Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/401



IN ev'ry town where Thamis rolls his tide, A narrow pass there is, with houses low; Where ever and anon the stream is eyed, And many a boat soft sliding to and fro: There oft are heard the notes of infant woe. The short thick sob, loud scream, and shriller squall: How can ye, mothers, vex your children so? Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall, And, as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.

And on the broken pavement here and there Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie; A brandy and tobacco shop is near, And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by: And here a sailor's jacket hangs to dry; At every door are sunburnt matrons seen, Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry; Now singing shrill, and scolding oft between; Scolds answer foulmouth'd scolds; bad neighbourhood, I ween.

The snappish cur (the passenger's annoy) Close at my heel with yelping treble flies; The whimpering girl and hoarser screaming boy Join to the yelping treble shrilling cries; The scolding quean to louder notes doth rise, And