At Five this Morn, when Phoebus rais'd his Head
From Thetis Lap, I rais'd my self from Bed;
And mounting Steed, I trotted to the Waters, }
The Rendezvous of Fools, Buffoons, and Praters, }
Cuckolds, Whores, Citizens, their Wives and Daughters. }
My squeamish Stomach I with Wine had brib'd,
To undertake the Dose that was prescrib'd;
But turning Head, a sudden cursed Crew, }
That innocent Provision overthrew, }
And without drinking, made me purge and spew; }
From Coach and Six, a Thing unwieldy roll'd,
Whom Lumber-Cart more decently would hold,
As wise as Calf it look'd, as big as Bully,
But handled, prov'd a meer Sir Nich'las Cully:
A bawling Fop, a Nat'ral Nokes, and yet
He dar'd to censure, to be thought a Wit.
To make him more ridiculous in Spite,
Nature contriv'd the Fool should be a Knight.
How wise is Nature when she does dispense
A large Estate to cover Want of Sense.
The Man's a Fool, 'tis true, but that's no Matter, }
For he's a mighty Wit with those that flatter, }
But a poor Blockhead is a wretched Creature. }
Grant the unlucky Stars, this o'ergrown Boy
To purchase some aspiring pretty Toy,
That may his Want of Sense and Wit supply,
As Buxom Crab-fish doth his Lechery.
Tho' he alone was dismal Sight enough, }
His Train contributed to set him off; }
All of his Shape, all of the self-same Stuff: }
No Spleen or Malice could on them be thrown, }
Nature had done the Bus'ness of Lampoon, }
And in their Looks their Characters were shewn. }
Endeavouring this irksome Sight to baulk, }
And a more irksom Noise, their silly Talk; }
I silently slunk down to'th Lower Walk. }
But often when one would Charybdis shun,
Down upon Scylla 'tis our Fate to run:
For there it was my cursed Luck to find
As great a Fop, tho' of another kind;
A tall, stiff Fool, that walk'd in Spanish Guise, }
The Buckram Poppet never stirrd his Eyes, }
But grave as Owl he look'd, as Woodcock wise. }
He scorns the empty Talk of this made Age,
And speaks all Proverb, Sentence, and Adage:
Can with as much Solemnity buy Eggs,
As a Cabal can talk of their Intrigues:
Master of Ceremonies, yet can't dispense
With the Formality of Talking Sense.
From whence unto the Upper Walk I came,
Where a new Scene of Foppery began;
A Tribe of Curates, Priests, Canonical Elves,
Fit Company for none besides themselves,
Were got together; each his Distemper told,
Scurvy, Stone, Strangury; some were so bold,
To charge the Spleen to be their Misery,
And on that wise Disease lay Infamy:
But none had Modesty enough t'explain }
His Want of Learning, Honesty, or Brain, }
The general Diseases of that Train. }
These call themselves Ambassadors of Heaven,
And sawcily pretend Commissions given:
But should an Indian King, whose small Command
Seldom extends beyond ten Miles of Land,
Send forth such wretched Fools on an Embassage.
He'd find but small Effects of such a Message.
List'ning, I found the Cob of all this Rabble,
Pert Bayes with his Importance comfortable;
He being rais'd to an Archdeaconry,
By trampling on Religion, Liberty,
Was grown so great, and look'd too fat and jolly }
To be disturb'd with Care and Melancholly, }
Tho' Marvel had enough expos'd his Folly. }
He drank to carry off some old Remains
His lazy dull Distemper left in's Brains;
Let him drink on; but 'tis not a whole Flood }
Can give sufficient Sweetness to his Blood, }
To make his Nature, or his Manners good. }
Importance drank too, tho' she had been no Sinner,
To wash away some Dregs he had spew'd in her.
Next after these, a fulsom Irish Crew
Of silly Macks were offer'd to my View;
The things did talk, but hearing what they said,
I hid my self the Kindness to evade.
Nature had plac'd these Wretches beneath Scorn,
They can't be call'd so vile as they are born.
Amidst the Crowd, next I my self convey'd,
For now there comes, White-Wash and Paint being laid,
Mother and Daughter, Mistress and the Maid,
And Squire with Wig and Pantaloons display'd.
But ne'er could Conventicle, Play, or Fair,
For a true Medly with this Herd compare,
Here Lords, Knights, Squires, Ladies, and Countesses,
Chandlers, and barren Women, Sempstresses,
Were mix'd together; nor did they agree
More in their Humours, than their Quality.
