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DESCRIPTION OF CITY SHOWER
- CAREFUL Observers may fortel the Hour
- (By sure Prognosticks) when to dread a Show'r:
- While Rain depends, the pensive Cat gives o'er
- Her Frolicks, and pursues her Tail no more.
- Returning Home at Night, you'll find the Sink
- Strike your offended Sense with double Stink.
- If you be wise, then go not far to Dine,
- You spend in Coach-hire more than save in Wine.
- A coming Show'r your shooting Corns presage,
- Old Aches throb, your hollow Tooth will rage.
- Sauntring in Coffee-house is Dulman seen;
- He damns the Climate, and complains of Spleen.
- Mean while the South rising with dabbled Wings,
- A Sable Cloud a-thwart the Welkin flings,
- That swill'd more Liquor than it could contain,
- And like a Drunkard gives it up again.
- Brisk Susan whips her Linen from the Rope,
- While the first drizzling Show'r is born aslope,
- Such is that Sprinkling which some careless Quean
- Flirts on you from her Mop, but not so clean.
- You fly, invoke the Gods; then turning, stop
- To rail; she singing, still whirls on her Mop.
- Not yet, the Dust had shun'd th'unequal Strife,
- But aided by the Wind, fought still for Life;
- And wafted with its Foe by violent Gust,
- 'Twas doubtful which was Rain, and which was Dust.
- Ah! where must needy Poet seek for Aid,
- When Dust and Rain at once his Coat invade;
- Sole Coat, where Dust cemented by the Rain,
- Erects the Nap, and leaves a cloudy Stain.
- Now in contiguous Drops the Flood comes down,
- Threat'ning with Deloge this Devoted Town.
- To Shops in Crouds the dagled Females fly,
- Pretend to cheapen Goods, but nothing buy.
- The Templer spruce, while ev'ry Spout's a-broach,
- Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a Coach.
- The tuck'd-up Sempstress walks with hasty Strides,
- While Streams run down her oil'd Umbrella's Sides.
- Here various Kinds by various Fortunes led,
- Commence Acquaintance underneath a Shed.
- Triumphant Tories, and desponding Whigs,
- Forget their Fewds, and join to save their Wigs.
- Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient sits,
- While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Roof by Fits;
- And ever and anon with frightful Din
- The Leather sounds, he trembles from within.
- So when Troy Chair-men bore the Wooden Steed,
- Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed,
- (Those Bully Greeks, who, as the Moderns do,
- Instead of paying Chair-men, run them thro'.)
- Laoco'n struck the Outside with his Spear,
- And each imprison'd Hero quak'd for Fear.
- Now from all Parts the swelling Kennels flow,
- And bear their Trophies with them as they go:
- Filth of all Hues and Odours seem to tell
- What Streets they sail'd from, by the Sight and Smell.
- They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force
- From Smithfield, or St.Pulchre's shape their Course,
- And in huge Confluent join at Snow-Hill Ridge,
- Fall from the Conduit prone to Holborn-Bridge.
- Sweepings from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts, and Blood,
- Drown'd Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench'd in Mud,
- Dead Cats and Turnips-Tops come tumbling down the Flood.
© 2000 Elena and Yakov Feldman