A

DESCRIPTION

OF A

City-Shower.

C

October, 1710.

AREFUL Obfervers may foretel the
Hours wit

(By fure Prognosticks) when to dread
a Show'rt

While Rain depends, the penfive Cat gives o'er Her Frolicks, and purfues her Tail no more. Returning home at Night, you'll find the Sink Strike your offended Senfe with double Stink... If you be wife, then go not far to Dine,

You'll spend in Coach-hire more than fave in Wine.

A coming Show'r your fhooting Corns prefage, Old Aches throb, your hollow Tooth will rage.

Sauntring

Sauntring in Coffee-house is Dulman seen
He damns the Climate, and complains of Spleen.
MEAN while the South rifing with dabbled
Wings,

A Sable Cloud a-thwart the Welkin flings,
That fwill'd more Liquor, than it could contain,
And like a Drunkard gives it, up again?
Brifk Safan whips her Linnen om the Rope,
While the firft drizzling Show'r is born aflope,
Such is that fprinkling, which fome careless Quean
Flirts on you from her Mop, but not fo clean.
You fly, invoke the Gods; then turning, ftop
To raill, fhe finging, fill whirls on her Mop.
Not yet the Duft had fhun'd th unequal Strife,
But aided by the Wind, fought ftill for Life;
And wafted with its Foe by violent Guft,
'Twas doubtful which was Rain, and which was
Duft.

Ah! where muft needy Poet feek for Aid,
When Duft and Rain at once his Coat invade;
His only Coat, where Duft confus'd with Rain,
Roughen the Nap, and leave a mingled Stain.
Now in contiguous Drops the Flood comes
down,
RALP
Threat'ning with Deluge this Devoted Town.
To Shops in Crouds the dagged Females y,
Pretend to cheapen Goods, but nothing buy.
The Templer fpruce, while evey Sprouts broach,
Staye till is fair, yet feems to call a Coach.
The tuck'dup Semiprefs walks with Bally frides,
White Sereams run down her Oil'd Umbrella's
fides.

Here various Kinds by various Fortunes Ted,
Commence Acquaintance underneath a Shed.
Triumphant Tories, and Defponding Whigs,
Forget their Fewds, and joyn to fave their Wigs.

217

A DESCRIPTION of a CITY SHOUER. Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient fits, While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Roof by Fits; And ever and anon with frightful Din

3

The Leather founds, he trembles from within.
So when Troy Chair-men bore the wooden Steed,
Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed.
(Thofe Bully Greeks, who, as the Moderns do,
Inftead of paying Chair-men, run them thro'.)
Laocon ftruck the Outfide with his Spear,
And each imprifon'd Hero quak'd for Fear.
Now from all Parts the fwelling Kennels flow,
And bear their Trophies with them as they go:
Filth of all Hues and Odours feem to tell
What Street they fail'd from, by their Sight and
Smell,

They as each Torrent drives with rapid Force
From Smithfield, or St. Pulcher's fhape their Course,
And in huge Confluent join at Snow-hill Ridge,
Fall from the Conduit prone to Holborn-Bridge.

Cand Blood, Sweepings from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts,

(in Mud, Drowu'd Puppies, ftinking Sprats, all drencn'd

down the Flood.

The following Poems, and other Pieces being judged by fome to be after the Author's Manner, I bave ventured to Print them.

THE

VIRTUES

OF

Sid Hamet the Magician's ROD.

T

Written, 1703.

HE Rod was but a harmless Wand,
While Mofes held it in his Hand,
But loon as e'er he laid it down,
'Twas a devouring Serpent grown.
OUR great Magician Hamet Sid
Reverses what the Prophet did;
His Rod was honeft English Wood,
That fenfelefs in a Corner ftood,

Till Metamorphos'd by his Grafp,
It grew an All-devouring Afp;
Would hifs, and fting, and roll, and twist,
By the meer Virtue of his Fift:
But when he laid it down, as quick
Refum'd the Figure of a Stick.

So to her Midnight Feafts the Hag,
Rides on a Broomftick for a Nag,
That, rais'd by Magick of her Breech,
O'er Sea and Land conveys the Witch;
But, with the Morning-Dawn, refumes
The Peaceful State of common Brooms.
THEY tell us fomething ftrange and odd,
About a certain Magick Rod,

That, bending down its Top, divines
When e'er the Soil has Golden Mines:
Where there are none, it ftands erect,
Scorning to fhew the leaft Refpect.
As ready was the Wand of Sid...

To bend where Golden Mines were hid
In Scottish Hills found precious Ore,
Where none e'er look'd for it before;
And, by a gentle Bow, divin'd

How well a Cully's Purfe was lin'd:
To a forelorn and broken Rake,
Stood without Motion, like a Stake.

THE Rod of Hermes was renown'ḍ
For Charms above and under Ground
To fleep could mortal Eye-lids fix,
And drive departed Souls to Styx.
That Rod was just a Type of Sid's,
Which, o'er a Brittish Senate's Lids,
Could Scatter Opium full as well,
And drive as many Souls to Hell.
SID's Rod was flender, white, and tall,
Which oft he us'd to fifh withal: