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Yet Winter chill'd her feet, with cold she pines,
And on her cheek the fading rose declines ;
No more her humid eyes their lustre boast,
And in hoarse sounds her melting voice is lost.

Thus Vulcan saw, and in his heavenly thought
A new machine mechanic fancy wrought,
Above the mire her shelter'd steps to raise,
And bear her safely through the wintery ways.
Straight the new engine on his anvil glows,
And the pale virgin on the patten rose.
No more her lungs are shook with dropping rheums,
And on her cheek reviving beauty blooms.
The god obtain'd his suit : though flattery fail,
Presents with female virtue must prevail.
The patten now supports each frugal dame,
Which from the blue-ey'd Patty takes the name.

Book II.

Of walking the Streets by Day. Thus far the Muse has trac'd, in useful lays, The proper implements for wintery ways; Has taught the walker, with judicious eyes, To read the various warnings of the skies : Now venture, Muse, from home to range the town, And for the public safety risk thy own.

For ease and for dispatch, the morning's best; No tides of passengers the streets molest. You'll see a draggled damsel here and there, From Billingsgate her fishy traffic bear ;

On doors the sallow milk-maid chalks her gains ;
Ah! how unlike the milk-maid of the plains !
Before proud gates attending asses bray,
Or arrogate with solemn pace the way;
These grave physicians with their milky cheer
The love-sick maid and dwindling beau repair ;
Here rows of drummers stand in martial file,
And with their vellum thunder shake the pile,
To greet the new-made bride. Are sounds like these
The proper prelude to a state of peace ?
Now Industry awakes her busy sons ;
Full-charg'd with news the breathless hawker runs :
Shops open, coaches roll, carts shake the ground,
And all the streets with passing cries resound.

If cloth'd in black you tread the bu town,
Or if distinguish'd by the reverend gown,
Three trades avoid : oft in the mingling press
The barber's apron soils the sable dress;
Shun the perfumer's touch with cautious eye,
Nor let the baker's step advance too nigh.
Ye walkers too, that youthful colours wear,
Three sullying trades avoid with equal care :
The little chimney-sweeper skulks along,
And marks with sooty stains the heedless throng;
When small-coal murmurs in the hoarser throat,
From smutty dangers guard thy threaten'd coat;
The dustman's cart offends thy clothes and eyes,
When through the street a cloud of ashes flies;
But, whether black or lighter dyes are worn,
The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne,
With tallow spots thy coat ; resign the way,
To shun the surly butcher's greasy tray,

Butchers, whose hands are dy'd with blood's soul

stain, And always foremost in the hangman's train.

Let due civilities be strictly paid : The wall surrender to the hooded maid ; Nor let thy sturdy elbow's hasty rage Jostle the feeble steps of trembling age: And when the porter bends beneath his load, And pants for breath, clear thou the crowded road. But, above all, the groping blind direct; And from the pressing throng the lame protect.

You'll sometimes meet a fop, of nicest tread,
Whose mantling peruke veils his empty head ;
At every step he dreads the wall to lose,
And risks, to save a coach, his red-heel'd shoes;
Him, like the miller, pass with caution by,
Lest from his shoulder clouds of powder fly.
But, when the bully, with assuming pace,
Cocks his broad hat, edg'd round with tarnish'd

Yield not the way, defy his strutting pride,
And thrust him to the muddy kennel's side;
He never turns again, nor dares oppose,
But mutters coward curses as he goes.

If drawn by business to a street unknown,
Let the sworn porter point thee through the town;
Be sure observe the signs, for signs remain,
Like faithful landmarks, to the walking train.
Seek not from 'prentices to learn the way,
Those fabling boys will turn thy steps astray ;
Ask the grave tradesman to direct thee right,
He ne'er deceives - but when he profits by't.

Where fam'd St. Giles's ancient limits spread,
An enrail'd column rears its lofty head,
Here to seven streets seven dials count the day,
And from each other catch the circling ray.
Here oft the peasant, with inquiring face,
Bewilder'd, trudges on from place to place;
He dwells on every sign with stupid gaze,
Enters the narrow alley's doubtful maze,
Tries every winding court and street in vain,
And doubles o'er his weary steps again.
Thus hardy Theseus with intrepid feet
Travers’d the dangerous labyrinth of Crete ;
But still the wandering passes forc'd his stay,
Till Ariadne's clue unwinds the way.
But do not thou, like that bold chief, confide
Thy venturous footsteps to a female guide:
She'll lead thee with delusive smiles along,
Dive in thy fob, and drop thee in the throng.

When waggish boys the stunted besom ply,
To rid the slabby pavement, pass not by
Ere thou hast held their hands; some heedless flirt
Will overspread thy calves with spattering dirt.
Where porters' hogsheads roll from carts aslope,
Or brewers down steep cellars stretch the rope,
Where counted billets are by carmen tost,
Stay thy rash step, and walk without the post.
What though the gathering mire thy feet be-

The voice of Industry is always near.
Hark! the boy calls thee to his destin'd stand,
And the shoe shines beneath bis oily hand.

Here let the Muse, fatigued amid the throng,
Adorn her precepts with digressive song;
Of shirtless youths the secret rise to trace,
And show the parent of the sable race. (change)

Like mortal man, great Jove (grown fond of
Of old was wont this nether world to range,
To seek amours; the vice the monarch lov'd
Soon through the wide ethereal court improv'd :
And ev'n the proudest goddess, now and then,
Would lodge a night among the sons of men;
To vulgar deities descends the fashion,
Each, like her betters, had her earthly passion.
Then Cloacina * (goddess of the tide,
Whose sable streams beneath the city glide,)
Indulg'd the modish flame; the town she rov'd,
A mortal scavenger she saw, she lov'd;
The muddy spots that dry'd upon his face,
Like female patches, heighten'd every grace:
She gaz'd; she sigh’d; (for love can beauties spy
In what seem faults to every common eye.)

Now had the watchman walk'd his second round, When Cloacina hears the rumbling sound Of her brown lover's cart (for well she knows That pleasing thunder): swift the goddess rose, And through the streets pursu'd the distant noise, Her bosom panting with expected joys.

* Cloacina was a goddess, whose image Tatius (a king of the Sabines) found in the common sewer ; and, not knowing what goddess it was, he called it Cloacina, from the place in which it was found, and paid to it divine honours. Lactant. 1. 20. Minuc. Fel. Oct. p. 232.

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