A CHARACTER OF London-Village,
A
Village! Monstrous! 'Tis a mighty Beast,
Behemoth, or
Leviathan at least;
Or like some Wilderness, or vast Meander,
Where to find Friends one long enough may wander.
The Towring Chimneys like a Forrest Show,
At whose low Branches do Balconies grow.
When I came there at first, I Gazed round,
And thought my self upon
Inchanted Ground;
Or else that I (in Rapture being hurl'd)
Was lately Dead, and this was
th'other World.
But was Surpris'd with Doubts, and could not tell
Which of the two 'twas, whether
Heav'n or
Hell:
The Noise and Shows my Eyes and Ears invade,
By Coaches, Cryes, and Glitt'ring Gallants made▪
My Reason was Convinced in a Trice
That it was neither, But
Fools Paradice;
Ladies I saw, not Handsome one in ten;
Great store of Knights, and some few Gentlemen.
Fine Fellows Flanting up and down the Streets,
Where
Fop and
Flutter Each the Other Greets;
Each Mimick Posture does an Ape present,
While
Humble-Servant, Ends the Complement.
For
Garb and
Colour there's no certain Rule,
Here is your
Red, your
Blew; your
Yellow-Fool.
Most of these Gallants seem to view Refin'd;
The
Outside wond'rous
Gay, but
Poorly Lin'd.
I saw some of them in the Playhouse-Pit,
Where they three hours in Conversation sit,
Laugh and
Talk Loud, but scarce a
grain of Wit.
The Ladies to Ensnare will something say,
Tending to show the Brisk Gallants their way,
But scorn as much to
Prattle Sence as they.
Here comes a
Hero Cover'd close from Air,
By Porters born in a Silk-Curtain'd-Chair.
Whose Sire in honest Russet
Trail'd a
Plow,
And with
Stout Flayl Conquer'd the
Haughty Mow.
[Page]Next after him, is by six Horses drawn,
A piece of Logwood, in a Coach alone,
Looking like
Scanderbeg on Ev'ry one.
Who soon a whispering Baud softly invites,
To a new Suburb
Miss, and there he Lights.
But at some little distance from the place,
Handsome she seems, all Cover'd o'er with Lace.
That nearer shews
an old and ugly Face.
There goes a
Brisk Young Lass in a Gay Dress,
Here an
Old Crone in Youthful Gawdyness.
Strange
Miracles of Nature here are plac'd!
Ill Favour'd Wenches, Cracks; some
Fair, are chaste.
The Temp'rate, Sick: Great Drinkers live in Health.
Here
Usurers have
Wit, and
Poets Wealth.
The
Coffee House, the
Rendezvouz of
Wits,
Is a Compound of
Gentlemen and
Cits;
And not all
Wise, or else their Wits they Smother,
They sit as if
Afraid of One Another
So
Pickpocket (when Deeper
Lifter's by)
Budging aloof, Disowns the Mystery.
In comes a Cockt-up
Bully, Looking big,
With Deep fring'd Elbow-Gloves, and Ruffl'd Wig,
He turns his Back to th▪ Chimney, with a Grace,
Singing and Staring in each Strangers Face;
Talks Mighty things, his late Intrigues, and then
Sups off his Dish, and out he struts Agen.
And as I Rambled through this
Quondam-City,
I look'd on Founding
Pauls with Tears of Pity;
But wiping off, with an Auspicious Smile,
Being like to Rise the Glory of this Isle,
Village, for now to you I tell my Tale;
You have Produc'd a
Mountain from a
Dale:
The Countrey thought the Fire had quite undone ye,
But now I find you have both
Zeal and
Money.
I cross'd the
Thames much broader then the Brook,
Where I have Bath'd, and little Fishes took.
From
Bear-Garden I
Westminster might view,
And tho their
Outside lookt of different hue,
Yet there in each is so much Noise and Pother,
I scarce knew how to Diff'rence one from th'other
But at the Court indeed I saw great
Things,
The
Noblest Subjects, and the
Best of KINGS:
These things I did observe, and many more,
But Tyr'd with the Relation, I'll give o'er.
London, Printed for J. ALLEN. 1684.