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E bloods and ye bucks that rove thro' the city,

Step into Rag-fair, you'll ſee humours pretty,

There's Dolly and Fanny, and amorous Kitty,

Each pleaſant evening a bart'ring their ware;

There you'll ſee ſaleſmen double-hand dealers,

The doors are adorn'd with parrots and taylors,

Beer-houſes in plenty to call jolly ſailors,

I mean the Well end, Sir, of Roſemary Lane.

Some Billingſgate faggots their ſith are a crying,

With ſtrong beer and gin their goblets are plying,

Every corner adorn'd with women a plying,

Breeches for weavers and dreſſers of hair;

Confectioners, chandlers, and pye-ſhops in plenty,

Supplying each perſon with birs that are dainty,

Mountebank doctors to cure all that are tainty,

That ſmack of the ſweets of Roſenary Lane.

In midſt of the throng, hear old clothes a bauling,

O’d hat folks old ſhoefolks old wig folks, are calling’

The barkers the paſſengers pulling and hauling,

Do you want clothes, Sir? yes, this is their game;

Meazley pork, rotten bacon, and ſauſages frying,

Stinking beef, veal & mutton,greazy fellows a crying,

The ſcent almoſt ſtifles you as you paſs by them,

So delicious the lood, Sir, in Roſemary Lane.

Some picking of pockets, and uſurers cheating,

Pawnbrokers and Jews are a filching and ſtealing,

Some whores in their callers their faces bewailing,

By means of the fire they carry in their tail; (me

From Wapping, Denmark ſtreet from the Banks of Saltpe-

Each ſlaſh doth repair to ſcreen from the weather,

Where knave, thief, & whore do all cling together,

Serenading the humours of Roſemary Lane.