5^^^^ I-'^ i ,^ Vvta^ il'^. MCM\I. I PUBLISTTeD by CRAhT - ICHARDI : y CNRIETT A TRE£T QVENT GARdInTJ ^^^^ 3^^B^— — ^ -= .1 ■■ ■ -■■ , I i „ —^j ^^a ^ i W ii* ■ I W 1. .. .. — ,i,.J P7 lC TO MY WIFE INTRODUCTION This book is for the lover of London. The love and know- ledge of London, in poets and in readers, have given me my principle of selection ; and my own love and knowledge of London, such as they are, have given me my impulse. London therefore, not Literature, is primarily exhibited in these pages. Fine poems, inspired by London, will be found in profusion, but mingled with these are many London poems which are only witty, or only curious, or only sincere. London is a mighty mingling ; and this book answers to London. I have taken more than two hundred poems, or sets of verses, the oldest by Chaucer, the newest by living poets, and have placed them in three groups. In the first and largest group, London as a whole is contemplated, and the great brilliant " Town " displays its fashions and bric-a-brac. In the last group are placed poems of the City — the market of the world. Dick Whittington and Bow Bells, and the Lord Mayor in his coach, and the Cockney, wistful of Cheapside while he hears the lark — are there. Joining and harmonising these two Londons is " London River " ; vi LONDON IN SONG and with the silent river I associate the silence of the Abbey. It seemed well to suggest a chronological order of the poems, however faintly. Therefore the date of each poem appears under its title, enabling the reader, I hope, to adjust his mind quickly to variations of time. Notes will be found at the end of the book ; these could easily have been extended, but I trust they will be deemed sufficient. The question must be asked : What is the general character of London verse ? I think that London-inspired verse may be divided into three bodies : the Poetry of Pageants and Occasions ; the Poetry of Town Life and Manners ; the Poetry of Vision and Reflection. This order is almost chronological. Pageantry and the keeping of festivals, having nearly vanished from London life, no longer inspire our poets. The notion of hailing and celebrating London on high occasions seems alien to modern ideas. One may regret this ; one may regret that the opportunities of last year were not taken, and that of the many poets who apostrophised the Empire and England a few did not glorify London, the heart of both. The poetry of town life and manners was born later and lasted longer ; it is still heard. But it was native to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when the very word " town " took its more human significance. London was then a snug city, and an easy theme. Now, there are many Londons, not to name the suburbs, and the "town" poet is jostled into silence. INTRODUCTION vii The poetry of vision and reflection, the third class of London-inspired verse, is of our own time. It is odd, but London seems to have inspired such poetry in proportion as she has become herself prosaic. London gives more lovely themes to poets, now that she is vast and smoky, than she did when milkmaids carried milk to Fleet Street from the fields, and strawberries were picked in HolBorn. When Wordsworth, standing on Westminster Bridge on the morning of September 3, 1802, breathed his sonnet, he began this new poetry of London. " Silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky.' Long enough (and far more so) had London lain open to the fields and sky ; but the thing had not been said, or much felt. Yet our poets are bettering Wordsworth's teaching. He could venture to show poor Susan only an imaginary and pasteboard Spring — " a mountain ascending, a vision of trees," a river in Cheapside. To-day the very Spring is exquisitely found in our streets, and the filial bond between London and Nature is perceived. Not the less is London's human spectacle felt and studied. Poets, therefore, are ceasing to write of London under chance and partial inspirations ; they are beginning to see London steady and whole, and to make volumes where their prede- cessors made single poems. The justification of this book may be that it forms a hopeful commentary on this new Poetry of London — by displaying, in a general view, the thoughts which London viii LONDON IN SONG has awakened in her poets and citizens during six centuries. But I leave the critical usefulness of this collection to be considered by others : my hope is that it may deepen in a few minds — as it has done in my own — the happiness of living in London. WILFRED WRITTEN. \st June 1898. CONTENTS LONDON TOWN PAGE "London; that Great Sea," By Percy Bysshe Shelley . i The Glory of the Earth. By William Cowper . . i The Flour of Cities All, By William Dunbar . . 4 Hail, London ! Anon. . . . . .6 London, By John Davidson . . , . , 8 London Town. By Lionel Johnson , . . . 9 Urbanus Loquitur, By Selwyn Image . . ,12 To London, By Henry Luttrell , . . -14 London Poets. By Amy Levy , . ' . .18 The Poet's London. By Lord Lytton . . -19 On London Stones. By Austin Dobson . , ,21 The Contrast. By Captain Charles Morris . . .21 London Lycpeny. By John Lydgate . , . -24 Return to London. By Robert Herrick . . .28 The May-Lord. By Beaumont and Fletcher . . -29 The Milkmaids' Dance. Anon. . . . • 3^ The May Pole in the Strand. By"Pasquil" . . 32 Vanished London. By James Bramston . . -34 A May Morning in London. By Thomas Hood . . 34 A Song of London. By Rosamund Marriott Watson . 35 London from Shooter's Hill. By Lord Byron . . 36 Don Juan in London. By Lord Byron . . -37 X LONDON IN SONG Ye Flags of Piccadilly. By Arthur Hugh Clough . Fair Pall Mall. By John Gay St. James's Street. By Frederick Locker- Lam pson . Bond Street. By Lord Lytton A Song of Hyde Park. Anon. Rotten Row. By Frederick Locker-Lampson . The Jilt. By James and Horace Smith WiLLY-NiLLY IN PICCADILLY. By Thomas Hood Kensington Gardens. By Thomas Tickell A Woman of Fashion. By Richard Brinsley Sheridan Lines Written in Kensington Gardens. By Matthew- Arnold ...... In Kensington Gardens. By Arthur Symons A New Song of the Spring Garden. By Austin Dobson Farmer Colin at Vauxhall. Anon. At Shining Vauxhall. By Thomas Hood . St. James's Prayers. Anon. .... Love or London ? By William Shenstone St. George's, Hanover Square. By F. Locker-Lampson On St. James's Park as lately Improved by His Majesty. By Edmund Waller West London. By Matthew Arnold . East London. By Matthew Arnold The Poet of Fashion. By James Smith Good-Night to the Season. By Winthrop Mackworth Praed Phil Porter's Farewell to Town, when Dying. Anon Mr. Pope's Farewell to London. By Alexander Pope To Mr. MacAdam. By Thomas Hood London Misnomers. By James Smith Queen Elinor and the Charing Cross. By George Peele On the Statue of King Charles I. at Charing Cross By Edmund Waller ..... PAGE 39 40 41 43 44 45 47 49 51 52 CONTENTS XI A Ballad upon a Wedding. By Sir John Suckling The Downfall of Charing-Cross. Anon. . Sonnet on Hearing St. Martin's Bells on my way Home from a Sparring Match at the Fives-Court By John Hamilton Reynolds Trafalgar Square. By William Ernest Henley Ballade of Summer. By Andrew Lang A London Plane-Tree. By Amy Levy Bloomsbury. Anon. .... The Farmer in London. By William Wordsworth A London Rose. By Ernest Rhys Holy Thursday. By William Blake . London Weather. By John Gay A Winter Song. By Thomas Nashe . Morning in London. By Jonathan Swift A London Fog. By Henry Luttrell In the Rain. By Rosamund Marriott Watson To A London Sparrow. By W. H. Hudson . The Common Cries of London. Anon. The Same. Anon. .... The Mermaid. By Francis Beaumont . The Mermaid Tavern. By John Keats Verses Placed over the Door at the Entrance into the Apollo Room at the Devil Tavern. By Ben Jonson ...... An Ode to Ben Jonson. By Robert Herrick The Coffee-House. By Thomas Jordan The Wits' Coffee-House. By Prior and Montagu . The Farmer's Return from London. By David Garricl In the Temple. By Arthur Symons . The Red Rose and White. By William Shakespeare Holborn. By William Shakespeare PACE 86 88 89 90 91 92 93 97 98 99 102 103 103 105 107 108 TIG 114 114 "5 116 117 119 120 125 125 126 xii LONDON IN SONG PAGE My Lodging IS IN Leather Lane. By William Barnes Rhodes 126 Street Companions. By Charles Mackay . . .127 Clever Tom Clinch going to be Hanged. By Jonathan Swift ....... A Chamber in Grub Street. By Oliver Goldsmith Time Was ! By Charles Jenner .... Consolation. By Laurence Binyon The Streets by Night. By Laurence Binyon . In the Train. By Arthur Symons The Midnight Pomp of London's Artillery. By Richard Nicolls ..... War. By Lord Macaulay .... Night-Walking. By John Gay "Don't You Smell Fire?" By Thomas Hood Moral Reflections on the Cross of St. Paul's. By Thomas Hood ..... Unknown Romances. By Charles Mackay The Balloon. To Mr. Graham, The Aeronaut. By Thomas Hood ..... Of Solitude. By Abraham Cowley . London Renounced. By Samuel Johnson A Loafer. By John Davidson .... The Song-Bird. Anon. .... Sunday in London. By Lord Byron . A Calm. Anon ...... Islington. By J. G. . Highgate. By J. G. . To Hampstead. By Leigh Hunt The Same. By Leigh Hunt .... Sunday at Hampstead. By James Thomson (Author of " The City of Dreadful Night") .... A Day at Hampton Court. By Wilfrid Scawen Blunt CONTENTS Xlll PAGE Toward Green Plains. By Charles Lamb . . .165 Enough. By Thomas Southey . . . .165 "Go WHERE WE MAY." By Thomas Moore . . . 166 LONDON RIVER "Glide gently, thus for ever glide." By William Wordsworth ...... The Genius of the Thames. By Thomas Love Peacock Thames and Isis, By Edmund Spenser Cooper's Hill. By Sir John Denham . Father Thames. By Alexander Pope . The Thames from Richmond Hill. By James Thomson Windsor to London. By Michael Drayton . Two Asylums. By Samuel Rogers A Riddle of the Thames. By William Watson On the Report of a Wooden Bridge to be Built at Westminster. By James Thomson Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1S02 By William Wordsworth .... W^ESTMINSTER. By William Ernest Henley Westminster Abbey. By Thomas Tickell. Lines on the Tombs in Westminster. By Francis Beau mont ....... The Temple of Reconciliation. By Sir Walter Scott The Burial of Addison. By Thomas Tickell The Coronation. By William Shakespeare Somerset House. By Abraham Cowley Dawn. By William Ernest Henley A Spousall. By Edmund Spenser Shakespeare. By Ben Jonson . Tears to Thamesis. By Robert Herrick The Great Frost. Anon. 169 169 172 174 175 177 179 180 180 182 182 183 184 185 186 186 187 188 190 191 193 194 195 XIV LONDON IN SONG The Great Thaw. Anon. .... Ballade of Cleopatra's Needle. By Andrew Lang Song : To Celia. By Ben Jonson London Bridge. Anon. Shooting the Bridge. By George Canning . Farewell to Old London Bridge. By J. P. A Merry Wherry-Ferry Voyage. By John Taylor Mr. Pope Welcomed to London. By John Gay The Port of London. By Richard Savage . Hogarth's Tour. By W. Gostling The Jolly Young Waterman. By Charles Dibdin Poll of Wapping, By Charles Dibdin Wapping Old Stairs. By"Arley" . A Whitebait Dinner. By Thomas Love Peacock The Boy at the Nore. By Thomas Hood . Father of Cities. By Margaret Armour LONDON CITY Bow Bells. Anon. ..... London Praised and Cursed. By John Dryden A London Prentice. By Geoffrey Chaucer . To Ring the Bells of London Town ! Anon. Sir Richard Whittington's Advancement. Anon. Pretty Bessee and the London Merchant. Anon. London's Seven Images. Anon. London's Welcome to Henry V. By John Lydgate After Agincourt. By William Shakespeare . Lines Spoken at the Opening of the New River. Anon King James I. at St Paul's. Anon. The Great Fire. By John Dryden ... CONTENTS XV PAGE A Song for the^Lord Mayor's Table. By Thomas Jordan 255 The Worshipful Drapers. By Thomas Jordan . . 258 The Mercers' Company's Song. Anon. . . 260 The Merchant Taylors' Glory : or Four Famous Feasts of England. Anon. . . . .261 Hyde Park Camp. Anon. ..... 266 Lord Mayor's Show. By J. P. . . . . 269 A Good Lord Mayor. By J. P. . . . 272 The Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch. By AVilHam Shakespeare ....... 274 Bartholome\v Fair. By George Alexander Stevens . . 275 The Ballad of Sally in our Alley. By Henry Carey . 277 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington. Anon. . . 279 A City Shower. By Jonathan Swift . . . .281 A City Calendar. By John Gay .... 283 Marketing. By John Gay ..... 284 Cakes and Ale. Anon. ..... 285 Summer's Return. By Sir ^Yilliam Davenant . . 286 London in July. By Amy Levy .... 287 The Little Dancers. By Laurence Binyon . . . 287 White Conduit House. By W. Woty . . . 288 On the University Carrier, who Sickened in the Time OF HIS Vacancy, being Forbid to go to London by Reason of the Plague. By John Milton . . 290 The Cit's Country-Box. By Robert Lloyd . . . 291 The Poet Baffled. By Charles Jenner . . . 295 The Spread of London. By Horace and James Smith . 297 Rural Felicity. By Thomas Hood .... 298 The Diverting History of John Gilpin. By William Cowper ....... 300 Bow Bells. By Henry S. Leigh .... 309 In an Old City Church. ByJ. Ashby-Sterry . . 310 XVI LONDON IN SONG PAGE The Reverie of Poor Susan. By William Wordsworth . 312 In City Streets. By Ada Smith .... 313 Vision. By E. V. Lucas ...... 314 The Child in the City. By Wilson Benington . . 315 An Evening Song. By Henry S. Leigh . . . 316 The Bell-Man. By Robert Herrick . . -317 Fire. By H. Cholmondeley Pennell .... 317 Midnight. By Thomas Hood ..... 319 "The cloud-capp'd Towers." By William Shakespeare . 320 NOTES 321 INDEX OF AUTHORS 353 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 355 LONDON TOWN Gemme of all joy, jasper of jocunditie, Most myghty carbuncle of vertue and valour, Strong Troy in vigour and in strenuytie ; Of royall cities rose and geraflour ; Emperesse of townes, exalt in honour, In beautie berying the crone imperiall ; Swete paradise, precelling in pleasure ; London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Dunbar. T ONDON ; that great sea whose ebb and flow At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. Yet in its depth what treasures ! Percy Bysshe Shelley : Letter to Maria Gisborne. The Glory of the Earth 1784 T^ THERE finds Philosophy her eagle eye, With which she gazes at yon burning disk Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots ? In London : where her implements exact. With which she calculates, computes, and scans, All distance, motion, magnitude, and now Measures an atom, and now girds a world ? In London. Where has commerce such a mart, So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied, As London — opulent, enlarg'd, and still Increasing London ? Babylon of old Not more the glory of the Earth than she, A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. William Cowper : The Sofa. LONDON TOWN The Flour of Cities All 1501 T ONDON, thou art of townes A per se. ■^ Soveraign of cities, semeliest in sight, Of high renoun, riches, and royaltie ; Of lordis, barons, and many goodly knyght ; Of most delectable lusty ladies bright j Of famous prelatis, in habitis clericall ; Of merchauntis full of substaunce and myght London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Gladdith anon thou lusty Troynovaunt, Citie that some tyme cleped was New Troy, In all the erth, imperiall as thou stant, Pryncesse of townes, of pleasure and of joy, A richer restith under no Christen roy ; For manly power, with craftis naturall, Fourmeth none fairer sith the flode of Noy : London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Gemme of all joy, jasper of jocunditie, Most myghty carbuncle of vertue and valour, Strong Troy in vigour and in strenuytie ; Of royall cities rose and geraflour ; Emperesse of townes, exalt in honour. In beautie berying the crone imperiall ; Swete paradise, precelling in pleasure ; London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. THE FLOUR OF CITIES ALL 5 Aboue all ryuers thy Ryuer hath renowne, Whose beryall stremys, pleasant and preclare, Under thy lusty wallys renneth down, Where many a swanne doth swymme with wingis fare ; Where many a barge doth saile, and row with are, Where many a ship doth rest with toppe-royall. O ! towne of townes, patrone and not compare : London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Upon thy lusty Brigge of pylers white Been merchauntis full royall to behold ; Upon thy stretis goeth many a semely knyght (Arrayit) in velvet gownes and cheynes of gold. By Julyus Cesar thy Tour founded of old May be the Hous of Mars victoryall, Whos artillary with tonge may not be told : London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Strong be thy wallys that about thee standis ; Wise be the people that within thee dwellis ; Fresh is thy ryuer with his lusty strandis ; Blith be thy churches, wele sownyng thy bellis ; Riche be thy merchauntis in substaunce that excellis ; Fair be their wives, right lovesom, white and small ; Clere be thy virgyns, lusty under kellis : London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Thy famous Maire, by pryncely governaunce, With swerd of justice the ruleth prudently. No Lord of Paris, Venyce, or Floraunce In dygnitie or honoure goeth to hym nye. LONDON TOWN He is exampler, loodti-ster, and guye, Principal! patrone and roose orygynalle, Above all Maires as maister moost worthy : London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Willtafn Dunbar : Collected Poems. Hail, London ! 1739 TLJAIL, London ! justly queen of cities crown'd, For freedom, wealth, extent, and arts renown'd ; No need of fables to enhance thy praise, No wand'ring demi-god thy walls to raise : Let Rome imperial claim an elder date, And boast her kindred to the Dardan state, Thy ancient heroes palms as glorious grace. Thy British founders, and thy Saxon race. Our ancestors, in architecture rude. Built their first towns of rough unchisel'd wood ; No veiny marble yet, no Parian stone. Nor sculptor's art, nor joiner's skill was known ; These by our Roman visitors were taught, Which they from Greece, and Greece from Egypt brought. Soon Thames along her rising shores admires Her stony battlements, and lofty spires ; Sublime Augusta rais'd her tow'ry head. Her Albion's pride, and envying neighbour's dread. Since founded first, a thousand years twice told, Two thousand suns have annual circles roll'd ; Perpetual growth has stretch'd her ample bound, 'Till scarce sev'n leagues can mete her circuit round. HAIL, LONDON! 