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Wallnuts the fruiterer's hand in autumn ftain, Blue plumbs and juicy pears augment his gain; Next oranges the longing boys entice,

To truft their copper fortunes to the dice.

When rosemary, and bays the Poet's crown, Are bawl'd, in frequent cries, through all the town, Then judge the feftival of Chriftmas near, Christmas, the joyous period of the year. Now with bright holly all your temples ftrow, With laurel green, and facred inifletoe. Now, heaven-born Charity! thy bleffings fhed; Bid meagre Want uprear her fickly head; Bid fhivering limbs be warm; let Plenty's bowl In humble roofs make glad the needy foul! See, fee! the heaven-born maid her bleffings fhed; Lo! meagre Want uprears her fickly head; Cloath'd are the naked, and the needy glad, While felfish Avarice alone is fad.

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Proud coaches pafs, regardless of the moan
Of infant orphans, and the widow's groan;
While Charity still moves the walker's mind,
His liberal purfe relieves the lame and blind.
Judiciously thy half-pence are bestow'd,
Where the laborious beggar fweeps the road.
Whate'er you give, give ever at demand,
Nor let old age long stretch his palsy'd hand.
Those who give late are importun'd each day,
And still are teaz'd because they still delay.
If e'er the mifer durft his farthings spare,
He thinly spreads them through the public fquare,










Where, all befide the rail, rang'd beggars lie,
And from each other catch the doleful cry;
With Heaven, for two-pence, cheaply wipes his fcore,
Lifts up his eyes, and haftes to beggar more.
Where the brass-knocker, wrapt in flannel band,
Forbids the thunder of the footman's hand;
Th' upholder, rueful harbinger of death,
Waits with impatience for the dying breath,
As vultures o'er a camp, with hovering flight,
Snuff up the future carnage of the fight.
Here canft thou pafs, unmindful of a prayer,
That Heaven in mercy may thy brother spare?
Come, Fortescue, fincere, experienc'd friend,
Thy briefs, thy deeds, and ev'n thy fees fufpend;
Come let us leave the Temple's filent walls,
Me bufinefs to my diftant lodging calls;
Through the long Strand together let us stray;
With thee converfing, I forget the way.
Behold that narrow street which steep descends,
Whofe building to the flimy fhore extends;



Here Arundel's fam'd ftructure rear'd its frame,
The street alone retains the empty name.

Where Titian's glowing paint the canvafs warm'd, 485
And Raphael's fair defign, with judgement, charm'd,
Now hangs the bellman's fong, and pasted here
The colour'd prints of Overton appear.

Where statues breath'd the works of Phidias' hands,

A wooden pump, or lonely watch-house, stands.
There Effex' ftately pile adorn'd the shore,
There Cecil's, Bedford's, Villers', now no more.



Yet Burlington's fair palace ftill remains;
Beauty within, without proportion reigns.
Beneath his eye declining art revives,
The wall with animated picture lives;

There Handel ftrikes the ftrings, the melting firain
Tranfports the foul, and thrills through every vein;
There oft' I enter (but with cleaner fhoes),
For Burlington's belov'd by every Mufe.
0 ye affociate walkers, O my friends,
Upon your state what happiness attends!
What though no coach to frequent vifit rolls,

Nor for your fhilling chairmen fling their poles;
Yet fill your nerves rheumatic pains defy,
Nor lazy jaundice dulls your fation eye;
No wafting cough difcharges founds of death,
Nor wheezing afthma heaves in vain for breath;
Nor from your reftlefs couch is heard the groan
Of burning gout, or fedentary flone.





Let others in the jolting coach confide,"

Or in the leaky, boat the Thames divide;

Or, box'd within the chair, contemn the street,
And truft their fafety to another's fect:


Still let me walk; for oft' the fudden gale
Ruffles the tide, and fhifts the dangerous fail;
Then fhall the paffenger too late deplore
The whelming billow, and the faithlefs oar;
The drunken chairman in the kennel fpurns,
The glaffes fhatters, and his charge o'erturns.
Who can recount the coach's various harms,
The legs disjointed, and the broken arms?


I've feen a beau, in fome ill-fated hour,

When o'er the ftones choak'd kennels fwell the shower,

In gilded chariot loll; he with disdain

Views fpatter'd paffengers all drench'd in rain;

With mud fill'd high, the rumbling cart draws near,
Now rule thy prancing fteeds, lac'd charioteer!
The duftman lafhes on with fpiteful rage,
His ponderous fpokes thy painted wheel engage,
Crush'd is thy pride, down falls the fhrieking beau,
The flabby pavement cryftal fragments ftrow,
Black floods of mire th' embroider'd coat difgrace,.
And mud enwraps the honours of his face.

So, when dread Jove the fon of Phoebus hurl'd,
Scar'd with dark thunder, to the nether world,
The headftrong courfers tore the filver reins,
And the fun's beamy ruin gilds the plains.

If the pale walker pant with weakening ills,
His fickly hand is ftor'd with friendly bills:





From hence he learns the feventh-born doctor's fame,
From hence he learns the cheapest tailor's name.
Shall the large mutton fmoak upon your boards?
Such Newgate's copious market beft affords.
Would'st thou with mighty beef augment thy meal?
Seek Leaden-hall; St. James's fends thee veal;
Thames-ftrect gives cheefes; Covent-garden fruits;
Moor-fields old books; and Monmouth-ftrect old fuits.
Hence mayft thou well fupply the wants of life,
Support thy family, and cloathe thy wife.

Volumes on fheiter'd ftalls expanded lie,
And various science lures the learned eye;





The bending fhelves with ponderous fcholiafts groan,
And deep divines, to modern fhops unknown:
Here, like the bee, that on induftrious wing
Collects the various odours of the spring,
Walkers, at leifure, learning's flowers may spoil,
Nor watch the wafting of the midnight oil;
May morals fnatch from Plutarch's tatter'd page,
A mildew'd Bacon, or Stagyra's fage:
Here fauntering 'prentices o'er Otway weep,
O'er Congreve fmile, or over D'Urfy fleep;


Pleas'd fempftreffes the Lock's fam'd Rape unfold;

And Squirts read Garth, till apozems grow cold.
O Lintot! let my labours obvious lie,
Rang'd on thy ftall, for every curious eye!
So fhall the poor these precepts gratis know,
And to my verfe their future fafeties owe.
What walker fhall his mean ambition fix
On the falfe luftre of a coach and fix?
Let the vain virgin, lur'd by glaring show,
Sigh for the liveries of th' embroider'd beau..
See yon bright chariot on its braces swing,
With Flanders mares, and on an arched spring.
That wretch, to gain an equipage and place,
Betray'd his filter to a lewd embrace.

This coach that with the blazon'd 'fcutcheon glows,
Vain of his unknown race, the coxcomb fhows.
Here the brib'd lawyer, funk in velvet, fleeps;
The ftarving orphan, as he paffes, weeps;





An Apothecary's boy, in "The Difpenfary."


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