Volume I Part 12 (1/2)

THE EPITAPH

Here, five feet deep, lies on his back A cobbler, starmonger, and quack; Who to the stars, in pure good will, Does to his best look upward still.

Weep, all you customers that use His pills, his almanacks, or shoes; And you that did your fortunes seek, Step to his grave but once a-week; This earth, which bears his body's print, You'll find has so much virtue in't, That I durst p.a.w.n my ears, 'twill tell Whate'er concerns you full as well, In physic, stolen goods, or love, As he himself could, when above.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING

WRITTEN IN APRIL 1709, AND FIRST PRINTED IN ”THE TATLER”[1]

Now hardly here and there an hackney-coach Appearing, show'd the ruddy morn's approach.

Now Betty from her master's bed had flown, And softly stole to discompose her own; The slip-shod 'prentice from his master's door Had pared the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.

Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dext'rous airs, Prepared to scrub the entry and the stairs.

The youth with broomy stumps began to trace The kennel's edge, where wheels had worn the place.[2]

The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep, Till drown'd in shriller notes of chimney-sweep: Duns at his lords.h.i.+p's gate began to meet; And brickdust Moll had scream'd through half the street.

The turnkey now his flock returning sees, Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees:[3]

The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands, And schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands.

[Footnote 1: No. 9. See the excellent edition in six vols., with notes, 1786.--_W. E. B._]

[Footnote 2: To find old nails.--_Faulkner_.]

[Footnote 3: To meet the charges levied upon them by the keeper of the prison.--_W. E. B._]

A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER[1]

WRITTEN IN OCT., 1710; AND FIRST PRINTED IN ”THE TATLER,” NO. 238

Careful observers may foretell the hour, (By sure prognostics,) when to dread a shower.

While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er Her frolics, and pursues her tail no more.

Returning home at night, you'll find the sink Strike your offended sense with double stink.

If you be wise, then, go not far to dine: You'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine.

A coming shower your shooting corns presage, Old a-ches[2] throb, your hollow tooth will rage; Sauntering in coffeehouse is Dulman seen; He d.a.m.ns the climate, and complains of spleen.

Meanwhile the South, rising with dabbled wings, A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings, That swill'd more liquor than it could contain, And, like a drunkard, gives it up again.

Brisk Susan whips her linen from the rope, While the first drizzling shower is borne aslope; Such is that sprinkling which some careless quean Flirts on you from her mop, but not so clean: You fly, invoke the G.o.ds; then, turning, stop To rail; she singing, still whirls on her mop.

Not yet the dust had shunn'd the unequal strife, But, aided by the wind, fought still for life, And wafted with its foe by violent gust, 'Twas doubtful which was rain, and which was dust.[3]

Ah! where must needy poet seek for aid, When dust and rain at once his coat invade?

Sole[4] coat! where dust, cemented by the rain, Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain!

Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, Threatening with deluge this _devoted_ town.

To shops in crowds the daggled females fly, Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy.

The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach, Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a coach.

The tuck'd-up sempstress walks with hasty strides, While streams run down her oil'd umbrella's sides.

Here various kinds, by various fortunes led, Commence acquaintance underneath a shed.

Triumphant Tories, and desponding Whigs,[5]