7 A hundred temples for devotion rise, A hundred steeples glitter in the skies. Lo ! in the midst Wren's wond'rous pile appears, Which, like a mountain, its huge bulk uprears ; Such sure to sailors on a distant stream, The lofty pike of Teneriffe must seem. Muse, mount with easy flight th' aspiring dome. And let thy eyes o'er the wide prospect roam. See how the Thames with dimpling motion smiles, And from all cHmes presents Augusta spoils : Eastward behold ! a thousand vessels ride. Which like a floating city crowd her tide. See the strong bridge connect the distant shores ; The flood beneath thro' strait'ning arches roars : (Above, amazing sight ! two length'ning rows Of lofty buildings a fair street compose). Still farther east, large as a town, is seen The Tow'r, a strong and copious magazine ; There, in becoming order, rang'd remain Arms oft victorious on the hostile plain ; Drums, cannon, swords and bombs inactive sleep, And thunders brood which Britain's foes shall weep. Look all around, and note the bustling throng, How thro' each street, like waves, they press along. There stands Th' Exchange ('tis now the busy time), Resort of merchants drawn from ev'ry clime ; Far west remark our monarch's regal seat, See there the dome where pow'rful senates meet : There, Rufus' ancient hall resounds with law ! And there the Abbey strikes religious awe ! Thus London shines in fame the first and best, May all who labour for her peace be blest ! Anon.: Gentlemaris Magazine^ I739- LONDON TOWN London 1894 A THWART the sky a lowly sigh ■^ From west to east the sweet wind carried ; The sun stood still on Primrose Hill ; His light in all the city tarried : The clouds on viewless columns bloomed Like smouldering hlies unconsumed. "Oh sweetheart, see ! how shadowy, Of some occult magician's rearing, Or swung in space of heaven's grace Dissolving, dimly reappearing. Afloat upon ethereal tides St. Paul's above the city rides ! " A rumour broke through the thin smoke Enwreathing abbey, tower, and palace, The parks, the squares, the thoroughfares. The million-peopled lanes and alleys. An ever-muttering prisoned storm, The heart of London beating warm. /o/iu Davidsoji : Ballads and So?tgs. LONDON TOWN London Town 1897 T ET others chaunt a country praise, ■^-^ Fair river walks and meadow ways ; Dearer to me my sounding days In London Town : To me the tumult of the street Is no less music, than the sweet Surge of the wind among the wheat, By dale or down. Three names mine heart with rapture hails, With homage : Ireland, Cornwall, Wales : Lands of lone moor, and mountain gales. And stormy coast : Yet London's voice upon the air Pleads at mine heart, and enters there ; Sometimes I wellnigh love and care For London most. Listen upon the ancient hills : All silence ! save the lark, who trills Through sunlight, save the rippling rills : There peace may be. But listen to great London ! loud, As thunder from the purple cloud. Comes the deep thunder from the crowd. And heartens me. lo LONDON TOWN O gray, O gloomy skies ! What then ? Here is a marvellous world of men ; More wonderful than Rome was, when The world was Rome ! See the great stream of life flow by ! Here thronging myriads laugh and sigh. Here rise and fall, here live and die : In this vast home. In long array they march toward death, Armies, with proud or piteous breath : Forward ! the spirit in them saith, Spirit of life : Here the triumphant trumpets blow ; Here mourning music sorrows low : Victors and vanquished, still they go Forward in strife. Who will not heed so great a sight ? Greater than marshalled stars of night, That move to music and with light : For these are men ! These move to music of the soul ; Passions, that madden or control : These hunger for a distant goal. Seen now and then. Is mine too tragical a strain, Chaunting a burden full of pain, And labour, that seems all in vain ? I sing but truth. LONDON TOWN n Still, many a merry pleasure yet, To many a merry measure set. Is ours, who need not to forget Summer and youth. Do London birds forget to sing ? Do London trees refuse the spring ? Is London May no pleasant thing ? Let country fields. To milking maid and shepherd boy, Give flowers, and song, and bright employ : Her children also can enjoy. What London yields. Gleaming with sunlight, each soft lawn Lies fragrant beneath dew of dawn ; The spires and towers rise, far withdrawn, Through golden mist : At sunset, linger beside Thames : See now, what radiant lights and flames ! That ruby burns : that purple shames The amethyst. Winter was long, and dark, and cold : Chill rains ! grim fogs, black fold on fold, Round street, and square, and river rolled ! Ah, let it be : Winter is gone ! Soon comes July, With wafts from hayfields by and by : While in the dingiest courts you spy Flowers fair to see. 12 LONDON TOWN Take heart of grace : and let each hour Break gently into bloom and flower : Winter and sorrow have no power To blight all bloom. One day, perchance, the sun will see London's entire felicity : And all her loyal children be Clear of all gloom. A dream ? Dreams often dreamed come true : Our world would seem a world made new To those, beneath the churchyard yew Laid long ago ! When we beneath like shadows bide, Fair London, throned upon Thames' side, May be our children's children's pride : And we shall know. Lioiul Johnson : Ireland, ivith other Poems. Urbanus Loquitur 1894 T ET others sing the country's charm : "^ The whispering trees, the tangled lane. The perfume-burdened air, the trills Of lark and nightingale ; the wain, That homeward brings the scented hay, When evening's peace absorbs the day. Let others laud those primal cares, \\'hich fill the country hours with bliss : URBANUS LOQUITUR 13 The timely rest ; clear eyes, that greet Earth waking 'neath Aurora's kiss ; The easy, sauntering, walk ; the toil, That waits upon the bounteous soil. Let others paint with fresh delight The country maiden's cheek of rose ; Her lover's artless, amorous, gifts. Which pure affection's heart enclose ; The children nestling round their sire At night-fall, by the winter fire. For me, for me, another world's Enchantments hold my heart in thrall : These London pavements, low'ring sky. Store secrets, on mine eyes that fall, More curious far, than earth or air By country paths can make appear. The stern reformer scowls aghast, 'Mid the doomed city's trackless woe : Apelles veils his shuddering gaze. Its ugliness " offends him so " : The dainty-eared musician dies In torment, of its raucous cries. Yet are there souls of coarser grain, Or else more flexible, who find Strange, infinite, allurements lurk. Undreamed of by the simpler mind, Along these streets, within the walls Of cafes^ shops, and music halls. 14 LONDON TOWN 'Twixt jar of tongues, at endless strife On art, religion, social needs. How many a keen thought springs to birth In him, this dubious book that reads ! For curious eyes no hours are spent. That bring not interest, content. I'll call not these the best, nor those ; The country fashions, or the town : On each descend heaven's bounteous rains, On each the impartial sun looks down. Why should we gird and argue, friend ; Not follow, where our natures tend ? The secret's this : where'er our lot. To read, mark, learn, digest them well, The devious paths we mortals take, To gain, at length, our heaven or hell : Alike in some still, rural, scene. Or Regent Street and Bethnal Green. Selwyn Image : Poems and Carols. To London 1822 r^ LONDON, comprehensive word ! Whose sound, though scarce in whispers heard, Breathes independence ! — if I share That first of blessings, I can bear Ev'n with thy fogs and smoky air. TO LONDON Of leisure fond, of freedom fonder, O grant me in thy streets to wander ; Grant me thy cheerful morning walk, Thy dinner and thy evening talk. What though I'm forced my doors to make fast ? What though no cream be mine for breakfast ? Though knaves around me cheat and plunder, And fires can scarcely be kept under, Though guilt in triumph stalks abroad By Bow and Marlborough-street unawed, And many a rook finds many a pigeon In law, and physic, and religion, Eager to help a thriving trade on. And proud and happy to be preyed on ? — What signify such paltry blots ? The glorious sun himself has spots. London, within thy ample verge What crowds lie sheltered, or emerge Buoyant in every shape and form, As smiles the calm or drives the storm ; Blest if they reach the harbour free Of golden Mediocrity ! Here, ev'n the dwellings of the poor And lonely are, at least, obscure, And, in obscurity, exempt From poverty's worst plague, contempt. Unmarked the poor man seeks his den ; Unheeded issues forth again ; Wherefore appears he ? None inquires. Nor why nor whither he retires. All that his pride would fain conceal, All that shame blushes to reveal. 15 1 6 LONDON TOWN The petty shifts, the grovelling cares To which the sons of Want are heirs, Those ills, which, grievous to be borne. Call forth— not sympathy but scorn, Here lost, elude the searching eye Of callous Curiosity. And what though Poverty environ Full many a wretch with chains of iron ? These in no stricter bondage hold Their slaves than manacles of gold. The costliest fetters are as strong As common ones, and last as long. Whom gall they most ? — 'Tis doubtful which, The very poor, or very rich ; Those scourged by wants and discontents. Or these by their establishments ; Victims, from real evils free. To nerves, mi bono ? and ennui. What though to rail or laugh at money Be over-dull, or over-funny, (Since who would ridicule employment, Or cry down power, or quiz enjoyment,) London is, surely, to a tittle The place for those who have but little. Here I endure no throbs, no twitches Of envy at another's riches. But, smiling, from my window see A dozen twice as rich as he ; And, if I stroll, am sure to meet A dozen more in every street. TO LONDON None are distinguished, none are rare From wealth which hundreds round them share, But, neutraUzed by one another Whene'er they think to raise a pother, Be they kind-hearted, or capricious, Vain, prodigal, or avaricious. Proud, popular, or what they will, Are elbowed by their rivals still. Should one among them dare be dull, Or prose, because his purse is full ; Should he, in breach of all decorum. Make the least mention of the Quorum ; Drop but a hint of what transgressions Are punished at the Quarter-sessions ; Or murmur at those vile encroachers On rural privilege — the poachers ; Soon would a general yawn or cough From such a trespass warn him off, Spite of his India-bonds, and rents, His acres, and his three-per-cents. None would endure such parish-prate, Were half the island his estate ; Though he in ready cash were sharing The wealth, without the sense, of Baring. A village is a hive of glass. There nothing undescried can pass, There all may study at their ease The forms and motions of the bees ; What wax or honey each brings home To swell the treasures of the comb, Upon his loaded thighs and wings ; c 17 1 8 LONDON TOWN And which arc drones, and wliirli have stings; Whether in consequence be higher The Rector, or the neighbouring Squire, Or he, the Attorney of tlie place, Witli knocker brazen as his face. r.ut coiuit the moles or s[)ecks wlio can On this our huge Leviathan ! Or note, with curious pencil, down The motions of this monster-town I Weak is the voice of Slander here ; Not half her venom taints the ear. I'cw feel the fulness of her power, " Her iron scourge, or torturing hour " ; And yet, so general is the scrape, l'"cw from her malice quite escape. All, in a common fate confounded. Arc slightly scratched, none deeply wounded. Such is the Town ! — Do right or wrong, None will abuse or praise you long. 'I'he moments you enjoy or bear Soon pass, and then — you've had your share. 11 I- my Liitlrcll : Letters to Julia. London Poets 1889 'T*HEY trod the streets and scpiares where now T tread, ■*■ With weary hearts, a little while ago; When, thin and grey, the melancholy snow Clung to the leafless branches overhead; THE POET'S LONDON 19 Or when the smoke-veiled sky grew stormy-red In autumn ; with a re-arisen woe Wrestled, what time the passionate spring winds blow ; And paced scorched stones in summer : — they are dead. The sorrow of their souls to them did seem As real as mine to me, as permanent. To-day, it is the shadow of a dream, The half- forgotten breath of breezes spent. So shall another soothe his woe supreme — " No more he comes, who this way came and went." Ainy Levy : A London Platte Tree, and other Poems. The Poet's London 1845 T ONDON, I take thee to a Poet's heart ! "^ For those who seek, a Helicon thou art. Let schoolboy Strephons bleat of flocks and fields, Each street of thine a loftier Idyl yields ; Fed by all life, and fann'd by every wind, There, burns the quenchless poetry — Mankind ! Yet not for me the Olympiad of the gay, The reeking Season's dusty holiday : — Soon as its summer pomp the mead assumes. And Flora wanders through her world of blooms, Vain the hot field-days of the vex'd debate, When Sirius reigns, — let Tapeworm rule the state ! Vain Devon's cards, and Lansdowne's social feast. Wit but fatigues, and Beauty's reign hath ceast. His mission done, the monk regains his cell ; 20 LONDON TOWN Nor even Douro's matchless face can spell. Far from Man's works, escaped to God's, I fly, And breathe the luxury of a smokeless sky. Me, the still " London," not the restless " Town " (The light plume fluttering o'er the helmed crown), Delights ; — for there, the grave Romance hath shed Its hues ; and air grows solemn with the Dead. If, where the Lord of Rivers parts the throng, And eastward glides by buried halls along. My steps are led, I linger, and restore To the changed wave the poet-shapes of yore ; See the gilt barge, and hear the fated king Prompt the first mavis of our Minstrel Spring ; Or mark, with mitred Nevile, the array Of arms and craft alarm "the Silent Way," The Boar of Gloucester, hungering, scents his prey ! Or, landward, trace, where thieves their festive hall Hold by the dens of Law (worst thief of all !) The antique Temple of the armed Zeal That wore the cross a mantle to the steel ; Time's dreary void the kindling dream supplies. The walls expand, the shadowy towers arise, And forth, as when by Richard's lion side, For Christ and Fame, the Warrior-Phantoms ride ! Or if, less grave with thought, less rich with lore, The later scenes, the lighter steps explore. If through the haunts of living splendour led — Has the quick Muse no empire but the Dead ? In each keen face, by Care or Pleasure worn. Grief claims her sigh, or Vice invites her scorn ; And every human brow that veils a thought Conceals the Castaly which Shakespeare sought. Lord Lytton : The New Timon. ON LONDON STONES 21 On London Stones 1876 /~\N London stones I sometimes sigh ^-'^ For wider green and bluer sky ; — Too oft the trembhng note is drowned In this huge city's varied sound ; — " Pure song is country-born " — I cry. Then comes the spring, — the months go by, The last stray swallows seaward fly ; And I — I too ! — no more am found On London stones ! In vain ! — the woods, the fields deny That clearer strain I fain would try ; Mine is an urban Muse, and bound By some strange law to paven ground ; Abroad she pouts ; — she is not shy On London stones ! Austin Dobson : Old World Idylls. The Contrast 1798 T N London I never know what I'd be at, Enraptured with this, and enchanted with that ; I'm wild with the sweets of variety's plan. And Life seems a blessing too happy for man. 22 LONDON TOWN But the country, Lord help me ! sets all matters right, So calm and composing from morning to night ; Oh ! it settles the spirits when nothing is seen But an ass on a common, a goose on a green. In town, if it rain, why it damps not our hope, The eye has her choice, and the fancy her scope ; What harm though it pour whole nights or whole days ? It spoils not our prospects, or stops not our ways. In the country what bliss, when it rains in the fields, To live on the transports that shuttlecock yields ; Or go crawling from window to window, to see A pig on a dunghill, or crow on a tree. In London, if folks ill together are put, A bore may be dropt, and a quiz may be cut ; We change without end ; and if lazy or ill. All wants are at hand, and all wishes at will. In the country you're nail'd, like a pale in the park. To some sfi'ck of a neighbour that's cramm'd in the ark ; And 'tis odd, if you're hurt, or in fits tumble down. You reach death ere the doctor can reach you from town. In London how easy we visit and meet, Gay pleasure's the theme, and sweet smiles are our treat : Our morning's a round of good-humour'd delight. And we rattle, in comfort, to pleasure at night. In the country, how sprightly ! our visits to make Through ten miles of mud, for Formality's sake ; With the coachman in drink, and the moon in a fog. And no thought in our head but a ditch or a bog. THE CONTRAST 23 In London the spirits are cheerful and hght, All places are gay and all faces are bright ; We've ever new joys, and revived by each whim, Each day on a fresh tide of pleasure we swim. But how gay in the country ! what summer delight To be waiting for winter from morning to night ! Then the fret of impatience gives exquisite glee To relish the sweet rural subjects we see. In town we 've no use for the skies overhead, For when the sun rises then we go to bed ; And as to that old-fashion'd virgin the moon, She shines out of season, hke satin in June. In the country these planets delightfully glare Just to show us the object we want isn't there ; O, how cheering and gay, when their beauties arise, To sit and gaze round with the tears in one's eyes ! But 'tis in the country alone we can find That happy resource, that relief of the mind, AVhen, drove to despair, our last effort we make. And drag the old fish-pond, for novelty's sake : Indeed I must own, 'tis a pleasure complete To see ladies well draggled and wet in their feet ; But what is all that to the transport we feel When we capture, in triumph, two toads and an eel ? I have heard tho', that love in a cottage is sweet. When two hearts in one link of soft sympathy meet : That's to come — for as yet I, alas ! am a swain Who require, I own it, more links to my chain. 