Sloppy streets and foggy day,
Where the blund'ring folks do ftray;
Pavements, on whofe greafy flags
Swearing coachmen flog their nags;
Barbers joftled 'gainft your fide,
Narrow streets and gutters wide.
Grub-street garrets now it fees,
To the Mufe open, and the breeze;
Where, perhaps, fome fcribbler hungers-
The hack of neighbouring newfmongers.
Hard by a tinker's furnace fmokes,
From betwixt two paftry-cooks,
Where dingy Dick and Peggy met,
Are at their fcurvy dinner fet-
Of cow-heel and fuch cellar meffes,
Which the fplay-footed Rachael dreffes;
And then with hafte her mate fhe leaves,
And, with the boy, the bellows heaves;
Or, if 't is late, and thop be fhut,
Scrubs, at the pump, her face from fmut.
Sometimes, all for fights agog,
To t' other end of town I jog,
When St. James's bells ring round,
And the royal fiddles found;
When ev'ry lord and lady's bum
Jigs it in the drawing-room,

And young and old dance down the tune,
In honour of the fourth of June;
Till candles fail, and eyes are fore-
Then hie we home to talk it o'er,
With ftories told of many a treat-
How Lady Swab the fweetmeats eat!
She was pinch'd-and fomething worfe,
And fhe was fobb'd, and loft her purfe!
Tell how the drudging.

To bake his custards duly fet,

fweat,

When in one night, ere clock went feven,
His 'prentice-lad had robb'd the oven
Of more than twenty hands had put in,
Then lies him down-the little glutton!
Stretch'd flumb'ring 'fore the fire, they tell ye,
And bakes the cuftards in his belly;

Then crop-fick, down the stairs he flings-
Before his master's bell yet rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By hoofs and wheels foon lull'd' asleep.
But the city takes me then,
And the hums of busy men,

Where throngs of trainband Captains bold
In times of peace, fierce meetings hold,
With ftores of ftock-jobbers, whofe lies
Work change of stocks and bankruptcies :
While bulls and bears alike contend

To get

that cafh they dare not spend.

Then let Aldermen appear,

In fcarlet robe with chandelier,
And city feafts and gluttony,

With balls upon the Lord Mayor's day;
Sights that young 'prentices remember
Sleeping and waking all November.
Then to the Playhoufes anon,
If Quick or Bannister be on,

Or drolleft Parfons, child of Drury,
Bawls out his damns with comic fury.
And ever against hum-drum cares,
Sing me fome of Dibdin's airs;
Married to his own queer wit,
Such as ny fhaking tides may fplit,
In notes, with many a jolly bout,
Near Beaufort's Buildings oft roar'd out,
With wagging curls, and fmirks fo cunning,
His rig on many a booby running,
Expofing all the ways and phizzes

Of "Wags, and Oddities, and Quizzes ;”
That Shuter's felf might heave his head

From drunken fnoozes, on a bed

Of pot-houfe benches sprawl'd, and hear
Such laughing fongs as won the ear
Of all the town, his flip to cover,
Whene'er he met 'em half-feas o'er.
Freaks like thefe if thou canst give,
Fun, with thee I wish to live.

LETTER

SIR,

LETTER FROM A LADY.
[From the Morning Chronicle.]

ALTHOUGH the various paragraphs respecting me which have appeared in the papers, may have prejudiced the public againft my character, I hope you will do me the juftice to infert this letter, the object of which is to entreat that the public will candidly fufpend their judgment until I have had a fair trial, which I have not yet obtained.

I hope it will appear, Sir, that when all the circumftances of my unhappy affair are laid before the public, they will fee that I have been undone by a variety of feductions which a female can hardly withstand, efpecially a lone woman like me, who loft my beft protectors many years ago. I hope it will appear that I was betrayed in an evil, an unguarded hour, by the flattering tongue of my dear William (dear indeed has he been to me), and that, owing to no fault of mine, I have loft my reputation in the eyes of a cenforious world. But it is not true that I did not make refiftance, and my marriage, as it was called, was nothing lefs than a downright rape. As to my own property, the dear perfidious man knew he might command it when he pleased; but to meddle with the property of others entrusted to my care, and leave me nothing but a parcel of rags to give them, was truly cruel.

