For owls, as swains observe, detest the light,
And only sing and seek their prey by night.
How turnips hide their swelling heads below;
And how the closing coleworts upwards grow;
How Will-a-wisp misleads night-taring clowns
O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs.
Of stars he told, that shoot with shining trail,
And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail.
He sung where wood-cocks in the summer feed,
And in what climates they renew their breed
(Some think to northern coasts their flight they tend,
Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend;
Where swallows in the winter's season keep,
And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep;
How nature does the puppy's eyelid close
Till the bright sun has nine times set and rose
(For huntsmen by their long experience find,
That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind).

Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows,
For still new fairs before his eyes arose.
How pedlars stalls with glittering toys are laid,
The various fairings of the country-maid.
Long silken laces hang upon the twine,
And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine;

How the tight lass, knives, combs, and scissars spies,
And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes.
Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told,
Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold.
The lads and lasses trudge the street along,
And all the fair is crowded in his song.
The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells
His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells;
Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs,
And on the rope the venturous maiden swings;
Jack Pudding in his party-colour'd jacket
Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet.
Of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats,
Of pockets pick'd in crowds, and various cheats.
Then sad he sung "the Children in the Wood:"
(Ah, barbarous uncle, stain'd with infant blood!)
How blackberries they pluck'd in desarts wild,
And fearless at the glittering faulchion smil'd;

62

70

80

-90

Their little corpse the Robin-red-breasts found,
And strow'd with pious bill the leaves around.
(Ah gentle birds! if this verse lasts so long,
Your names shall live for ever in my song.)

For "Buxom Joan" he sung the doubtful strife,
How the sly sailor made the maid a wife.

To louder strains he rais'd his voice, to tell
What woeful wars in " Chevy-chace" befell,

When "Percy drove the deer with hound and horn,
"Wars to be wept by children yet unborn!"
Ah, Witherington, more years thy life had crown'd,
If thou hadst never heard the horn or hound!
Yet shall the squire, who fought on bloody stumps,
By future bards bewail'd in doleful dumps.

"All in the land of Essex" next he chaunts,
How to sleek mares starch Quakers turn gallants:
How the grave brother stood on bank so green-
Happy for him if mares had never been!

Then he was seiz'd with a religious qualm, And on a sudden sung the hundredth psalm.

100

112

He sung of" Taffey Welch," and "Sawney Scott," "Lilly-bullero" and the "Irish Trot."

Why should I tell of " Bateman," or of " Shore," Or" Wantley's Dragon" slain by valiant More, "The Bower of Rosamond," or "Robin Hood," And how the " grass now grows where Troy town "stood?"

Ver. 97.

"Fortunati ambo, si quid mea carmina possunt, "Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet ævo."

120

VIRG.

Ver. 99. A Song in the Comedy of " Love for Love,"

beginning "A Soldier and a Sailor, &c.

Ver. 109. A Song of Sir J. Denham's.

VIRG.

Ver. 112.

"Et fortunatam, si nunquam armenta fuissent,

"Pasiphaen."

VIRG.

Ver. 117.

"Quid loquar aut Scyllam Nisi, &c.

VIRG.

Ver. 117-120. Old English ballads.

His carols ceas'd: the listening maids and swains Seem still to hear some soft imperfect strains. Sudden he rose; and, as he reels along,

Swears kisses sweet should well reward his song.
The damsels laughing fly: the giddy clown
Again upon a wheat-sheaf drops adown;

The power that guards the drunk, his sleep attends,
Till, ruddy, like his face, the sun descends.

AN EPISTLE.

TO A LADY, ON HER PASSION FOR OLD CHINA.

WHAT ecstasies her bosom fire!
How her eyes languish with desire!
How blest, how happy, should I be,
Were that fond glance bestow d on me!
New doubts and fears within me war:

What rival's near? a china jar.

China's the passion of her soul:
A cup, a plate, a dish, a bowl,
Can kindle wishes in her breast,
Inflame with joy, or break her rest.

Some gems collect, some medals prize,
And view the rust with lover's eyes;
Some court the stars at midnight hours;
Some doat on Nature's charms in flowers:
But every beauty I can trace

In Laura's mind, in Laura's face;
My stars are in this brighter sphere,
My lily and my rose is here.

Philosophers more grave than wise,
Hunt science down in butterflies;
Or, fondly poring on a spider,
Stretch human contemplation wider.
Fossils give joy to Galen's soul;
He digs for knowledge, like a mole ;

In shells so learn'd, that all agree
No fish that swims knows more than he!
In such pursuits if wisdom lies,
Who, Laura, shall thy taste despise?
Where I some antique jar behold,
Or white, or blue, or speck'd with gold;
Vessels so pure, and so refin'd,
Appear the types of womankind:
Are they not valued for their beauty,
Too fair, too fine, for household duty?
With flowers, and gold, and azure, dy'd,
Of every house the grace and pride?
How white, how polish'd is their skin,
And valued most when only seen!
She, who before was highest priz'd,
Is for a crack or flaw despis'd.

I grant they're frail; yet they're so rare,
The treasure cannot cost too dear!
But man is made of coarser stuff,
And serves convenience well enough;
He's a strong earthen vessel, made
For drudging, labour, toil, and trade;
And, when wives lose their other self,
With ease they bear the loss of pelf.
Husbands, more covetous than sage,
Condemn this china-buying rage;
They count that woman's prudence little,
Who sets her heart on things so brittle.
But are those wise men's inclinations
Fix'd on more strong, more sure foundations?
If all that's frail we must despise,

No human view or scheme is wise.
Are not Ambition's hopes as weak?
They swell like bubbles, shine, and break.
A courtier's promise is so slight,
'Tis made at noon, and broke at night.
What pleasure's sure? The miss you keep
Breaks both your fortune and your sleep.
The man who loves a country life
Breaks all the comforts of his wife;
And, if he quit his farm and plough,
His wife in town may break her vow

Love, Laura, love, while youth is warm,
For each new winter breaks a charm;
And woman's not like china sold,
But cheaper grows in growing old;
Then quickly choose the prudent part,
Or else you break a faithful heart.

"Quo te Mæri pedes? an, quo via ducit, in urbem?"-VIRG.

ADVERTISEMENT.

The world, I believe, will take so little notice of me, that I need not take much of it. The critics may see by this poem, that I walk on foot, which probably may save me from their envy. 1 should be sorry to raise that passion in men whom I am so much obliged to, since they allow me an honour hitherto only shown to better writers, That of denying me to be the author of my own works.

Gentlemen, if there be any thing in this poem good enough to dis

please you, and if it be any advantage to you to ascribe it to some person of greater merit; I shall acquaint you, for your comfort, that among many other obligations, I owe several hints of it to Dr. Swift. And, if you will so far continue your favour as to write against it, I beg you to oblige me in accepting the following motto:

"Non tu, in triviis, indocte solebas

"Stridenti, miserum, stipulâ, disperdere carmen."

BOOK I.

OF THE IMPLEMENTS FOR WALKING THE

AND SIGNS OF THE WEATHER.

STREETS,

THROUGH Winter streets to steer your course aright, How to walk clean by day, and safe by night;