24 LONDON TOWN Your magpies and stock-doves may flirt among trees, And chatter their transports in groves, if they please : But a house is much more to my taste than a tree, And for groves, O ! a good grove of chimneys for me. In the country, if Cupid should find a man out. The poor tortured victim mopes hopeless about ; But in London, thank Heaven ! our peace is secure, Where for one eye to kill, there's a thousand to cure. I know love's a devil, too subtle to spy. That shoots through the soul, from the beam of an eye ; But in London these devils so quick fly about. That a new devil still drives an old devil out. In town let me live then, in town let me die. For in truth I can't relish the country, not I. If one must have a villa in summer to dwell, O, give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall. Captain Charles Morris : Lyra Urbanica. London Lycpeny. About 1450 T^O London once, my stepps I bent. Where trouth in no wyse should be faynt To Westmynster ward I forthwith went, To a man of law to make complaynt. I sayd, " for Mary's love, that holy saynt ! Pity the poore that would proceede"; But for lack of mony I cold not spede. LONDON LYCPENY 25 And as I thrust the prese amonge, By froward chaunce my hood was gone ; Yet for all that I stayd not longe, Tyll to the Kyngs bench I was come. Before the judge I kneled anon, And prayd hym for God's sake to take heede ; But for lack of mony I myght not spede. Beneath them sat clarkes a great rout, Which fast dyd wryte by one assent ; There stoode up one and cryed about, Rychard, Robert, and John of Kent ; I wyst not wele what this man ment ; He cryed so thycke there indede ; But he that lackt mony myght not spede. Unto the common place I yode thoo, Where sat one with a sylken hoode ; I dyd hym reverence, for I ought to do so. And told my case as well as I cold, How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood. I gat not a mum of his mouth for my meed, And for lack of mony I myght not spede. Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence. Before the clarkes of the chauncerye. Where many I found earnyng of pence. But none at all once regarded mee ; I gave them my playnt uppon my knee ; They lyked it well when they had it reade, But lackyng mony I cold not be sped. 26 LONDON TOWN In Westmynster hall I found out one, Which went in a long gown of raye ; I crouched and kneled before hym anon : For Maryes love, of help I hym praye. " I wot not what thou meanest," gan he say ; To get me thence he dyd me bede, For lack of mony I cold not spede. Within this hall, neithere ryche nor yett poor. Wold do for me ought, although I shold dye ; Which seeing, I gat me out of the doore. Where Flemynges began on me for to cry, " Master, what will you copen or by, Fyne felt hatts, or spectacles to reede ? Lay down your sylver, and here you may spede." Then to Westmynster gate I presently went. When the sonn was at hyghe pryme ; Cokes to me, they tooke good entent. And profered me bread with ale and wyne, Rybbs of befe both fat and ful fyne ; A fayre cloth they gan for to sprede ; But wantyng mony I myght not then spede. Then unto London I did me hye. Of all the land it beareth the pryse ; Hot pescods one began to crye, Straberry rype, and cherryes in the ryse : One bad me come nere, and by some spyce, Peper and sayforne, they gan me bede ; But for lacke of mony I myght not spede. Then to the Chepe I began me drawne, AVherc mutch people I sawe for to stande ; LONDON LYCPENY 27 One offred me velvet, sylke, and lawne, And other he taketh me by the hande, " Here is Parys thred, the fynest in the lande," I never was used to such thyngs indede, And wantyng mony I myght not spede. Then went I forth by London stone, Throughout all Canwyke streete ; Drapers mutch cloth me offred anone : Then comes me one, cryde hot shepes feete, One cryde makerell, ryshes grene, another gan greete. One bad me by a hood to cover my head ; But for want of mony I myght not be sped. Then I hyed me into Estchepe ; One cryes rybbs of befe, and many a pye ; Pewter potts they clattered on a heape, There was harpe, pype, and mynstrelsye ; "Yea by cock ! " "nay by cock ! " some began crye. Some songe of Jenken and Julyan for there mede ; But for lack of mony I myght not spede. Then into Cornhyll anon I yode. Where was much stolen gere amonge ; I saw where honge myne owne hoode, That I had lost amonge the thronge ; To by my own hood I thought it wronge, I knew it well as I dyd my crede ; But for lack of mony I cold not spede. The Taverner took me by the sieve ; " Sir," sayth he, " wyll you our wyne assay ? " I answered, that can not mutch me greve. 28 LONDON TOWN A peny can do no more than it may : I dranke a pynt, and for it dyd pay ; Yet sore a hungerd from thence I yede, And wantyng my mony I cold not spede. Then hyed I me to Belynsgate ; And one cryed " hoo, go we hence ! " I prayd a barge man for Gods sake, That he wold spare me my expence. " Thou scapst not here," quod he, " under ij pence, I lyst not yet bestow my almes dede " : Thus lacking mony I cold not spede. Then I convayed me into Kent ; For of the law wold I meddle no more, Because no man to me tooke entent, I dyght me to do as I dyd before. Now Jesus that in Bethlem was bore. Save London, and send trew lawyers there mede, For who so wants mony with them shall not spede. John Lydgate : Minor Poems. Return to London 1648 irpROM the dull confines of the drooping West, To see the day spring from the pregnant East, Ravish'd in spirit, I come, nay, more, I fly To thee, blest place of my nativity ! Thus, thus, with hallow'd foot I touch the ground. With thousand blessings by tliy fortune crown'd. THE MAY-LORD 29 O fruitful Genius ! that bestowest here An everlasting plenty, year by year ; place ! O people ! manners ! framed to please All nations, customs, kindreds, languages ! 1 am a free-born Roman ; suffer then That I amongst you live a citizen. London my home is ; though by hard fate sent Into a long and irksome banishment ; Yet since call'd back, henceforward let me be, O native country, repossess'd by thee ! For, rather than I'll to the West return, I'll beg of thee first here to have mine urn. Weak I am grown, and must in short time fall ; Give thou my sacred relics burial. Robert Herrick : Hesperides. The May-Lord 161 1 T ONDON, to thee I do present "^ The merry month of May ; Let each true subject be content To hear me what I say : For from the top of Conduit-Head, As plainly may appear, I will both tell my name to you, And wherefore I came here. My name is Ralph, by due descent Though not ignoble I, Yet far inferior to the flock Of gracious grocery ; 30 LONDON TOWN And by the common counsel of My fellows in the Strand, With gilded staff and crossed scarf, The May-Lord here I stand. Rejoice, O English hearts, rejoice ! Rejoice, O lovers dear ! Rejoice, O city, town, and country ! Rejoice eke every shere ! Now little fish on tender stone Begin to cast their bellies. And sluggish snails, that erst were mew'd, Do creep out of their shellies ; The rumbling rivers now do warm. For little boys to paddle ; The sturdy steed now goes to grass. And up they hang his saddle. The heavy hart, the bellowing buck, The rascal, and the pricket. Are now among the yeoman's pease, And leave the fearful thicket. And be like them, O you, I say, Of this same noble Town, And lift aloft your velvet heads, And slipping off your gown. With bells on legs, and napkins clean Unto your shoulders tied. With scarfs and garters as you please, And " Hey for our town ! " cried, March out and show your willing minds, By twenty and by twenty, To Hogsdon, or to Newington, THE MILKMAIDS' DANCE 31 Where ale and cakes are plenty ! And let it ne'er be said for shame, That we, the youths of London, Lay thrumming of our caps at home, And left our custom undone. Up then, I say, both young and old. Both man and maid a-Maying, With drums and guns that bounce aloud, And merry tabor playing ! Which to prolong, God save our King, And send his country peace. And root out treason from the land ! And so, my friends, I cease. Beaumont and Fletcher : The Ktiight of the Burning Pestle. The Milkmaids' Dance 1825 T N London, thirty years ago. When pretty milkmaids went about, It was a goodly sight to see Their May-Day Pageant all drawn out : — • Themselves in comely colours drest. Their shining garland in the middle, A pipe and tabor on before. Or else the foot-inspiring fiddle. They stopt at houses, where it was Their custom to cry " Milk below ! " And, while the music play'd, with smiles, Join'd hands, and pointed toe to toe. 32 LONDON TOWN Thus they tripp'd on, till — from the door The hop'd-for annual present sent — A signal came, to curtsey low, And at that door cease merriment. Such scenes and sounds once blest my eyes, And charm'd my ears — but all have vanish'd ! On May-Day, now, no garlands go. For milkmaids, and their dance, are banish'd. Anofi. : Honeys Every-Day Book. The May Pole in the Strand 1619 Tj* AIRLY we marched on, till our approach Within the spacious passage of the Strand, Objected to our sight a summer broach Yclept a May Pole, which in all our land, No city, town, nor street, can parallel, Nor can the lofty spire of Clerkenwell, Although he have the advantage of a rock. Perch up more high his turning weather-cock. Stay, quoth my muse, and here behold a sign Of harmless mirth and honest neighbourhood, Where all the parish did in one combine To mount the rod of peace, and none withstood ; Where no capricious constables disturb them. Nor justice of the peace did seek to curb them, Nor peevish puritan, in railing sort. Nor over-wise church-warden, spoil'd the sport. THE MAY-POLE 33 Happy the age, and harmless were the days (For then true love and amity were found,) When every village did a May-Pole raise, And Whitson-ales and May-games did abound. And all the lusty yonkers, in a rout. With merry lasses danc'd the rod about, Then friendship to their banquets bid the guests, And poor men far'd the better for their feasts. Then lords of castles, manors, towns and towers Rejoiced when they beheld the farmer's flourish, And would come down into the summer-bowers To see the country gallants dance the morrice. But since the summer poles were overthrown, And all good sports and merriments decay'd How times and men are chang'd, so well is known, It were but labour lost if more were said. But I do hope once more the day will come. That you shall mount and perch your cocks as high As e'er you did, and that the pipe and drum Shall bid defiance to your enemy : And that all fiddlers, which in corners lurk, And have been almost starved for want of work. Shall draw their crowds, and, at your exaltation. Play many a fit of merry recreation. Pasquirs Pali nodi a and Progress to the Tavern. 34 LONDON TOWN Vanished London 1798 A LL sublunary things of death partake ! What alteration does a cent'ry make ! Kings and comedians all are mortal found, Csesar and Pinkethman are under ground. What's not destroy'd by Time's devouring hand ? Where's Troy, and where's the May-pole in the Strand? Pease, cabbages, and turnips once grew where Now stands new Bond Street, and a newer square ; Such piles of buildings now rise up and down London itself seems going out of town. James Bi-a7nston : The Art of Politicks. A May Morning in London 1840 r~^ OLD above, and gold below, ^^ The earth reflected the golden glow. From river, and hill, and valley ; Gilt by the golden light of morn, The Thames — it look'd like the Golden Horn, And the barge, that carried coal or corn. Like Cleopatra's Galley ! Bright as clusters of golden-rod Suburban poplars began to nod. With extempore splendour furnish'd ; A SONG OF LONDON ^S While London was bright with ghttering clocks, Golden dragons, and golden cocks, And above them all, The dome of St. Paul, With its Golden Cross and its Golden Ball Shone out as if newly burnish'd ! Thomas Hood: Miss Kihnajisegg and Her Precious Leg. A Song of London 1895 'X'HE sun's on the pavement. The current comes and goes. And the grey streets of London They blossom like the rose. Crowned with the spring sun, Vistas fair and free ; What joy that waits not ? What that may not be ? The blue-bells may beckon. The cuckoo call — and yet — The grey streets of London I never may forget. O fair shines the gold moon On blossom-clustered eaves. But bright blinks the gas-lamp Between the linden-leaves. 36 LONDON TOWN And the green country meadows Are fresh and fine to see, But the grey streets of London They're all the world to me. Rosamund Marriott IVatson : Vespertilia. London from Shooter's Hill 1823 A MIGHTY mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts ; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy ; A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown On a fool's head — and there is London Town ! But Juan saw not this : each wreath of smoke Appear'd to him but as the magic vapour Of some alchymic furnace, from whence broke The wealth of worlds (a wealth of tax and paper) : The gloomy clouds, which o'er it as a yoke Are bow'd, and put the sun out like a taper. Were nothing but the natural atmosphere. Extremely wholesome, though but rarely clear. Lord Byron : Don /ua?i. DON JUAN IN LONDON 37 Don Juan in London 1823 T T AIL ! Thames, hail ! Upon thy verge it is That Juan's chariot, rolling like a drum In thunder, holds the way it can't well miss, Through Kennington and all the other " tons," Which make us wish ourselves in town at once ; — Through groves, so call'd as being void of trees, (Like lucus from 710 light) ; through prospects named Mount Pleasant, as containing nought to please, Nor much to climb ; through little boxes framed Of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease. With " To be let," upon their doors proclaim'd; Through " Rows " most modestly call'd " Paradise," Which Eve might quit without much sacrifice ; — Through coaches, drays, choked turnpikes, and a whirl Of wheels, and roar of voices, and confusion ; Here taverns wooing to a pint of " purl," There mails fast flying off like a delusion ; There barbers' blocks with periwigs in curl In windows ; here the lamplighter's infusion Slowly distill'd into the glimmering glass (For in those days we had not got to gas — ) ; Through this, and much, and more, is the approach Of travellers to mighty Babylon : Whether they come by horse, or chaise, or coach, With slight exceptions, all the ways seem one. I could say more, but do not choose to encroach 38 LONDON TOWN Upon the Guide-book's privilege. The sun Had set some time, and night was on the ridge Of twiUght, as the party cross'd the bridge. That's rather fine, the gentle sound of Thamis — Who vindicates a moment, too, his stream — Though hardly heard through multifarious "dammes." The lamps of Westminster's more regular gleam, The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where fame is A spectral resident — whose pallid beam In shape of moonshine hovers o'er the pile — Make this a sacred part of Albion's isle. The Druids' groves are gone — so much the better : Stonehenge is not — but what the devil is it ? — But Bedlam still exists with its sage fetter, That madmen may not bite you on a visit ; The Bench, too, seats or suits full many a debtor ; The Mansion House, too (though some people quiz it), To me appears a stiff yet grand erection ; But then the Abbey's worth the whole collection. The line of lights, too, up to Charing Cross, Pall Mall, and so forth, have a coruscation Like gold as in comparison to dross, Match'd with the Continent's illumination, Whose cities Night by no means deigns to gloss. The French were not as yet a lamp-lighting nation. And then they grew so — on their new-found lantern, Instead of wicks, they made a wicked man turn. Over the stones still rattling, up Pall Mall, Through crowds and carriages, but waxing thinner YE FLAGS OF PICCADILLY 39 As thunder'd knockers broke the long seal'd spell Of doors 'gainst doors, and to an early dinner Admitted a small party as night fell, — Don Juan, our young diplomatic sinner, Pursued his path, and drove past some hotels, St. James's Palace and St. James's " Hells." — O my gentle Juan ! Thou art in London — in that pleasant place, Where every kind of mischief's daily brewing, Which can await warm youth in its wild race. 'Tis true, that thy career is not a new one ; Thou art no novice in the headlong chase Of early life ; but this is a new land. Which foreigners can never understand. Lord Byron : Don Juan. Ye Flags of Piccadilly 1862 ^/E flags of Piccadilly, Where I posted up and down. And wished myself so often Well away from you and town — Are the people walking quietly And steady on their feet. Cabs and omnibuses plying Just as usual in the street ? 40 LONDON TOWN Do the houses look as upright As of old they used to be, And does nothing seem affected By the pitching of the sea ? Through the Green Park iron railings Do the quick pedestrians pass? Are the little children playing Round the plane-tree in the grass ? This squally wild north-wester With which our vessel fights, Does it merely serve with you to Carry up some paper kites ? Ye flags of Piccadilly, Which I hated so, I vow I could wish with all my heart You were underneath me now ! Arthur Hugh Cloiigh : Songs in Absence. Fair Pall Mall 1716 r\ BEAR me to the paths of fair Pall Mall, Safe are thy pavements, grateful is thy smell ! At distance rolls along the gilded coach. Nor sturdy carmen on thy walks encroach ; No lets would bar thy ways were chairs deny'd The soft supports of laziness and pride ; Shops breathe perfume, thro' sashes ribbons glow, The mutual arms of ladies, and the beau. John Gay : Trivia. ST. JAMES'S STREET 41 St. James's Street 1867 O T. James's Street, of classic fame, ^^ For Fashion still is seen there : St. James's Street ? I know the name, I almost think I've been there ! Why, that's where Sacharissa sigh'd When Waller read his ditty ; Where Byron lived, and Gibbon died, And Alvanley was witty. A famous Street ! To yonder Park Young Churchill stole in class-time ; Come, gaze on fifty men of mark, And then recall the past time. The plafs at White's, the play at Crock's, The bumpers to Miss Gunning ; The bonhomie of Charley Fox, And Selwyn's ghastly funning. The dear old Street of clubs and cribs, As north and south it stretches. Still seems to smack of Rolliad squibs. And Gillray's fiercer sketches ; The quaint old dress, the grand old style, The 7nots, the racy stories ; The wine, the dice, the wit, the bile — The hate of Whigs and Tories. 