CHAUCER.
OMEN ben full of Ragerie,
Yet swinken nat sans fecrefie.
| Thilke moral shall ye understond,
From Schoole-boy's Tale of fayre Irelond:
Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
To filche the gray Ducke fro the Lake.
Right then, there passen by the way
His Aunt, and eke her Daughers tway.
Ducke in his Trowses hath he hent,
Not to be spied of Ladies gent.
"But ho! our Nephew, (crieth one)
"Ho! quoth another, Cozen John;"
And stoppen, and lough, and callen out,-
This sely Clerk full low doth lout:
They asken that, and talken this,
"Lo here is Coz, and here is Miss."
But, as he glozeth with speeches foote,
The Ducke fore tickleth his Erse roote:
Fore-piece and buttons all-to-breft,
Forth thrust a white neck, and red crest.
Te-he, cry'd Ladies; Clerke nought spake :
Miss star'd; and gray Ducke cryeth Quaake.
"O Moder, Moder, (quoth the daughter)
"Be thilke same thing Maids longen a'ter?
"Bette is to pyne on coals and chalke,
" Then trust on Mon, whose yerde can talke."
IN ev'ry Town where Thamis rolls his Tyde,
A narrow Pass there is, with Houses low;
Where ever and anon, the Stream is ey'd,
And many a Boat, soft sliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller Squall :
How can ye, Mothers, vex your children so ?
Some play, some eat, some 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 sprat 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 seen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry,
Now finging shrill, and scolding eft between;
Scolds answer foul-mouth'd scolds; bad neighbourhood
The snappish cur (the passengers annoy)
Close at my heel with yelping treble flies;
'The whimp'ring girl, and hoarfer-screaming boy,
Join to the yelping treble, shrilling cries;
The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise,
And her full pipes those shrilling cries confound;
To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
And curs, girls, boys, and scolds, in the deep base are
Hard by a Sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:
There learn'd she speech from tongues that never cease.
Slander beside her, like a Magpie, chatters,
With Envy, (spitting Cat) dread foe to peace;
Like a curs'd Cur, Malice before her clatters,
And vexing ev'ry wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.
Her dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's hand,
Her mouth was black as bulldogs at the stall :
She fcratch'd, bit, and spar'd ne lace ne band,
And bitch and rogue her answer was to all;
Nay, e'en the parts of shame by name would call :
Yea, when she passed 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 askance like modest Virgin look.
Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town,
Woolwich and Wapping, fmelling strong of pitch;
Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
And Twick'nam fuch, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, statues, urns, and Jo-n's Dog and Bitch. 50
Ne village is without, on either fide,
All up the filver I hames, or all adown;
Ne Richmond's felf, from whose tall front are ey'd
Vales, spires, meandring streams, and Windsor's tow'ry
Of a LADY singing to her LuTE.
AIR Charmer, cease, nor
A heart refign'd the conquest of your eyes :
Well might, alas! that threat'ned vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once assail.
We were too blest with these inchanting lays,
Which must be heav'nly when an Angel plays :
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Lest heav'nly music should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees, but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he:
A Poet made the filent wood pursue,
This vocal wood had drawn the Poet too.
On a Fan of the Author's design, in which was painted the story of CEPHALUS and PROCRIS, with the Motto, AURA VENI.
COME, gentle Air! the Eolian shepherd faid,
While Procris panted in the secret shade;
Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play!
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives:
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.
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