And why, you will fay, did I truft him? Alas! you know not what a good young man he was when I first got acquainted with him. Lord! it would have done you good to hear him talk about reformation and economy. I thought, to be fure, I might truft him with untold gold, and fo did thousands at that time; but fomehow he got into bad company, and you know what evil communications will do. However, he concealed even this from me a long while, and I never fcrupled to accommodate him when I could, till a few years ago, he took it in his head to quarrel with a neighbour

of

of his, because his houfe happened to take fire by the neglect of his fervants, and nothing would please my fpark but that his neighbour fhould keep the house burning till he put it out. Nay, fuch a notion had he of being an extinguisher, that he even fet fire to his own house, and nothing could convince him he was wrong till the fire had got to fuch a head that I don't believe he will be able to fave an article; and I fuppofe he is not infured, for no perfon can find his policy. What is worse, he got into fuch a paffion with fome people who attempted to quench the flames, that he actually committed them to the watch-house, from which, after a great many words, they were released, nothing being proved against them.

It was about this time that he began to behave with more freedom to me than was decent, and was perpetually in want of money, which I offered to let him have if he could let me have proper fecurity. And what do you think he did? He at one time brought a dozen or two of wine, and then a parcel of powdered wigs, and laft of all a cargo of dogs, which he valued, he faid, at three fhillings apiece. It was now I began to diftruft him; but oh, Sir! never let frail woman confide in one who has deceived her. Importunity followed upon importunity-caress upon carefs-till one fatal day-a Sunday-a day on which I never ufed to have company-he feized on my strong box, and threatened what he would do if I did not comply. My guardians were out of the way, and-let my blushes fpeak the reft.

The ftory was foon blown-the fruits of our connexion were too apparent-but I am now fuing for a divorce, though at prefent my principal witneffes are abroad. Till that be obtained, I expect to be treated with the delicacy due to my fex and my frailty; and am, Sir, yours, &c.

THE LADY IN THREADNEEDLE STREET.

THE

THE ANNIVERSARY DINNER.

TUNE-Black Joke.

Darby Sheridan's (an Irish Chairman) Account of the Dinner given by a Great Man at the Shakespear, where every Man paid for himself.

[From the True Briton.]

BLOOD and 'ouns! my dear Pat! it ne'er cost me so dear, As October the 10th at the Head of Shakespear;

'T was a black joke for my pocket fo light. Like O'Rourke's noble feaft it will ne'er be forgot, Though Fox gave the dinner, each man paid I is fhot; And what's very odd, and you'll scarce think it true, I believe 't was ourselves that paid his reck'ning too. There were ftay-makers plenty who wrought with Tom

Paine,

And fome young men from Woolwich, not long from the chain;

With their black legs and stockings fo white.

And there was the Captain that writes for the news,
They lately can't tell what's become of his mufe-
But thi we all know, that, wherever the 's fled,
She's ftrolling about, or the 's begging her bread,
With her dull jokes and bladderum fkite.

And then there was Sherry, my own near a-kin,
I'll foon get a penfion, if he could get in,

With his fly joke and fancy fo bright.

I'm fure we fhould thank him with hearts and with fouls, Says he, looking at me, "Succefs to the Poles;"

On which I got up and attempted to speak,

But they laugh'd till their fides were just ready to break.
Then Fox gave a toast about bloodfled and feaffolds,
What a pity he always don't win when he raffles!
His black beard it is my delight.

He talk'd a long time 'bout an iron rod,

And drank long life to one Sidney that's under the fod-→
And as foon as they emptied their giaffes to Sidney,.
They bumper'd John Hampden, one of the fame kidney.
Some clapp'd, fome huzza'd-in the midft of the din,
As the devil would have it, the reck'ning came in,

'T was a black joke that made fome people white.

For