42 LONDON TOWN At dusk, when I am strolling there, Dim forms will rise around me ; Lepel flits past me in her chair, — And Congreve's airs astound me ! And once Nell Gwynne, a frail young Sprite, Look'd kindly when I met her ; I shook my head, perhaps,— but quite Forgot to quite forget her. The Street is still a lively tomb For rich, and gay, and clever ; The crops of dandies bud and bloom. And die as fast as ever. Now gilded youth loves cutty pipes, And slang that's rather scarifig; It can't approach its prototypes In taste, or tone, or bearing. In Brummell's day of buckle shoes, Lawn cravats and roll collars, They'd fight, and woo, and bet — and lose Like gentlemen and scholars : I'm glad young men should go the pace, I half forgive Old Rapid ; These louts disgrace their name and race — So vicious and so vapid ! Worse times may come. Bon ton, indeed. Will then be quite forgotten, And all we much revere will speed From ripe to worse than rotten : Let grass then sprout between yon stones, And owls then roost at Boodle's, BOND STREET 43 For Echo will hurl back the tones Of screaming Ya?ikee Doodles. I love the haunts of old Cockaigne, Where wit and wealth were squander'd ; The halls that tell of hoop and train, Where grace and rank have wander'd ; Those halls where ladies fair and leal First ventured to adore me ! Something of that old love I feel For this old Street before me. Frederick Lockcr-Lanipson : London Lyrics, Bond Street 1831 T^EAR Street ! — where at a certain hour Man's follies bud forth into flower ! Where the gay minor sighs for fashion ; Where majors live that minor's cash on ; Where each who wills may suit his wish, Here choose a Guido — there his fish : — Or where, if woman's love beguiles, The ugliest dog is sure of smiles. Dear street of noise, of crowds, of wealth, Of all earth's thousand joys, save health ; Of plate, of books — and (I incline a Little that way) of old Sevres China. Of all, in short, by which pursuing We glide entranced to our undoing ! Lord Lytto7t : The Siamese Twins. 44 LONDON TOWN A Song of Hyde Park 1671 /^OME all you noble, you that are neat ones, Hyde Park is now both fresh and green. Come all you gallants that are great ones, And are desirous to be seen : Would you a wife or mistress rare. Here are the best of England fair ; Here you may choose, also refuse. As you your judgments please to use. Come all you courtiers in your neat fashions, Rich in your new unpaid-for silk : Come you brave wenches, and court your stations, Here in the bushes the maids do milk : Come then and revel, the Spring invites Beauty and youth for your delights. All that are fair, all that are rare, You shall have license to compare. Here the great ladies all of the land are, Drawn with six horses at the least : Here are all that of the Strand are. And to be seen now at the best. Westminster Hall, who is of the Court, Unto his place doth now all resort : Both high and low here you may know. And all do come themselves to show. The merchants' wives that keep their coaches, Here in the Park do take the air ; ROTTEN ROW 45 They go abroad to avoid reproaches, And hold themselves as ladies fair : For whilst their husbands gone are to trade Unto their ships by sea or land : Who will not say, why may not they Trade, like their own husbands, in their own way ! Here from the country come the girls flying For husbands, though of parts little worth. They at th' Exchange have been buying The last new fashion that came forth ; And are desirous to have it seen, As if before it ne'er had been ; So you may see all that may be Had in the town or country. Here come the girls of the rich City, Aldermen's daughters fair and proud. Their jealous mothers come t' invite ye. For fear they should be lost i' the crowd : Who for their breeding are taught to dance, Their birth and fortune to advance : And they will be as frolic and free. As you yourself expect to see. Anon. : Westminster Drolleries. Rotten Row 1867 T HOPE I'm fond of much that's good, As well as much that's gay ; I'd like the country if I could ; I love the Park in May : 46 LONDON TOWN And when I ride in Rotten Row, I wonder why they call'd it so. A lively scene on turf and road ; The crowd is bravely drest : The Ladies' Mile has overflow'd, The chairs are in request : The nimble air, so soft, so clear, Can hardly stir a ringlet here. I'll halt beneath those pleasant trees, — And drop my bridle-rein, And, quite alone, indulge at ease The philosophic vein : I'll moralise on all I see — Yes, it was all arranged for me ! Forsooth, and on a lovelier spot The sunbeam never shines. Fair ladies here can talk and trot With statesmen and divines : Could I have chosen, I'd have been A Duke, a Beauty, or a Dean. What grooms ! What gallant gentlemen ! What well-appointed hacks ! What glory in their pace, and then What beauty on their backs ! My Pegasus would never flag If weighted as my Lady's nag. But where is now the courtly troop That once rode laughing by ? THE JILT 47 I miss the curls of Cantilupe, The laugh of Lady Di : They all could laugh from night to morn, And Time has laugh'd them all to scorn. I then could frolic in the van With dukes and dandy earls ; Then I was thought a 7iice young man By rather nice young girls ! I've half a mind to join Miss Browne, And try one canter up and down. Ah, no — I'll linger here awhile, And dream of days of yore ; For me bright eyes have lost the smile. The sunny smile they wore : — Perhaps they say, what I'll allow, That I'm not quite so handsome now. F. Lockcr-Lampson : London Lyrics. The Jilt 1813 O AY, Lucy, what enamour'd spark Now sports thee through the gazing Park In new barouche or tandem ; And, as infatuation leads, Permits his reason and his steeds To run their course at random ? 48 LONDON TOWN Fond youth, those braids of ebon hair, Which to a face already fair ImjDart a lustre fairer ; Those locks which now invite to love, Soon unconfin'd and false shall prove, And changeful as the wearer. Unpractised in a woman's guile. Thou think'st, perchance, her halcyon smile Portends unruffled quiet : That, ever charming, fond and mild. No wanton thoughts, or passions wild, Within her soul can riot. Alas ! how often shalt thou mourn, (If nymphs like her, so soon forsworn, Be worth a moment's trouble,) How quickly own, with sad surprise, The paradise that bless'd thine eyes Was painted on a bubble. In her accommodating creed A lord will always supersede A commoner's embraces : His lordship's love contents the fair. Until enabled to ensnare A nobler prize — his Grace's ! Unhappy are the youths who gaze, Who feel her beauty's maddening blaze, And trust to what she utters ! For me, by sad experience wise, At rosy cheeks or sparkling eyes, My heart no longer flutters. WILLY-NILLY IN PICCADILLY 49 Chamber'd in Albany, I view On every side a jovial crew Of Benedictine neighbours. I sip my coffee, read the news, I own no mistress but the muse. And she repays my labours. James and Horace Smith : Horace in London. Willy-Nilly in Piccadilly 1840 npHE horse that carried Miss Kilmansegg, And a better never lifted leg. Was a very rich bay, call'd Banker — A horse of a breed and a mettle so rare, — By BuUion out of an Ingot mare, — That for action, the best of figures, and air, It made many good judges hanker. Mayhap 'tis the trick of such pamper'd nags To shy at the sight of a beggar in rags, — But away, like the bolt of a rabbit, — Away went the horse in the madness of fright, And away went the horsewoman mocking the sight — Was yonder blue flash a flash of blue light, Or only the skirt of her habit ? She'll lose her life ! She is losing her breath ! A cruel chase, she is chasing Death ! As female shriekings forewarn her : And now — as gratis as blood of Guelph — E 50 LONDON TOWN She clears that gate, which has clear'd itself Since then, at Hyde Park Corner ! Alas ! for the hope of the Kilmanseggs ! For her head, her brain, her body, and legs, Her life's not worth a copper ! Willy-nilly in Piccadilly, A hundred hearts turn sick and chilly, A hundred voices cry, " Stop her ! " And one old gentleman stares and stands. Shakes his head and lifts his hands. And says, " How very improper ! " On and on ! — what a perilous run ! The iron rails seem all mingling in one, To shut out the Green Park scenery ! And now the Cellar its dangers reveals, She shudders — she shrieks — she's doom'd, she feels To be torn by powers of horses and wheels. Like a spinner by steam machinery. Sick with horror she shuts her eyes. But the very stones seem uttering cries. As they did to that Persian daughter, When she climb'd up the steep vociferous hill, Her little silver flagon to fill With the magical golden water ! " Batter her ! shatter her ! Throw and scatter her ! " Shouts each stony-hearted chatterer ! " Dash at the heavy Dover ! Spill her ! kill her ! tear and tatter her ! Smash her ! crash her ! " (the stones didn't flatter her !) " Kick her brains out ! let her blood spatter her ! Roll on her over and over ! " KENSINGTON GARDENS 51 For so she gather'd the awful sense Of the street in its past unmacadamised tense, As the wild horse overran it, — His four heels making the clatter of six. Like a Devil's tatto, play'd with iron sticks On a kettle-drum of granite ! On ! still on ! she's dazzled with hints Of oranges, ribbons, and colour'd prints, A kaleidoscope jumble of shapes and tints, And human faces all flashing. Bright and brief as the sparks from the flints, That the desperate hoof keeps dashing. On and on ! still frightfully fast ! Dover-street, Bond-street, all are past ! But — yes — no — yes ! they're down at last ! The Furies and Fates have found them ! Down they go with sparkle and crash. Like a bark that's struck by the lightning flash — There's a shriek — and a sob — And the dense dark mob Like a billow closes round them ! Thomas Hood : Poetus. Kensington Gardens 1722 "\ 1 yHERE Kensington high o'er the neighbouring lands * * 'Midst greens and sweets, a regal fabric, stands. And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers, A snow of blossoms, and a wild of flowers, 52 LONDON TOWN The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair To gravel walks, and unpolluted air. Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies, They breathe in sunshine, and see azure skies ; Each walk, with robes of various dyes bespread, Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed. Where rich brocades and glossy damasks glow. And chintz, the rival of the showery bow. Here England's daughter, darling of the land. Sometimes, surrounded with her virgin band, Gleams through the shades. She, towering o'er the rest. Stands fairest of the fairer kind confess'd, Form'd to gain hearts, that Brunswick's cause deny'd, And charm a people to her father's side. Thomas Tickell : Kensington-Garden. A Woman of Fashion About 1777 'T^HEN, behind, all my hair is done up in a plat. And so, like a cornet's tuck'd under my hat. Then I mount on my palfrey as gay as a lark. And, follow'd by John, take the dust in High Park. In the way I am met by some smart macaroni Who rides by my side on a little bay pony — No sturdy Hibernian, with shoulders so wide, But as taper and slim as the ponies they ride ; Their legs are as slim, and their shoulders no wider. Dear sweet little creatures, both pony and rider ! A WOMAN OF FASHION 53 But sometimes, when hotter, I order my chaise, And manage, myself, my two little greys : Sure never were seen two such sweet little ponies, Other horses are clowns, and these macaronis. And to give them this title, I'm sure isn't wrong. Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long. In Kensington Gardens to stroll up and down. You know was the fashion before you left town. The thing's well enough, when allowance is made For the size of the trees and the depth of the shade ; But the spread of their leaves such a shelter affords To those noisy impertinent creatures call'd birds, Whose ridiculous chirruping ruins the scene, Brings the country before me, and gives me the spleen. Yet, though 'tis too rural — to come near the mark, We all herd in 07te walk, and that, nearest the Park, Where with ease we may see, as we pass by the wicket. The chimneys of Knightsbridge, and — footmen at cricket. I must, though, in justice, declare that the grass, Which, worn by our feet, is diminish'd apace, In a little time more will be brown and as flat As the sand of Vauxhall, or as Ranelagh mat. Improving thus fast, perhaps, by degrees We may see rolls and butter spread under the trees, With a small pretty band in each seat of the walk. To play little tunes and enliven our talk. Richard Brinsley S/ienda?i : Posthumous Verses. 54 LONDON TOWN Lines written in Kensington Gardens 1852 TN this lone, open glade I lie, Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand ; And at its end, to stay the eye, Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand ! Birds here make song, each bird has his, Across the girdling city's hum. How green under the boughs it is ! How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come ! Sometimes a child will cross the glade To take his nurse his broken toy ; Sometimes a thrush flit overhead Deep in her unknown day's employ. Here at my feet what wonders pass. What endless, active life is here ! What blowing daisies, fragrant grass ! An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear. Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out, And, eased of basket and of rod. Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout. In the huge world, which roars hard by, Be others happy if they can ! But in my helpless cradle I Was breathed on by the rural Pan. IN KENSINGTON GARDENS SS I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd, Think often, as I hear them rave, That peace has left the upper world And now keeps only in the grave. Yet here is peace for ever new ! When I who watch them am away. Still all things in this glade go through The changes of their quiet day. Then to their happy rest they pass ! The flowers upclose, the birds are fed, The night comes down upon the grass, The child sleeps warmly in his bed. Calm soul of all things ! make it mine To feel, amid the city's jar. That there abides a peace of thine, Man did not make, and cannot mar. The will to neither strive nor cry, The power to feel with others give ! Calm, calm me more ! nor let me die Before I have begun to live. Matthew Arnold : Lyric Poetns. 56 LONDON TOWN In Kensington Gardens 1892 T TNDER the almond tree, Room for my love and me ! Over our heads the April blossom ; April-hearted are we. Under the pink and white, Love in her eyes alight ; Love and the Spring and Kensington Gardens : Hey for the heart's delight ! Arlhiir Symofis : Silhouettes. A New Song of the Spring Garden 1885 /"^OME hither ye gallants, come hither ye maids, ^^ To the trim gravelled walks, to shady arcades ; Come hither, come hither, the nightingales call ; — Sing Tantarara, — Vauxhall 1 Vauxhall ! Come hither, ye cits, from your Lothbury hives ! Come hither, ye husbands, and look to your wives ! For the sparks are as thick as the leaves in the Mall ; — Sing Tantarara, — Vauxhall ! Vauxhall ! Here the 'prentice from Aldgate may ogle a Toast ! Here his Worship must elbow the knight of the post ! FARMER COLIN AT VAUXHALL 57 For the wicket is free to the great and the small ; — Sing Tantarara, — Vauxhall ! Vauxhall ! Here Betty may flaunt in her mistress's sack ! Here Trip wear his master's brocade on his back ! Here a hussy may ride, and a rogue take the wall ; — Sing Tantarara, — Vauxhall ! Vauxhall ! Here Beauty may grant, here Valour may ask ! Here the plainest may pass for a Belle (in a mask) ! Here a domino covers the short and the tall ; — Sing Tajitarara^ — Vauxhall ! Vauxhall ! 'Tis a type of the world, with its drums and its din ; 'Tis a type of the world, for when you come in You are loth to go out ; like the world 'tis a ball ; — Sing Tanfarai-a, — Vauxhall, Vauxhall ! Aus/i'n Dob son : At the Sign of iJic Lyre. Farmer Colin at Vauxhall 1720 /~\ MARY ! soft in feature, ^~^ I've been at dear Vauxhall ; No Paradise is sweeter, Not that they Eden call. At night such new vagaries. Such gay and harmless sport ; All looked like giant-fairies At this their monarch's court. LONDON TOWN Methought, when first I entered, Such splendours round me shone, Into a world I'd ventured Where shone another sun : While music never cloying, As skylarks sweet, I hear ; Their sounds I'm still enjoying, They'll always soothe my ear. Here paintings sweetly glowing Where'er our glances fall ; Here colours, life bestowing. Bedeck the Greenwood Hall. The king there dubs a farmer, There John his doxy loves ; But my delight's the charmer Who steals a pair of gloves. As still amazed I'm straying O'er this enchanted grove, I spy a harper playing All in his proud alcove. I doff my hat, desiring He'll tune up " Buxom Joan " ; But what was I admiring ? Odzooks ! a man of stone ! But now, the tables spreading, They all fall to with glee ; Not e'en at squire's fine wedding Such dainties did I see. AT SHINING VAUXHALL 59 I longed (poor country rover !) But none heed country elves. These folk, with lace daubed over, Love only their dear selves. Thus whilst 'mid joys abounding, As grasshoppers they're gay, At distance crowds surrounding The Lady of the May. The man i' th' moon tweer'd shyly Soft twinkling through the trees, As though 'twould please him highly To taste delights like these. Anon. : Old Song-Books. At Shining Vauxhall 1817 /^~^OME, come, I am very Disposed to be merry — So hey ! for a wherry I beckon and bawl ! 'Tis dry, not a damp night, And pleasure will tramp light To music and lamp-light At shining Vauxhall ! Ay, here's the dark portal- The check-taking mortal 6o LONDON TOWN I pass, and turn short all At once on the blaze — Names famous in story, Lit up con amore, All flaming in glory. Distracting the gaze ! Oh my name lies fallow — Fame never will hallow In red light and yellow Poetical toil — I've long tried to write up My name, and take flight up ; But ink will not light up Like cotton and oil ! But sad thoughts, keep under !