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| IN ev’ry Town where Thamis rolls his tyde, | |
| A narrow pass there is, with houses low, | |
| Where ever and anon the stream is eyed, | |
| And many a boat soft sliding to and fro: | |
| There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe, | 5 |
| 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. | |
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| And on the broken pavement, here and there, | 10 |
| Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie; | |
| A brandy and tobacco shop is neare, | |
| And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by; | |
| And here a sailor’s jacket hangs to dry. | |
| At ev’ry door are sunburnt matrons seen, | 15 |
| Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry; | |
| Now singing shrill, and scolding eft between; | |
| Scolds answer foul-mouth’d Scolds; bad neighbourhood I ween. | |
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| The snappish cur (the passengers’ annoy) | |
| Close at my heel with yelping treble flies; | 20 |
| The whimp’ring Girl, and hoarser 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; | 25 |
| The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round, | |
| And Curs, Girls, Boys, and Scolds, in the deep bass are drown’d. | |
| |
| Hard by a sty, beneath a roof of thatch, | |
| Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days | |
| Baskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| And vexing ev’ry wight, tears clothes and all to tatters. | |
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| Her dugs were mark’d by ev’ry Collier’s hand, | |
| Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall: | |
| She scratchëd, bit, and spared ne lace ne band, | |
| And bitch and rogue her answer was to all. | 40 |
| Nay, ev’n the parts of shame by name would call: | |
| Yea, when she passëd 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. | 45 |
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| Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town, | |
| Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch; | |
| Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown, | |
| And Twick’nam such, which fairer scenes enrich, | |
| Grots, statues, urns, and Jo—n’s dog and bitch. | 50 |
| Ne village is without, on either side, | |
| All up the silver Thames, or all adown; | |
| Ne Richmond’s self, from whose tall front are eyed | |
| Vales, spires, meand’ring streams, and Windsor’s tow’ry pride. | |
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