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ENGLISH POET S.
Done by the AUTHOR in his Youth.
WOMEN ben full of Ragerie,
Yet fwinken nat fans fecrefie.
"But ho! our Nephew, (crieth one)
They asken that, and talken this,
"Then truft on Mon, whofe yerde can talke.
The ALLE Y.
N 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 fliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and fhriller Squall:
How can ye, Mothers, vex your Children fo?
Some play, fome eat, fome cack against the wall,
And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
And on the broken pavement, here and there,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs are feeding by;
At ev'ry door are fun-burnt matrons feen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry;
Now finging fhrill, and fcolding eft between;
Scolds anfwer foul-mouth'd fcolds; bad neighbour
hood I ween.
The fnappifh cur, (the paffengers annoy)
Close at my heel with yelping treble flies ;
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round, And curs, girls, boys, and fcolds, in the deep bafe are drown'd.
Hard by a Sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billinfgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, fprat, or plaice: There learn'd fhe fpeech from tongues that never
Slander befide her, like a Mag-pie, chatters,
Her dugs were mark'd by ev'ry Collier's hand,