- The painted Rotund^?* Invites me. I wonder Who's singing so clear? 'Tis Sinclair, high flying, Scotch ditties supplying ; But some hearts are sighing For Dignum, I fear ! How bright is the lustre, How thick the folks muster. And eagerly cluster, On bench and in box, — Whilst Povey is waking Sweet sounds, or the taking Kate Stephens is shaking Her voice and her locks ! AT SHINING VAUXHALL 6i What clapping attends her !— The white doe befriends her — How Braham attends her Away by the hand, For Love to succeed her ; The Signor doth heed her, And sigheth to lead her Instead of the band ! Then out we all sally — Time's ripe for the Ballet, Like bees they all rally Before the machine ! — But I am for tracing The bright walks and facing The groups that are pacing To see and be seen. How motley they mingle — What men might one single. And names that would tingle Or tickle the ear — Fresh Chinese contrivers Of letters — survivors Of pawnbrokers — divers Beau Tibbses appear ! Such little and great men. And civic and state men — Collectors and rate-men — How pleasant to nod To friends — to note fashions, To make speculations 62 LONDON TOWN On people and passions — To laugh at the odd ! To sup on true slices Of ham — with fair prices For fowl — while cool ices And liquor abound — To see Blackmore wander, A small salamander, Adown the rope yonder, And light on the ground Oh, the fireworks are splendid ; But darkness is blended — Bright things are soon ended, Fade quickly, and fall ! There goes the last rocket ! — Some cash out of pocket, By stars in the socket I go from Vauxhall ! Thomas Hood : Collected Poems. St. James's Prayers 1719 T AST Sunday at St. James's prayers, — ' The prince and princess by, I, drest in all my whale-bone airs, Sat in a closet nigh. I bow'd my knees, I held my book, Read all the answers o'er ; LOVE OR LONDON? 63 But was perverted by a look, Which pierced me from the door. High thoughts of Heaven I came to use, With the devoutest care. Which gay young Strephon made me lose, And all the raptures there. He stood to hand me to my chair, And bovv'd with courtly grace ; But whisper'd love into my ear, Too warm for that grave place. " Love, love," said he, " by all adored, My tender heart has won." But I grew peevish at the word. And bade he would be gone. He went quite out of sight, while I A kinder answer meant ; Nor did I for my sins that day By half so much repent. Anon. ; Wit and Mirth. Love or London? 1737 T7ROM Lincoln to London rode forth our young squire. To bring down a wife whom the swains might admire But, in spite of whatever the mortal could say. The goddess objected the length of the way ! To give up the opera, the park, and the ball, For to view the stag's horns in an old country hall ; To have neither China nor Indian to see ! Nor a laceman to plague in a morning — not she ! 64 LONDON TOWN To forsake the dear play-house, Quin, Garrick, and Clive, Who by dint of mere humour had kept her ahve ; To forego the full box for his lonesome abode, O Heavens ! she should faint, she should die on the road. To forego the gay fashions and gestures of France, And leave dear Auguste in the midst of the dance. And Harlequin too ! — 'twas in vain to require it ; And she wonder'd how folks had the face to desire it. To be sure she could breathe nowhere else but in town ; Thus she talk'd like a wit, and he look'd like a clown ; But the while honest Harry despair'd to succeed, A coach with a coronet trail'd her to Tweed. William Shenstone : Collected Poems. St. George's, Hanover Square 1856 O HE pass'd up the aisle on the arm of her sire, A delicate lady in bridal attire. Fair emblem of virgin simplicity ; Half London was there, and, my word, there were few That stood by the altar, or hid in a pew, But envied Lord Nigel's felicity. Beautiful bride ! — So meek in thy splendour, So frank in thy love, and its trusting surrender, Departing you leave us the town dim ! ON ST. JAMES'S PARK 65 May happiness wing to thy bower, unsought, And may Nigel, esteeming his bhss as he ought, Prove worthy thy worship, — confound him ! F. Locker-Lampson : Londofi Lyrics. On St. James's Park AS LATELY IMPROVED BY HIS MAJESTY 166I /~\F the first Paradise there's nothing found, ^-^^ Plants set by Heaven are vanish'd, and the ground; Yet the description lasts : who knows the fate Of Hves that shall this Paradise relate. Instead of rivers rolling by the side Of Eden's garden, here flows in the tide : The sea, which always serv'd his empire, now Pays tribute to our prince's pleasure too. Of famous cities we the founders know ; But rivers, old as seas to which they go, Are Nature's bounty : 'tis of more renown To make a river, than to build a town. For future shade, young trees upon the banks Of the new stream appear in even ranks : The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand. In better order could not make them stand. May they increase as fast, and spread their boughs, As the high fame of their great owner grows ! May he live long enough to see them all Dark shadows cast, and as his palace tall ! F 66 LONDON TOWN Methinks I see the love that shall be made, The lovers walking in that amorous shade : The gallants dancing by the river side ; They bathe in summer, and in winter shde. Methinks I hear the music in the boats. And the loud echo which returns the notes : While, overhead, a flock of newsprung fowl Hangs in the air, and does the sun controul ; Dark'ning the sky, they hover o'er, and shroud The wanton sailors with a feather'd cloud. Beneath, a shoal of silver fishes glides, And plays about the gilded barges' sides : The ladies angling in the crystal lake. Feast on the waters with the prey they take : At once victorious with their lines and eyes. They make the fishes and the men their prize. A thousand Cupids on the billows ride, And sea-nymphs enter with the swelling tide : From Thetis sent as spies to make report. And tell the wonders of her sovereign's court. All that can, living, feed the greedy eye. Or dead, the palate, here you may descry ; The choicest things that furnish'd Noah's ark, Or Peter's sheet, inhabiting this Park : All with a border of rich fruit-trees crown'd. Whose loaded branches hide the lofty mound. Such various ways the spacious alleys lead, My doubtful Muse knows not what path to tread. Yonder, the harvest of cold months laid up, Gives a fresh coolness to the royal cup : There ice, like crystal, firm, and never lost. Tempers hot July willi December's frost ; ON ST. JAMES'S PARK 67 Winter's dark prison, whence he cannot fly, Though the warm Spring, his enemy, draws nigh. Strange ! that extremes should thus preserve the snow, High on the Alps, and in deep caves below. Here a well-polish'd Mall gives us the joy. To see our prince his matchless force employ ; His manly posture, and his graceful mien, Vigour and youth in all his motions seen ; His shape so lovely, and his limbs so strong. Confirm our hopes we shall obey him long. No sooner had he touch'd the flying ball. But 'tis already more than half the Mall, And such a fury from his arm has got, As from a smoking culverin 'twere shot. May that ill fate his enemies befall. To stand before his anger or his ball ! Near this my Muse, what most delights her, sees A living gallery of aged trees ; Bold sons of Earth, that thrust their arms so high. As if once more they would invade the sky. In such green palaces the first kings reign'd, Slept in their shades, and angels entertain'd ; With such old counsellors they did advise. And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise. Free from th' impediments of light and noise, Man, thus retir'd, his nobler thoughts employs. Here Charles contrives the ordering of his states. Here he resolves his neighbouring princes' fates : What nation shall have peace, where war be made Determin'd is in this oraculous shade ; The world, from India to the frozen North, Concern'd in what this solitude brings forth. 68 LONDON TOWN His fancy objects from his view receives ; The prospect thought and contemplation gives. That seat of empire here salutes his eye, To which three kingdoms do themselves apply ; The structure by a prelate rais'd, Whitehall, Built with the fortune of Rome's capitol : Both, disproportion'd to the present state Of their proud founders, were approv'd by Fate. From hence he does that antique Pile behold Where royal heads receive the sacred gold : It gives them crowns and does their ashes keep ; There made like gods, like mortals there they sleep : Making the circle of their reign complete, Those suns of empire ! where they rise they set. When others fell, this, standing, did presage The crown should triumph over pop'lar rage : Hard by that House, where all our ills were shap'd, Th' auspicious temple stood, and yet escap'd. So, snow on Etna does unmelted lie, Whence rolling flames and scatter'd cinders fly ; The distant country in the ruin shares, What falls from Heaven the burning mountain spares. Next, that capacious Hall he sees, the room Where the whole nation does for justice come ; Under whose large roof flourishes the gown. And judges grave on high tribunals frown. Here, like the people's pastor, he does go, His flock subjected to his view below : On which reflecting in his mighty mind. No private passion does indulgence find : The pleasures of his youth suspended are. And made a sacrifice to public care. WEST LONDON 69 Here, free from court compliances, he walks, And with himself, his best adviser, talks : How peaceful olive may his temples shade. For mending laws, and for restoring trade : Or, how his brows may be with laurel charg'd, For nations conquer'd, and our bounds enlarg'd. Of ancient prudence here he ruminates. Of rising kingdoms, and of falling states : What ruling arts gave great Augustus fame, And how Alcides purchas'd such a name. His eyes, upon his native Palace bent. Close by, suggests a greater argument : His thoughts rise higher, when he does reflect On what the world may from that star expect, Which at his birth appear'd ; to let us see. Day, for his sake, could with the night agree : A prince, on whom such different light did smile, Born the divided world to reconcile ! Whatever Heaven, or high-extracted blood, Could promise, or foretell, he will make good ; Reform these nations, and improve them more, Than this fair Park, from what it was before. Edmund Waller : Collected Poems. West London 1867 /'^ROUCH'D on the pavement close by Belgrave Square A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied ; A babe was in her arms, and at her side A girl ; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare. 70 LONDON TOWN Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there, Pass'd opposite ; she touch'd her girl, who hied Across, and begg'd, and came back satisfied. The rich she had let pass with frozen stare. Thought I : Above her state this spirit towers ; She will not ask of aliens, but of friends, Of sharers in a common human fate. She turns from that cold succour, which attends The unknown little from the unknowing great. And points us to a better time than ours. Matihezu Arnold: Collected Poems. East London. 1867 'nnWAS August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitalfields, look'd thrice dispirited ; I met a preacher there I knew, and said : "111 and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene?" " Bravely ! " said he ; " for I of late have been Much cheer'd with thoughts of Christ, the livmg breads O human soul ! as long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light, Above the howling senses' ebb and flow. THE POET OF FASHION 71 To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam, Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night ! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home. Matthew Arnold: Collected Poevts. The Poet of Fashion 1822 T T IS book is successful, he's steeped in renown ; His lyric effusions have tickled the town ; Dukes, dowagers, dandies, are eager to trace The fountain of verse in the verse-maker's face ; While, proud as Apollo, with peers tete-a-tete, From Monday till Saturday dining off plate. His heart full of hope, and his head full of gain, The Poet of Fashion dines out in Park Lane. Now lean-jointured widows who seldom draw corks, Whose tea-spoons do duty for knives and for forks. Send forth, vellum-covered, a six o'clock card. And get up a dinner to peep at the bard ; Veal, sweetbread, boiled chickens, and tongue crown the cloth. And soup, a la reine, little better than broth ; While, past his meridian, but still with some heat. The Poet of Fashion dines out in Sloane Street. Enrolled in the tribe who subsist by their wits, Remember'd by starts, and forgotten by fits. Now artists and actors, the bardling engage. To squib in the journals, and write for the stage. 72 LONDON TOWN Now soup a la reine bends the knee to ox-cheek, And chickens and tongue bow to bubble and squeak — While, still in translation employ'd by "the Row," The Poet of Fashion dines out in Soho. Pushed down from Parnassus to Phlegethon's brink, Toss'd, torn, and trunk-lining, but still with some ink, Now squab city misses their albums expand, And woo the worn rhymer for " something off-hand " ; No longer with stilted effrontery fraught, Bucklersbury now seeks what St. James's once sought. And (O, what a classical haunt for a bard !) The Poet of Fashion dines out in Barge-yard. James Smith : Comic Miscellanies. Good-Night to the Season 1827 r^ OOD-NIGHT to the Season ! 'Tis over ! ^~^ Gay dwellings no longer are gay ; The courtier, the gambler, the lover. Are scattered like swallows away ; There's nobody left to invite one, Except my good uncle and spouse ; My mistress is bathing at Brighton, My patron is sailing at Cowes ; For want of a better employment. Till Ponto and Don can get out, I'll cultivate rural enjoyment. And angle immensely for trout. GOOD-NIGHT TO THE SEASON 73 Good-night to the Season ! — the lobbies, Their changes and rumours of change, Which startled the rustic Sir Bobbies, And made all the Bishops look strange ; The breaches, and battles, and blunders, Performed by the Commons and Peers ; The Marquis's eloquent blunders, The Baronet's eloquent ears ; Denouncings of Papists and treasons. Of foreign dominions and oats ; Misrepresentations of reasons, And misunderstandings of notes. Good-night to the Season ! — the buildings Enough to make Inigo sick ; The paintings, and plasterings, and gildings Of stucco, and marble, and brick ; The orders deliciously blended From love of effect into one ; The club-houses only intended. The palaces only begun ; The hell, where the fiend in his glory Sits staring at putty and stones. And scrambles from story to story. To rattle at midnight his bones. Good-night to the Season ! — the dances, The fillings of hot little rooms. The glancings of rapturous glances. The fancyings of fancy costumes ; The pleasures which fashion makes duties. The praisings of fiddles and flutes, The luxury of looking at Beauties, The tedium of talking to mutes ; 74 LONDON TOWN The female diplomatists, planners Of matches for Laura and Jane, The ice of her Ladyship's manners. The ice of his Lordship's champagne. Good-night to the Season ! — the rages Led off by the chiefs of the throng, The Lady Matilda's new pages, The Lady Eliza's new song ; Miss Fennel's macaw, which at Boodle's Was held to have something to say ; Mrs. Splenetic's musical poodles. Which bark " Batti ! Batti ! " all day ; The pony Sir Araby sported, As hot and as black as a coal. And the lion his mother imported. In bearskins and grease, from the Pole. Good-night to the Season ! — the Toso, So very majestic and tall ; Miss Ayton, whose singing was so-so, And Pasta, divinest of all ; The labour in vain of the ballet. So sadly deficient in stars ; The foreigners thronging the Alley, Exhaling the breath of cigars ; The /oge where some heiress (how killing !) Environed with exquisites sits, The lovely one out of her drilling. The silly ones out of their wits. Good-night to the Season ! — the splendour That beamed in the Spanish Bazaar ; GOOD-NIGHT TO THE SEASON 75 Where I purchased — my heart was so tender — A card-case, a pasteboard guitar, A bottle of perfume, a girdle, A lithographed Riego, full-grown. Whom bigotry drew on a hurdle That artists might draw him on stone ; A small panorama of Seville, A trap for demolishing flies, A caricature of the Devil, And a look from Miss Sheridan's eyes. Good-night to the Season ! — the flowers Or the grand horticultural fete. When boudoirs were quitted for bowers. And the fashion was — not to be late ; When all who had money and leisure Grew rural o'er ices and wines, All pleasantly toiling for pleasure, All hungrily pining for pines. And making of beautiful speeches. And marring of beautiful shows. And feeding on delicate peaches. And treading on delicate toes. Good-night to the Season ! — another Will come with its trifles and toys. And hurry away, like its brother, In sunshine, and odour, and noise. Will it come with a rose or a briar ? Will it come with a blessing or curse ? Will its bonnets be lower or higher ? Will its morals be better or worse ? 76 LONDON TOWN Will it find me grown thinner or fatter, Or fonder of wrong or of right, Or married — or buried ? — no matter : Good-night to the Season — good-night ! IVinthrop Mackuwrth Praed . Collected Poems. Phil Porter's Farewell to Town, when Dying 1661 TJ^AREWELL Three Kings, where I have spent Full many an idle hour ; Where oft I won, but never lost, If 'twere within my power. Farewell my dearest Piccadilly, Notorious for great dinners ; Oh what a Tennis Court was there ! Alas ! — too good for sinners. Farewell the glory of Hyde Park, Which was to me so dear ; Ah, since I can't enjoy it more, Would I were buried there ! Farewell tormenting creditors. Whose scores did so perplex me ; Well ! Death I see for something's good, For now they'll cease to vex me. MR. POPE'S FAREWELL 77 Farewell true brethren of the Sword, All martial men and stout ; Farewell dear Drawer at the Fleece^ I cannot leave thee out. My time draws on, I now must go, From this beloved light ; Remember me to pretty Sue, And so, dear friends, Good-Night ! Anon : Wit and Drollery. Mr. Pope's Farewell to London 1715 T^Ex\R, damn'd, distracting town, farewell ! Thy fools no more I'll tease ; To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd Till the third watchman's toll ; Let Jarvis gratis paint, and Frowde Save threepence and his soul. Farewell, Arbuthnot's raillery On every learned sot ; And Garth, the best good Christian he. Although he knows it not. Lintot, farewell ! thy bard must go ; Farewell, unhappy Tonson ! Heaven gives thee for thy loss of Rowe Lean Philips and fat Johnson. 