS day by day, and month by month we paft;
It pleas'd the Lord to take my spouse at last.
I tore my gown, I foil'd my locks with dust,
And beat my breafts, as wretched widows-muft.
Before my face my handkerchief I fpread,
To hide the flood of tears I did not fhed.
The good man's coffin to the Church was borne;
Around, the neighbours, and my Clerk too, mourn.
But as he march'd, good Gods! he show'd a pair
Of legs and feet, fo clean, fo ftrong, fo fair!
Of twenty winters age he feem'd to be;
I (to fay truth) was twenty more than he;
But vig'rous ftill, a lively buxom dame;
And had a wond'rous gift to quench a flame.
A Conj'rer once, that deeply could divine,
Affur'd me, Mars and Taurus was my fign.
As the ftars order'd, fuch my life has been :
Alas, alas, that ever love was fin!
Fair Venus gave me fire, and sprightly grace,
And Mars affurance, and a dauntless face.
By virtue of this pow'rful conftellation,
I follow'd always my own inclination.
ev'ry town where Thamis rolls his tide,
A narrow pass there is, with houses low ;
Where ever and anon the ftream is ey'd,
And many a boat, foft fliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of infant woe,
The fhort thick fob, loud fcream, and fhriller fquall:
How can ye, mothers, vex your children so ?
Some play, fome eat, fome cack against the wall,
And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
And on the broken pavement, here and there,
Doth many a stinking fprat and herring lie;
A brandy and tobacco shop is near,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by;
And here a failor's jacket hangs to dry.
At ev'ry door are fun-burnt matrons feen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry,
Now finging fhrill, and fcolding oft between;
Scolds anfwer foul-mouth'd fcolds; bad neighbour-
hood, I ween.
The fnappifh cur, (the paffengers annoy)
Close at my heels with yelping treble flies
The whimp'ring girl, and hoarfer screaming boy,
Join to the yelping treble fhrilling cries;
The fcolding Quean to louder notes doth rife,
And her full pipes those fhrilling cries confound;
To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
And curs, girls, boys, and fcolds in the deep bafe
are drown'd.
Hard by a fty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billinfgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyfter, mackrel, fprat, or plaice:
There learn'd the fpeech from tongues that never ceafe.
Slander befide her like a magpie, chatters,
With Envy, (fpitting cat) dread foe to peace;
Like a curs'd cur, Malice before her clatters,
And vexing ev'ry wight, tears clothes and all to
Her dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's hand,
Her mouth was black as bulldogs at the ftall;
She scratch'd, bit, and spar'd ne lace ne band,
And Bitch and Rogue her anfwer was to all;
Nay, e'en the parts of fhame by name would call :
Yea, when the paffed by or lane or nook,
Would greet the man who turn'd him to the wall,
And by his hand obscene the porter took,
Nor ever did afkance like modest Virgin look.
Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town,
Woolwich and Wapping, finelling ftrong of pitch;
Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
And Twick'nam fuch, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, ftatues, urns, and Jo-n's dog and bitch.
Ne village is without, on either fide,
All up the filver Thames, or all adown,
Ne Richmond's felf from whofe tall front are ey'd Vales, Spires, meand'ring ftreams, and Windfor's tow'ry pride.
Imit. of English Poets, v. 2. p. 4•
THE
THE COUNTRY PARSON.
PARSON, thefe things in thy poffeffing
Are better than the bishop's blefling.
A wife that makes conferves; a steed
That carries double when there's need:
October store, and best Virginia,
Tythe-pig, and mortuary guinea:
Gazettes fent gratis down, and frank'd,
For which thy patron's weekly thank'd;
A large concordance, bound long fince;
Sermons to Charles the First, when prince:
A chronicle of ancient standing;
A Chryfoftom to fmooth thy band in.
The Polyglott-three parts,-my text,
Howbeit-likewife- -now to my next.
Lo here the Septuagint-and Paul,
To fum the whole,-the clofe of all.
He that has these, may pass his life,
Drink with the 'fquire, and kiss his wife;
On Sundays preach, and eat his fill;
And faft on Fridays- -if he will;
Toaft church and queen, explain the news,
Talk with church-wardens about pews,
Pray heartily for fome new gift,
And thake his head at Doctor S
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