Here waiting for Gallant young Damsel stood
Leaning on Cane, and muffl'd up in Hood.
The Wou'd-be-wit, whose Bus'ness was to woe,
With Hat remov'd, and solemn Scrape of Shoe,
Advances bowing, then gentilely shrugs,
And ruffl'd Fore-top into Order tugs;
And thus accosts her: Madam, methinks the Weather
Is grown much more serene, since you came hither:
You influence the Heav'ns; but shou'd the Sun
Withdraw himself, to see his Rays outdone
By your bright Eyes, they could supply the Morn,
And make a Day, before the Day be born.
With Mouth screw'd up, conceited winking Eyes,
And Breast thrust forward, Lard Sir, she replies,
It is your Goodness, and not my Deserts,
Which makes you shew this Learning, Wit, and Parts.
He puzzled, bites his Nails, both to display
The sparkling Ring, and think what next to say,
And thus breaks forth afresh; Madam, Egad,
Your Luck at Cards, last Night, was very bad;
At Cribbidge Fifty Nine, and the next Shew,
To make the Game, and yet to want these Two.
G—D—me, Madam, I'm the Son of a Whore,
If, in my Life, I saw the like before.
To Pedlar's Stall he drags her, and her Breast
With Hearts, and such like foolish Toys he drest,
And then, more smartly to expound the Riddle
Of all his Prattle, gives her a Scotch Fiddle.
Tir'd with this dismal Stuff, away I ran, }
Where were two Wives, with Girl just fit for Man, }
Short-breath'd, and palled Lips, and Visage wan. }
Some Court'sies past, and the old Compliment
Of being glad to see each other, spent,
With Hand in Hand they lovingly did walk,
And one began thus to renew the Talk:
I pray, Good Madam, if it mayn't be thought
Rudeness in me, what Cause has hither brought
Your Ladyship? She soon replying, smil'd,
We've got a good Estate, but have no Child;
And I'm inform'd, these Wells will make a barren
Woman as fruitful as a Coney-Warren.
The first return'd, For this Cause I am come,
For I can have no Quietness at Home;
My Husband grumbles, tho' we have got one,
This poor young Girl, and mutters for a Son:
And this is griev'd with Head-ach, Pangs, and Throws,
Is full Sixteen, and never yet had Those.
She soon reply'd, Get her a Husband, Madam;
I marry'd about that Age, and ne'er had had 'em
Was just like her, Steel Waters let alone,
A Back of Steel will better bring Them down.
And Ten to one, but they themselves will try
The same Means to increase the Family.
Poor silly Fribble! who by Subtilty,
Of Midwife, truest Friend to Lechery,
Perswaded art to be at Pains and Charge,
To give thy Wife Occasion to enlarge
Thy silly Head: For here walks Cuff and Kick,
With Brawny Back, and Legs, and potent P——,
Who more substantially can cure thy Wife,
And on her half-dead Womb bestow new Life;
From these the Waters got their Reputation
Of good Assistants unto Propagation.
Some warlike Men were now got into th' Throng,
With Hair ty'd back, singing a bawdy Song;
Not much afraid, I got a nearer View,
And 'twas my Chance to know the dreadful Crew;
They were Cadets, that seldom can appear,
Damn'd to the Stint of Thirty Pounds a Year;
With Hawk on Fist, and Grey-Hound led in Hand,
The Dog and Foot-Boys sometimes to command,
And now having trimm'd a Cast of spavin'd Horse, }
With Three Half-Pence for Guineas in their Purse, }
Two rusty Pistols, Scarf about their Arse, }
Coat lin'd with Red, they here presume to swell,
This goes for Captain, that for Collonel.
So the Bear-Garden Ape, on his Steed mounted,
No longer is a Jackanapes accounted;
And is, by virtue of his Trump'ry, then
Call'd by the Name of the young Gentleman:
Bless me! thought I, what thing is Man, that thus
In all his Shapes is so ridiculous?
Our selves with Noise of Reason we do please,
In vain Humanity is our worst Disease;
Thrice happy Beasts are, who because they be
Of Reason void, are so of Foppery.
Faith, I was so asham'd, that with Remorse,
I us'd the Insolence to mount my Horse;
For he doing only Things fit for his Nature,
Did seem to me by much the wiser Creature.