78 LONDON TOWN Why should I stay ? Both parties rage ; My vixen mistress squalls ; The wits in envious feuds engage ; And Homer (damn him !) calls. The love of arts lies cold and dead In Halifax's urn ; And not one Muse of all he fed Has yet the grace to mourn. Why make I friendships with the great, When I no favours seek ? Or follow girls, seven hours in eight ? I us'd but once a week. Still idle, with a busy air. Deep whimsies to contrive ; The gayest valetudinaire, Most thinking rake, alive. Solicitous for others' ends, Though fond of dear repose ; Careless or drowsy with my friends, And frolic with my foes. Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, For sober, studious days ! And Burlington's delicious meal, For salads, tarts, and pease ! TO MR. MACADAM 79 Adieu to all but Gay alone, Whose soul, sincere and free. Loves all mankind, but flatters none. And so may starve with me. Alexander Pope : Collected Poems. To Mr. MacAdam 1826 'T^HY first great trial in this mighty town Was, if I rightly recollect, upon That gentle hill which goeth Down from " The County " to the Palace gate, And, like a river, thanks to thee, now floweth Past the Old Horticultural Society — The chemist Cobb's, the house of Howell and James, Where ladies play high shawl and satin games — A little Hell of lace ! And past the Athenaeum, made of late. Severs a sweet variety Of milliners and booksellers who grace Waterloo Place, Making division, the Muse fears and guesses, 'Twixt Mr. Rivington's and Mr. Hessey's. Thou stood'st thy trial Mac ! and shaved the road From Barber Beaumont's to the King's abode So well, that paviours threw their rammers by. Let down their tucked shirt sleeves, and with a sigh Prepared themselves, poor souls, to chip or die ! Next from the palace to the prison, thou Didst go, the highway's watchman, to thy beat — 8o LONDON TOWN Preventing though the rattling in the street, Yet kicking up a row Upon the stones— ah ! truly watchman-like, Encouraging thy victims all to strike, To further thy own purpose, Adam, daily ; — Thou hast smoothed, alas, the path to the Old Bailey ! And to the stony bowers Of Newgate, to encourage the approach. By caravan or coach — Hast strewed the way with flints as soft as flowers. Thomas Hood : Ode to Mr. MacAdam. London Misnomers 1813. T^ROM Park Land to Wapping, by day and by night, I've many a year been a roamer, And find that no lawyer can London indict. Each street, ev'ry lane's a misnomer. I find Broad Street, St. Giles's, a poor narrow nook, Battle Bridge is unconscious of slaughter. Duke's Place cannot muster the ghost of a duke. And Brook Street is wanting in water. I went to Cornhill for a bushel of wheat, And sought it in vain ev'ry shop in. The Hermitage offered a tranquil retreat For the jolly Jack hermits of Wapping. Spring Gardens, all wintry, appear on the wane, Sun Alley's an absolute blinder, Mount Street is a level, and Bearbinder Lane Has neither a bear nor a binder. CHARING CROSS 8i No football is kicked up and down in Pall Mall, Change Alley, alas ! never varies, The Serpentine river's a straitened canal. Milk Street is denuded of dairies. Knight's bridge, void of tournaments, lies calm and still, Butcher Row cannot boast of a cleaver. And (tho' it abuts on his garden) Hay Hill Won't give Devon's duke the hay fever. The Cockpit's the focus of law, not of sport. Water Lane is affected with dryness, And, spite of its gorgeous approach. Prince's Court Is a sorry abode for his Highness. From Baker Street North all the bakers have fled, So, in verse not quite equal to Homer, Methinks I have proved what at starting I said. That London's one mighty misnomer. James Smith : Comic Miscellanies. Oueen Elinor and the Charing Cross 1593 T ET Spanish steeds, as swift as fleeting wind, — ' Convey these princes to their funeral : Before them let a hundred mourners ride. In every time of their enforc'd abode. Rear up a cross in token of their worth, Whereon fair Elinor's picture shall be plac'd. 82 LONDON TOWN Arriv'd at London, near our palace-bounds, Inter my lovely Elinor, late deceas'd ; And, in remembrance of her royalty, Erect a rich and stately carved cross, Whereon her stature shall with glory shine, And henceforth see you call it Charing Cross ; For why the chariest and the choicest queen That ever did delight my royal eyes. There dwells in darkness. George Peele : King Edward the First. On the Statue of King Charles I. at Charing Cross 1674 ^ I "HAT the first Charles does here in triumph ride. See his son reign'd where he a martyr died, And people pay that rev'rence as they pass, (Which then he wanted) to the sacred brass. Is not th' effect of gratitude alone. To which we owe the statue and the stone ; But Heav'n this lasting monument has wrought. That mortals may eternally be taught. Rebellion, though successful, is but vain, And kings so kill'd rise conquerors again. This truth the royal image does proclaim. Loud as the trumpet of surviving Fame. Edmund Waller : Collected Poems. BALLAD UPON A WEDDING 83 A Ballad upon a Wedding About 1635 T TELL thee, Dick, where I have been, Where I the rarest sights have seen : Oh things without compare ! Such sights again cannot be found In any place on English ground. Be it at wake, or fair. At Charing Cross, hard by the way Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, There is a house with stairs ; And there did I see coming down Such folks as are not in our town, Forty at least, in pairs. Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, (His beard no bigger though than thine) Walk'd on before the rest : Our landlord looks hke nothing to him : The king (God bless him) 'twould undo him ; Shou'd he go still so drest. At Course-a-park, without all doubt. He should have first been taken out By all the maids i' th' town : Though lusty Roger there had been, Our little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the crown. 84 LONDON TOWN But wot you what ? the youth was going To make an end of all his wooing ; The parson for him staid : Yet by his leave, for all his haste, He did not so much wish all past (Perchance) as did the maid. The maid — and thereby hangs a tale — For such a maid no Whitson ale Could ever yet produce : No grape that 's kindly ripe, could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juice. Her finger was so small, the ring Wou'd not stay on which they did bring, It was too wide a peck : And to say truth (for out it must) It look'd like the great collar (just) About our young colt's neck. Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light : But oh ! she dances such a way ! No sun upon an Easter Day Is half so fine a sight. Her cheeks so rare a white was on. No daisy makes comparison, (Who sees them is undone) For streaks of red were mingled there. Such as are on a Katherine pear. The side that's next the sun. BALLAD UPON A WEDDING 85 Her lips were red, and one was thin Compar'd to that was next her chin, Some bee had stung it newly. But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on the sun in July. Her mouth so small when she does speak, Thoud'st swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get. But she so handled still the matter. They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit. Passion o' me ! how I run on ! There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, besides the bride. The bus'ness of the kitchen's great, For it is fit that men should eat ; Nor was it there deny'd. When all the meat was on the table, What man of knife, or teeth, was able To stay to be entreated : And this the very reason was, Before the parson could say grace. The company was seated. How hats fly off, and youths carouse ; Healths first go round, and then the house, The bride's came thick and thick ; And when 'twas nam'd another's health, Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, And who could help it, Dick ? 86 LONDON TOWN O th' sudden up they rise and dance ; Then sit again, and sigh and glance : Then dance again and kiss. Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, Whilst ev'ry woman wish'd her place, And ev'ry man wish'd his. By this time all were stol'n aside To counsel and undress the bride ; But that he must not know : But yet 'twas thought he guest her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an hour or so. Sir John Suckling: Collected Poems. The Downfall of Charing-Cross 1647 T TNDONE, undone the lawyers are, ^^ They wander about the town, Nor can find the way to Westminster, Now Charing-Cross is down : At the end of the Strand, they make a stand, Swearing they are at a loss. And chaffing say, that's not the way. They must go by Charing-Cross. The Parliament to vote it down Conceived it very fitting. For fear it should fall, and kill them all, In the house as they were sitting. FALL OF CHARING CROSS 87 They were told, god-wot, it had a plot. Which made them so hard-hearted, To give command, it should not stand. But be taken down and carted. Men talk of plots, this might have been worse For any thing I know, Than that Tomkins and Chaloner, Were hang'd for long ago. Our Parliament did that prevent. And wisely them defended. For plots they will discover still, Before they were intended. But neither man, woman, nor child, Will say, I'm confident, They ever heard it speak one word Against the Parliament, An informer swore, it letters bore. Or else it had been freed ; I'll take, in troth, my Bible oath. It could neither write, nor read, The Committee said, that verily To Popery it was bent ; For aught I know, it might be so. For to church it never went. What with excise, and such device. The kingdom doth begin To think you'll leave them ne'er a cross, Without doors nor within. LONDON TOWN Methinks the common-council shou'd Of it have taken pity, 'Cause, good old Cross, it always stood So firmly to the city. Since crosses you so much disdain, Faith, if I were as you, For fear the king should rule again, I'd pull down Tyburn too. A9iofi : Percys Reliques of Ancient Efiglish Poetry. Sonnet On hearing St. Martin's Bells on my way Home FROM A Sparring Match at the Fives-Court 1820 ■n EAUTIFUL bells ! that on this airy eve ^-^ Swoon with such deep and mellow cadences, — Filling, — then leaving empty the rapt breeze ; — Pealing full voic'd, — and seeming now to grieve In distant dreaming sweetness ! — ye bereave My mind of worldly care by dim degrees ; — Dropping the balm of falling melodies Over a heart that yearneth to receive. Oh, doubly soft ye seem ! — since even but now I've left the Fives-Court rush, — the flash, — the rally, — The noise of " Go it Jack," — the stop — the blow, — The shout — the chattering hit — the check — the sally ; — Oh, doubly sweet y'e seem to come and go ; — Like peasants' pipes, at peace time, in a valley ! John Ha/nilton Reynolds : The Fancy. TRAFALGAR SQUARE 89 Trafalgar Square 1892 q^RAFALGAR Square ■*■ (The fountains volleying golden glaze) Shines like an angel-market. High aloft Over his couchant Lions in a haze Shimmering and bland and soft, A dust of chrysoprase, Our Sailor takes the golden gaze Of the saluting sun, and flames superb As once he flamed it on his ocean round. The dingy dreariness of the picture-place, Turned very nearly bright, Takes on a luminous transiency of grace, And shows no more a scandal to the ground. The very blind man pottering on the kerb, Among the posies and the ostrich feathers. And the rude voices touched with all the weathers Of the long, varying year. Shares in the universal alms of light. The windows, with their fleeting, flickering fires, The height and spread of frontage shining sheer. The quiring signs, the rejoicing roofs and spires — 'Tis El Dorado — El Dorado plain, The Golden City ! And when a girl goes by. Look ! as she turns her glancing head, A call of gold is floated from her ear ! Golden, all golden ! In a golden glory, Long-lapsing down a golden coasted sky. 90 LONDON TOWN The day not dies but seems Dispersed in wafts and drifts of gold, and shed Upon a past of golden song and story And memories of gold and golden dreams. JVi/liam E}-nest Henley : London Volimtaries. Ballade of Summer 1884 TIT" HEN strawberry pottles are common and cheap, Ere elms be black, or limes be sere, When midnight dances are murdering sleep, Then comes in the sweet o' the year ! And far from Fleet Street, far from here, The Summer is Queen in the length of the land, And moonlit nights they are soft and clear. When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand ! When clamour that doves in the lindens keep Mingles with musical plash of the weir, Where drowned green tresses of crowsfoot creep, Then comes in the sweet o' the year ! And better a crust and a beaker of beer, With rose-hung hedges on either hand. Than a palace in town and a prince's cheer, When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand ! When big trout late in the twilight leap. When cuckoo clamoureth for and near, When glittering scythes in the hayfield reap. Then comes in the sweet o' the year ! A LONDON PLANE-TREE 91 And it's oh to sail, with the wind to steer, Where kine knee-deep in the water stand, On a Highland loch, or a Lowland mere. When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand ! Envoy Friend, with the fops while we dawdle here, Then comes in the sweet o' the year ! And the Summer runs out, like grains of sand, When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand ! Andrew Lang : Rhymes d la Mode. A London Plane-Tree 1893 r^ REEN is the plane-tree in the square, ^-^ The other trees are brown ; They droop and pine for country air ; The plane-tree loves the town. Here from my garret-pane, I mark The plane-tree bud and blow. Shed her recuperative bark, And spread her shade below. Among her branches, in and out, The city breezes play ; The dun fog wraps her round about ; Above, the smoke curls grey. 92 LONDON TOWN Others the country take for choice, And hold the town in scorn ; But she has Hstened to the voice Of city breezes borne. A7ny Levy : A London P lane-Tree, and other Poems. Bloomsbury 1893 "CpOR me, for me, these old retreats Amid the world of London streets ! My eye is pleased with all it meets In Bloomsbury. I know how prim is Bedford Park, At Highgate oft I've heard the lark. Not these can lure me from my ark In Bloomsbury. I know how green is Peckham Rye, And Syd'nham, flashing in the sky. But did I dwell there I should sigh For Bloomsbury. I know where Maida Vale receives The night dews on her summer leaves, Not less my settled spirit cleaves To Bloomsbury. Some love the Chelsea river gales. And the slow barges' ruddy sails, And these I'll woo when glamour fails In Bloomsbury. THE FARMER IN LONDON 93 Enough for me in yonder square To see the perky sparrows pair, Or long laburnum gild the air In Bloomsbury. Enough for me in midnight skies To see the moons of London rise, And weave their silver fantasies In Bloomsbury. Oh, mine in snows and summer heats. These good old Tory brick-built streets ! My eye is pleased with all it meets In Bloomsbury. Anon. ^ /hi ijrmks.] Farmer, Well said, Dick, boy ! Dick. Huzza ! Wife. What more did'st thou see, to beget admiraation ? THE FARMER'S RETURN 123 Farmer. The City's fine show, — but first the crownation ! 'Twas tho' all the world had been there with their spouses ; There's was street within street, and houses on houses ! I thought from above (when the folk fiU'd the pleaces), The streets pav'd with heads, and the walls made of feaces ! Such justling and bustling ! — 'twas worth all the pother. — I hope, from my soul, I shall ne'er see another. Sal. Dad, what did you see at the pleays, and the shows ? Farmer. What did I see at the pleays and the shows ? Why bouncing and grinning, and a pow'r of fine cloaths : From top to the bottom 'twas all 'chanted ground ! Gold, painting, and music, and blaazing all round ! Above 'twas like Bedlam, all roaring and rattling ! Below, the fine folk were all curts'ying and prattling : Strange jumble together — Turks, Christians, and Jews ! — At the Temple of Folly, all crowd to the pews. Here too doizen'd out, were those same freakish ladies. Who keep open market, — tho' smuggling their trade is. I saw a new pleay too — they call'd it The School — I thought it pure stuff — but I thought like a fool — 'Twas The School of — pize on it ! — my mem'ry is naught — The greaat ones dislik'd it — they heate to be taught : The cratticks too grumbled — I'll tell you for whoy, They wanted to laugh — and were ready to croy. Wife. Pray what are your cratticks ? 124 LONDON TOWN Farmer. Like watchmen in town, Lame, feeble, half-blind, yet they knock poets down. Like old Justice Wormwood, — a crattick's a man That can't sin himself, — and he heates those that can. I ne'er went to Opras ! — I thought it too grand. For poor folk to like what they don't understand. The top joke of all, and what pleas'd me the moast, Some wise ones and I sat up with a Ghoast. Wife and Children. A Ghoast ! [S^arimg.] Farmer. Yes, a Ghoast ! Wife. I shall swoond away, Love ! Farmer. Odzooks ! — thou'rt as bad as thy betters above ! With her nails, and her knuckles, she answer'd so noice ! For Yes she knock'd once, and for JVo she knock'd twoice. They may talk of the country, but, I say, in town, Their throats are much woider, to swallow things down. I'll uphold, in a week, — by my troth I don't joke — That our little Sal— shall fright all the town folk — Come, get me some supper — but first let me peep At the rest of my children — my calves, and my sheep. [Gomg.] Wife. Ah ! Jahn ! David Garrick : The Farmer's Return. RED ROSE AND WHITE 125 In the Temple 1892 nPHE grey and misty night, Slim trees that hold the night among Their branches, and, along The vague Embankment, light on light. The sudden, racing lights ! I can just hear, distinct, aloof, The gaily chattering hoof Beating the rhythm of festive nights. The gardens to the weeping moon Sigh back the breath of tears. O the refrain of years on years 'Neath the weeping moon ! Arthur Symons : Silhotieties. The Red Rose and White About 1590 O UFFOLK. Within the Temple Hall we were too loud : *^ The garden here is more convenient. Plantagenet. Let him that is a true-born gentleman And stands upon the honour of his birth. If he suppose that I have pleaded truth. From off this brier pluck a white rose with me. Somerset. Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, 126 LONDON TOWN Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me, Plantagenet. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset ? Somerset. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ? Warwick. . . . Here I prophesy : this brawl to-day, Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden, Shall send between the red rose and the white A thousand souls to death and deadly night. Shakespeare : i Henry VI. Holborn About 1594 GLOUCESTER. My Lord of Ely ! Ely. My lord ? Gloucester. When I was last in Holborn, I saw good strawberries in your garden there : I do beseech you send for some of them. Ely. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart. Shakespeare : King Richard III. My Lodging is in Leather Lane 1810 1\ /T Y lodging is in Leather Lane ^ A parlour that's next to the sky ; 'Tis exposed to the wind and the rain. But the wind and the rain I defy : Such love warms the coldest of spots, As I feel for Scrubinda the fair ; STREET COMPANIONS 127 Oh, she lives by the scouring of pots, In Dyot Street, Bloomsbury Square. Oh, were I a quart, pint, or gill. To be scrubb'd by her delicate hands, Let others possess what they will Of learning, and houses, and lands ; My parlour that's next to the sky I'd quit, her blest mansion to share ; So happy to live and to die In Dyot Street, Bloomsbury Square. And oh, would this damsel be mine. No other provision I'd seek ; On a look I could breakfast and dine, And feast on a smile for a week. But ah ! should she false-hearted prove, Suspended, I'll dangle in air ; A victim to delicate love In Dyot Street, Bloomsbury Square. William Barnes Rhodes : Botnbastes Furioso. Street Companions 1847 VyHENE'ER through Gray's Inn porch I stray, I meet a spirit by the way ; He wanders with me all alone. And talks with me in undertone. 128 LONDON TOWN The crowd is busy seeking gold, It cannot see what I behold ; I and the spirit pass along Unknown, unnoticed, in the throng. While on the grass the children run, And maids go loitering in the sun, I roam beneath the ancient trees, And talk with him of mysteries. The dull brick houses of the square. The bustle of the thoroughfare. The sounds, the sights, the crush of men, Are present, but forgotten then. I see them, but I heed them not, I hear, but silence clothes the spot ; All voices die upon my brain Except that spirit's in the lane. He breathes to me his burning thought. He utters words with wisdom fraught, He tells me truly what I am — I walk with mighty Verulam, He goes with me through crowded ways, A friend and mentor in the maze. Through Chancery Lane to Lincoln's Inn, To Fleet Street, through the moil and din. I meet another spirit there, A blind old man with forehead fair. Who ever walks the right hand side Toward the fountain of St. Bride. STREET COMPANIONS 129 Amid the peal of jangling bells, Or people's roar that falls and swells, The whir of wheels and tramp of steeds, He talked to me of noble deeds. I hear his voice above the crush. As to and fro the people rush ; Benign and calm, upon his face Sits melancholy, robed in grace. He hath no need of common eyes, He sees the fields of Paradise ; He sees and pictures unto mine A gorgeous vision, most divine. He tells the story of the Fall, He names the fiends in battle-call. And shows my soul, in wonder dumb. Heaven, Earth, and Pandemonium. He tells of Lycidas the good, And the sweet lady in the wood. And teaches wisdom, high and holy, In mirth and heavenly melancholy. And oftentimes, with courage high. He raises Freedom's rallying cry ; And, ancient leader of the van, Asserts the dignity of man — Asserts the rights with trumpet tongue That Justice from Oppression wrung, And poet, patriot, statesman, sage, Guides by his own a future age. K I30 LONDON TOWN With such companions at my side I float on London's human tide ; An atom on its billows thrown, But lonely never, nor alone. Charles Mackay : Town Lyrics. Clever Tom Clinch Going to be Hanged 1727 A S clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling, Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling. He stopt at the George for a bottle of sack, And promised to pay for it when he came back. His waistcoat, and stockings, and breeches, were white. His cap had a new cherry ribbon to tie't. The maids to the doors and the balconies ran, And said, " Lack-a-day, he's a proper young man ! " But as from the windows the ladies he spied, Like a beau in the box, he bow'd low on each side ! And when his last speech the loud hawkers did cry, He swore from his cart, " It was all a damn'd lie ! " The hangman for pardon fell down on his knee ; Tom gave him a kick in the guts for his fee : Then said, " I must speak to the people a little ; But I'll see you all damn'd before I will whittle. My honest friend Wild (may he long hold his place) He lengthen'd my life with a whole year of grace : Take courage, dear comrades, and be not afraid, Nor slip this occasion to follow your trade ; IN GRUB STREET 131 My conscience is clear, and my spirits are calm, And thus I go off, without prayer-book or psalm ; Then follow the practice of clever Tom Clinch, Who hung like a hero, and never would flinch. Jonathan Swift: Collected Poems. A Chamber in Grub Street 1758 Tl THERE the Red Lion, staring o'er the way, Invites each passing stranger that can pay ; Where Calvert's butt and Parson's black champagne Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury Lane ; There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug, The Muse found Scroggen stretched beneath a rug ; A window, patched with paper, lent a ray That dimly showed the state in which he lay ; The sanded floor, that grits beneath the tread ; The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ; The royal game of goose was there in view, And the twelve rules the Royal Martyr drew ; The Seasons, framed with listing, found a place, And brave Prince William show'd his lamp-black face ; The morn was cold ; he views with keen desire The rusty grate unconscious of a fire : With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd. And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney-board ; A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, A cap by night — a stocking all the day ! Oliver Goldsmith : Collected Poems. 132 LONDON TOWN Time Was ! 1772 'npiME was, when satin waistcoats and scratch wigs, Enough distinguish'd all the City prigs. Whilst every sunshine Sunday saw them run To club their sixpences, at Islington ; When graver citizens, in suits of brown, Lin'd ev'ry dusty avenue to town. Or led the children and the loving spouse. To spend two shillings at White-Conduit House : But now, the 'prentices, in suits of green, At Richmond or at Windsor may be seen ; Where in mad parties they run down to dine. To play at gentlefolks, and drink bad wine : Whilst neat post-chariots roll their masters down To some snug box, a dozen miles from town. Time was, when tradesmen laid up what they gain'd. And frugally a family maintain'd ; When they took stirring housewives for their spouses. To keep up prudent order in their houses ; Who thought no scorn at night to sit them down, And make their children's clothes, or mend their own ; Would Polly's coat to younger Bess transfer. And make their caps without a milliner : But now, a-shopping half the day they're gone, To buy five hundred things, and pay for none ; While Miss despises all domestic rules. But lisps the French of Hackney boarding-schools ; TIME WAS! 133 And ev'ry lane around Whitechapel Bars Resounds with screaming notes, and harsh guitars. Time was, too, when the prudent dames would stay Till Christmas holidays to see a play, And met at cards, at that glad time alone. In friendly sets of loo or cheap pope-Joan ; Now, ev'ry lady writes her invitations For weekly routs, to all her wise relations : And ev'ry morning teems with fresh delights ; They run the City over, seeing sights ; Then hurry to the play as night approaches, And spend their precious time in hackney-coaches. Hence spring assemblies with such uncouth names, As Deptford, Wapping, Rotherhithe, and Shad-Thames, Where ev'ry month the powder'd white-glov'd sparks, Spruce haberdashers, pert attorneys' clerks, With deep-enamour'd 'prentices prefer Their suit to many a sighing milliner : In scraps of plays their passions they impart, With all the awkward bows they learn from Hart. 'Tis here they learn their genius to improve, And throw by IVingate for the Art of Love ; They frame th' acrostic deep and rebus terse, And fill the day-book with enamour'd verse ; Ev'n learned Fenning on his vacant leaves, The ill-according epigram receives. And Cocker's margin hobbling sonnets grace To Delia, measuring out a yard of lace. 'Tis true, my friend ; and thus throughout the nation Prevails this general love of dissipation : 134 LONDON TOWN It matters little where their sports begin, Whether at Arthur's, or the Bowl and Pin ; Whether they tread the gay Pantheon's round, Or play at skittles at St, Giles's pound. The self-same idle spirit drags them on, And peer and porter are alike undone : Whilst thoughtless imitation leads the way, And laughs at all the grave or wise can say. Charles Jenner : Town Eclogues. Consolation 1895 A S I walked through London, The fresh wound burning in my breast, As I walked through London, Longing to have forgotten, to harden my heart, and to rest, A sudden consolation, a softening light Touched me : the streets alive and bright. With hundreds each way thronging, on their tide Received me, a drop in the stream, unmarked, unknown. And to my heart I cried : Here can thy trouble find shelter, thy wound be eased ! For see, not thou alone, But thousands, each with his smart, Deep-hidden, perchance, but felt in the core of the heart ! And as to a sick man's feverish veins The full sponge warmly pressed. Relieves with its burning the burning of forehead and hands, So I, to my aching breast IN THE TRAIN 135 Gathered the griefs of those thousands, and made them my own; My bitterest pains Merged in a tenderer sorrow, assuaged and appeased. Laurence Bztiyon : Lyric Poevis. The Streets by Night 1896 /^OME let us forth, and wander the rich, the murmuring ^ night ! The shy, blue dusk of summer trembles above the street ; On either side uprising glimmer houses pale : But me the turbulent babble and voice of crowds delight ; For me the wheels make music, the mingled cries are sweet ; Motion and laughter call : we hear, we will not fail. For see, in secret vista, with soft, retiring stars. With clustered suns, that stare upon the throngs below. With pendent dazzling moons, that cast a noonday white. The full streets beckon : Come, for toil has burst his bars. And idle eyes rejoice, and feet unhasting go. O let us out and wander the gay and golden night. Laurence Binyoti : London Visions, First Series. In the Train 1892 'HPHE train through the night of the town. Through a blackness broken in twain By the sudden finger of streets ; 136 LONDON TOWN Lights, red, yellow, and brown. From curtain and window-pane, The flashing eyes of the streets. Night, and the rush of the train, A cloud of smoke through the town, Scaring the life of the streets ; And the leap of the heart again, Out into the night, and down The dazzling vista of streets ! Arthur Symons : Silhouettes. The Midnight Pomp of London's Artillery 1616 "1 1 /"HAT mighty musters, and what brave arrays. Of martial shows, in use to keep our arms. Hast thou — O London ! — made against all harms ? When Mars did seem in triumph down descending, To stoop from heaven upon thee, and commending Thy then triumphant march and martial sport, Decked in his richest coat of steel, did court Peace in thy streets, conducting through the same A warlike troop, that, by that yearly game, The noise of arms (made common to thy ears) Might at no time disturb thee with vain fears ; When drums' and trumpets' sounds, which do delight A cheerful heart, waking the drowsy night. LONDON'S ARTILLERY 137 Did fright the wandering Moon, who from her sphere, Beholding Earth beneath, looked pale with fear, To see the air appearing all on flame, Kindled by thy bon-fires, and from the same A thousand sparks dispersed throughout the sky, Which like to wand'ring stars about did fly ; Whose wholesome heat, purging the air, consumes The Earth's unwholesome vapours, fogs, and fumes. The wakeful shepherd, laid by his flock in field, With wonder at that time far off" beheld The wanton shine of thy triumphant fires Playing upon the tops of thy tall spires. Thy goodly buildings, that till then did hide Their rich array, open'd their windows wide. Where Kings, great peers, and many a noble dame, Whose bright pearl-glittering robes did mock the flame Of the Night's burning lights, did sit to see. How every Senator in his degree, Adorn'd with shining gold and purple weeds, And stately-mounted on rich-trapp'd steeds, Their guard attending, through the streets did ride. While in the streets the stickelers to and fro. To keep decorum, still did come and go ; When tables set were plentifully spread. And at each door neighbour with neighbour fed ; Where modest mirth, attendant at the feast, With plenty, gave content to every guest ; Where true good-will crown'd cups with fruitful wine, And neighbours in true love did fast combine ; Where the Law's pick-purse, strife 'twixt friend and friend, By reconcilement happily took end : 138 LONDON TOWN A happy time ! — when men knew how to use The gifts of happy peace, yet not abuse Their quiet rest with rust of ease, so far As to forget all discipline of War ! Richard Nicolls : London^ s Artillery. War 1842 'T^HE sentinel on Whitehall gate Looked forth into the night, And saw, o'erhanging Richmond Hill The streak of blood-red light. The bugle's note and cannon's roar The deathlike silence broke. And with one start, and with one cry, The royal city woke. At once on all her stately gates Arose the answering fires ; At once the wild alarum clashed From all her reeling spires \ From all the batteries of the Tower Pealed forth the voice of fear ; And all the thousand masts of Thames Sent back a louder cheer : And from the furthest wards was heard The rush of hurrying feet, And the broad stream of pikes and flags. Rushed down each roaring street ; And broader still became the blaze. NIGHT-WALKING 139 And louder still the din, As fast from every village round The horse came spurring in : And eastward straight from wild Blackheath The warlike errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall The gallant squires of Kent. Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills Flew those bright couriers forth ; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor They started for the north. Lord Macaulay : The Spanish Armada. Night-Walking 1716 "\ yl THEN Night first bids the twinkling stars appear, Or with her cloudy vest enwraps the air, Then swarms the busy street ; with caution tread. Where the shop-windows falling threat thy head ; Now lab'rers home return and join their strength To bear the tott'ring plank, or ladder's length ; Still fix thy eyes intent upon the throng. And, as the passes open, wind along. Where the fair columns of St. Clement stand, Whose straiten'd bounds encroach upon the Strand ; Where the low penthouse bows the walker's head, And the rough pavement wounds the yielding tread ; Where not a post protects the narrow space. And, strung in twines, combs dangle in thy face ; Summon at once thy courage, rouse thy care. I40 LONDON TOWN Stand firm, look back, be resolute, beware. Forth issuing from steep lanes, the collier's steeds Drag the black load ; another cart succeeds, Team follows team, crowds heap'd on crowds appear, And wait impatient till the road grow clear. Now all the pavement sounds with trampling feet, And the mix'd hurry barricades the street. Entangled here, the waggon's lengthen'd team Cracks the tough harness ; here a ponderous beam Lies overturn'd athwart ; for slaughter fed Here lowing bullocks raise their horned head. Now oaths grow loud, with coaches coaches jar, And the smart blow provokes the sturdy war ; From the high box they whirl the thong around. And with the twining lash their shins resound : Their rage ferments, more dangerous wounds they try. And the blood gushes down their painful eye. And now on foot the frowning warriors light. And with their ponderous fists renew the fight ; Blow answers blow, their cheeks are smear'd with blood Till down they fall, and grappling roll in mud. Where the mob gathers, swiftly shoot along. Nor idly mingle in the noisy throng : Lur'd by the silver hilt, amid the swarm. The subtle artist will thy side disarm. Nor is thy flaxen wig with safety worn ; High on the shoulder, in a basket borne. Lurks the sly boy, whose hand, to rapine bred. Plucks off the curling honours of thy head. Here dives the skulking thief, with practis'd sleight, NIGHT-WALKING 141 And unfelt fingers, make thy pocket light. Where's now thy watch, with all its trinkets, flown ? And thy late snuff-box is no more thy own. But lo ! his bolder thefts some tradesman spies, Swift from his prey the scudding lurcher flies ; Dext'rous he 'scapes the coach with nimble bounds. Whilst every honest tongue "Stop thief!" resounds. So speeds the wily fox, alarm'd by fear, Who lately filch'd the turkey's callow care ; Hounds following hounds grow louder as he flies. And injur'd tenants join the hunters' cries. Breathless, he stumbling falls. Ill-fated boy ! Why did not honest work thy youth employ ? Seiz'd by rough hands, he's dragged amid the rout, And stretch'd beneath the pump's incessant spout : Or, plung'd in miry ponds, he gasping lies. Mud chokes his mouth, and plaisters o'er his eyes. Let not the ballad-singer's shrilling strain Amid the swarm thy listening ear detain : Guard well thy pocket ; for these Syrens stand To aid the labours of the diving hand ; Confed'rate in the cheat, they draw the throng. And cambric handkerchiefs reward the song. But soon as coach or cart drives rattling on. The rabble part, in shoals they backward run. So Jove's loud bolts the mingled war divide. And Greece and Troy retreat on either side. If the rude throng pour on with furious pace. And hap to break thee from a friend's embrace. Stop short ; nor struggle through the crowd in vain, 142 LONDON TOWN But watch with careful eye the passing train. Yet I (perhaps too fond), if chance the tide Tumultuous bear my partner from my side, Impatient venture back ; despising harm, I force my passage where the thickest swarm. That walker who, regardless of his pace. Turns oft to pore upon the damsel's face, From side to side by thrusting elbows tost. Shall strike his aching breast against a post ; Or water, dash'd from fishy stalls, shall stain His hapless coat with spirts of scaly rain. But, if unwarily he chance to stray Where twirling turnstiles intercept the way. The thwarting passenger shall force them round And beat the wretch half breathless to the ground. Let constant vigilance thy footsteps guide. And wary circumspection guard thy side ; Then shalt thou walk, unharm'd, the dangerous night, Nor need th' officious linkboy's smoky light ; Thou never will attempt to cross the road. Where ale-house benches rest the porter's load. Grievous to heedless shins ; no barrow's wheel, That bruises oft the truant school-boy's heel. Behind thee rolling, with insidious pace, Shall mark thy stocking with a miry trace. Let not thy vent'rous steps approach too nigh, Where, gaping wide, low steepy cellars lie. Should thy shoe wrench aside, down, down you fall, And overturn the scolding huckster's stall ; "DON'T YOU SMELL FIRE?" 143 The scolding huckster shall not o'er thee moan, But pence exact for nuts and pears o'erthrown. Though you through cleanlier allies wind by day, To shun the hurries of the public way, Yet ne'er to those dark paths by night retire ; Mind only safety, and contemn the mire. Then no impervious courts thy haste detain, Nor sneering alewives bid thee turn again. Where Lincoln's-inn, wide space, is rail'd around, Cross not with vent'rous step ; there oft is found The lurking thief, who, while the day-light shone, Made the walls echo with his begging tone : That crutch, which late compassion mov'd, shall wound Thy bleeding head, and fell thee to the ground. Though thou art tempted by the link-man's call, Yet trust him not along the lonely wall ; In the mid way he'll quench the flaming brand, And share the booty with the pilf'ring band. Still keep the public street, where oily rays. Shot from the crystal-lamp o'erspread the ways. JoJui Gay : Tt'ivia. ''Don't You Smell Fire?" 1820 "D UN ! — run for St. Clement's engine ! For the Pawnbroker's all in a blaze. And the pledges are frying and singeing — Oh ! how the poor pawners will craze ! 144 LONDON TOWN Now where can the turncock be drinking? Was there ever so thirsty an elf? — But he still may tope on, for I'm thinking That the plugs are as dry as himself. The engines ! — I hear them come rumbling ; There's the Phcenix ! the Globe ! and the Sun ! What a row there will be, and a grumbling When the water don't start for a run ! See ! there they come racing and tearing, All the street with loud voices is fill'd ; Oh ! it's only the firemen a-swearing At a man they've run over and killed ! How sweetly the sparks fly away now. And twinkle like stars in the sky ; It's a wonder the engines don't play now, But I never saw water so shy ! Why there isn't enough for a snipe. And the fire it is fiercer, alas ! Oh ! instead of the New River pipe. They have gone — that they have — to the gas ! Only look at the poor little P — 's On the roof — is there anything sadder? My dears, keep fast hold, if you please. And they won't be an hour with the ladder ! But if any one's hot in their feet. And in very great haste to be saved. Here's a nice easy bit in the street That M'Adam has lately unpaved ! "DON'T YOU SMELL FIRE?" 145 There is some one — I see a dark shape At that window, the hottest of all, — My good woman, why don't you escape ? Never think of your bonnet and shawl ; If your dress isn't perfect, what is it For once in a way to your hurt ? When your husband is paying a visit There, at Number Fourteen, in his shirt ! Only see how she throws out her chaney ! Her basins, and teapots, and all The most brittle of her goods — or any. And they all break in breaking their fall : Such things are not surely the best From a two-story window to throw — She might save a good iron-bound chest. For there's plenty of people below ! Oh dear ! what a beautiful flash ! How it shone thro' the window and door ; We shall soon hear a scream and a crash, When the woman falls thro' the floor ! There ! there ! what a volley of flame, And then suddenly all is obscured ! — Well — I'm glad in my heart that I came ; — But I hope the poor man is insured. Thomas Hood : Collected Poems. 146 LONDON TOWN Moral Reflections on the Cross of St. Paul's 1820 T^HE man that pays his pence, and goes Up to thy lofty cross, St. Paul, Looks over London's naked nose, Women and men : The world is all beneath his ken, He sits above the Ball. He seems on Mount Olympus' top, Among the Gods, by Jupiter ! and lets drop His eyes from the empyreal clouds On mortal crowds. Seen from these skies, How small those emmets in our eyes ! Some carry little sticks — and one His eggs — to warm them in the sun : Dear ! what a hustle. And bustle ! And there's my aunt. I know her by her waist, So long and thin And so pinch'd in Just in the pismire taste. Oh ! what are men ? — beings so small, That, should I fall Upon their little heads, I must THE CROSS OF ST. PAUL'S 147 Crush them by hundreds into dust ! And what is hfe ? and all its ages — There's seven stages ! Turnham Green ! Chelsea ! Putney ! Fulham ! Brentford ! and Kew ! And Tooting, too ! And oh ! what very little nags to pull 'em. Yet each would seem a horse indeed, If here at Paul's tip-top we'd got 'em ; Although, like Cinderella's breed, They're mice at bottom. Then let me not despise a horse Though he looks small from Paul's high cross ! Since he would be, — as near the sky, — Fourteen hands high. What is the world with London in its lap ? Mogg's Map. The Thames, that ebbs, and flows in its broad channel ? A tidy kennel. The bridges stretching from its banks ? Stone planks. Oh me ! hence could I read an admonition To mad Ambition ! But that he would not listen to my call. Though I should stand upon the cross and ball! Thomas Hood: Collected Poems. 148 LONDON TOWN O Unknown Romances 1847 FT have I wandered when the first faint light Of morning shone upon the steeple vanes Of sleeping London, through the silent night, Musing on memories of joys and pains; — And looking down long vistas of dim lanes And shadowy streets, one after other spread In endless coil, have thought what hopes now dead Once bloomed in every house ; what tearful rains Women have wept for husband, sire, or son. What love and sorrow ran their course in each, And what great silent tragedies were done ; — And wished the dumb and secret walls had speech, That they might whisper to me, one by one, The sad true lessons that their walls might teach. Close and forgetful witnesses, they hide. In nuptial chamber, attic, or saloon. Many a legend sad of desolate bride And mournful mother, blighted all too soon ; Of strong men's agony, despair, and pride, And mental glory darkened ere its noon. But let the legends perish in their place. For well I know where'er these walls have seen Humanity's upturned and heavenly face. That there has virtue, there has courage been — That ev'n 'mid passions foul, and vices base, Some ray of goodness interposed between. Ye voiceless houses, ever as I gaze This moral flashes from your walls serene. Charles Mackay : Town Lyrics, THE BALLOON 149 The Balloon To Mr. Graham, the Aeronaut 1825 "TAEAR Graham, whilst the busy crowd. The vain, the wealthy, and the proud, Their meaner flights pursue, Let us cast off the foolish ties That bind us to the earth, and rise And take a bird's-eye view ! A few more whiffs of my cigar And then, in Fancy's airy car. Have with thee for the skies : How oft this fragrant smoke upcurl'd Hath borne me from this little world. And all that in it lies ! Away ! — away ! — the bubble fills — Farewell to earth and all its hills ! — We seem to cut the wind ! — So high we mount, so swift we go, The chimney-tops are far below, The Eagle's left behind ! Ah me ! my brain begins to swim ! — The world is growing rather dim ; The steeples and the trees — My wife is getting very small ! I cannot see my babe at all ! — The DoUond, if you please ! — ISO LONDON TOWN Do Graham, let me have a quiz, Lord ! what a Lilliput it is, That little world of Mogg's ! — Are those the London Docks ? — that channel The mighty Thames ? — a proper kennel For that small Isle of Dogs ! What is that seeming tea-urn there ! That fairy dome, St. Paul's ! — I swear. Wren must have been a wren ! — And that small stripe ? — it cannot be The City Road ! — Good lack ! to see The little ways of men ! Little, indeed ! — my eyeballs ache To find a turnpike. I must take Their tolls upon my trust ! — And where is mortal labour gone ? Look, Graham, for a little stone Mac Adamized to dust ! Look at the horses ! — less than flies ! — Oh, what a waste it was of sighs To wish to be a Mayor ! What is the honour ? — none at all. One's honour must be very small For such a civic chair ! And there's Guildhall ! — 'tis far aloof — Methinks, I fancy thro' the roof Its little guardian Gogs, Like penny dolls — a tiny show ! — Well, — I must say they're ruled below By very little logs ! THE BALLOON 151 Oh ! Graham, how the upper air Alters the standards of compare ; One of our silken flags Would cover London all about — Nay, then — let's even empty out Another brace of bags ! Now for a glass of bright champagne Above the clouds ! — Come, let us drain A bumper as we go ! But hold ! — for God's sake do not cant The cork away — unless you want To brain your friends below. Think ! what a mob of little men Are crawling just within our ken Like mites upon a cheese ! Pshaw ! — how the foolish sight rebukes Ambitious thoughts ! — can there be Dukes Of Glo'ster such as these ! Oh ! what is glory ? — what is fame ? Hark to the little mob's acclaim, 'Tis nothing but a hum ! A few near gnats would trump as loud As all the shouting of a crowd That has so far to come ! Well — they are wise that choose the near, A few small buzzards in the ear, To organs ages hence ! — Ah me, how distance touches all ; It makes the true look rather small, But murders poor pretence. Thomas Hood : Collected Poems. 152 LONDON TOWN Of Solitude 1663 T T AIL, Old Patrician Trees so great and good ! Hail, ye Plebeian Underwood ! Where the poetic birds rejoice, And for their quiet nests and plenteous food Pay with their grateful voice. Hail, the poor Muse's richest manor-seat ! Ye country houses and retreat. Which all the happy gods so love. That for you oft they quit their bright and great Metropolis above. Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying. Hear the soft winds above me flying. With all their wanton boughs, dispute. And the more tuneful birds to both replying, Nor be myself too mute. A silver stream shall roll his waters near. Gilt with the sunbeams here and there, On whose enamell'd bank I'll walk. And see how prettily they smile, and hear How prettily they talk. Oh, Solitude ! first state of humankind ! Which blest rcmain'd till Man did find Ev'n his own helper's company : LONDON RENOUNCED 153 As soon as two, alas ! together join'd, The Serpent made up three. Thou the faint beams of Reason's scatter'd Hght Dost, like a burning glass, unite, Dost multiply the feeble heat, And fortify the strength, till thou dost bright And noble fires beget. Whilst this hard truth I teach, methinks I see The monster London laugh at me ; I should at thee, too, foolish City ! If it were fit to laugh at misery ; But thy estate I pity. Let but thy wicked men from out thee go. And all the fools that crowd thee so, Ev'n thou, who dost thy millions boast, A village less than Islington wilt grow, A solitude almost. Abraham Coiuley : Verses upon Several Occasions. London Renounced 1738 'THROUGH grief and fondness in my breast rebel When injur'd Thales bids the town farewell. Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend, I praise the hermit, but regret the friend, Resolv'd at length from vice and London far. To breathe in distant fields a purer air. 154 LONDON TOWN And fix'd in Cambria's solitary shore, Give to St. David one true Britain more. For who wou'd leave, unbrib'd, Hibernia's land, Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand ? There none are swept by sudden fate away, But all whom hunger spares, with age decay : Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire. And now a rabble rages, now a fire ; Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay. And here the fell attorney prowls for prey ; Here falling houses thunder on your head. And here a female atheist talks you dead. While Thales waits the wherry that contains Of dissipated wealth the small remains. On Thames's banks, in silent thought we stood. Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood ; Struck with the feat that gave Eliza birth. We kneel, and kiss the consecrated earth ; In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, And call Britannia's glories back to view ; Behold her cross triumphant on the main, The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain, Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd. Or English honour grew a standing jest. A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, And for a moment lull the sense of woe. At length awaking, with contemptuous frown. Indignant Thales eyes the neighb'ring town. Since worth, he cries, in these degen'rate days Wants ev'n the cheap reward of empty praise ; In those curs'd walls, devote to vice and gain, Since unrewarded science toils in vain ; Since hope but soothes to double my distress, LONDON RENOUNCED 155 And ev'ry moment leaves my little less ; While yet my steady steps no staff sustains, And life still vig'rous revels in my veins ; Grant me, kind Heaven, to find some happier place, Where honesty and sense are no disgrace ; Some pleasing bank where verdant osiers play, Some peaceful vale with nature's paintings gay ; Where once the harass'd Briton found repose, And safe in poverty defi'd his foes : Some secret cell, ye pow'rs indulgent, give, Let live here, for has learn'd to live. Here let those reign, whom pensions can incite To vote a patriot black, a courtier white ; Explain their country's dear-bought rights away. And plead for pirates in the face of day ; With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth, And lend a lie the confidence of truth. Could'st thou resign the park and play content, For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent ; There might'st thou find some elegant retreat, Some hireling senator's deserted seat ; And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land. For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand ; There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flow'rs. Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bow'rs ; And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford, Despise the dainties of a venal lord : There ev'ry bush with Nature's music rings, There ev'ry breeze bears health upon its wings ; On all thy hours security shall smile, And bless thine evening walk and morning toil. 156 LONDON TOWN Prepare for death if here at night you roam, And sign your will before you sup from home. Some fiery fop, with new commission vain, Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man ; Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast. Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest. Yet ev'n these heroes, mischievously gay, Lords of the street, and terrors of the way, Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine. Their prudent insults to the poor confine ; Afar they mark the flambeau's bright approach, And shun the shining train and golden coach. In vain these dangers past, your doors you close, And hope the balmy blessings of repose : Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair. The midnight murd'rer bursts the faithless bar ; Invades the sacred hour of silent rest. And leaves unseen a dagger in your breast. Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die. With hemp the Gallows and the Fleet supply. Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band, Whose ways and means support the sinking land, Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring. To rig another convoy for the King. A single gaol in Alfred's golden reign Could half the nation's criminals contain ; Fair Justice then, without constraint ador'd. Held high the steady scale, but sheath'd the sword ; No spies were paid, no special juries known, Blest age ! but ah ! how diff'rent from our own ! Much could I add, — but see the boat at hand, The tide retiring calls me from the land : Farewell ! — When youth, and health, and fortune spent. A LOAFER 157 Thou fli'st for refuge to the wilds of Kent ; And, tir'd hke me with follies and with crimes, In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times, Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid. Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade ; In virtue's cause once more exert his rage. Thy satire point, and animate thy page. Samuel Johnson : London. A Loafer 1894 T HANG about the streets all day, At night I hang about ; I sleep a little when I may. But rise betimes the morning's scout ; For through the year I always hear Afar, aloft, a ghostly shout. My clothes are worn to threads and loops ; My skin shows here and there ; About my face like seaweed droops My tangled beard, my tangled hair ; From cavernous and shaggy brows My stony eyes untroubled stare. I move from eastern wretchedness Through Fleet Street and the Strand ; And as the pleasant people press I touch them softly with my hand. Perhaps to know that still I go Alive about a living land. 158 LONDON TOWN For, far in front the clouds are riven ; I hear the ghostly cry, As if a still voice fell from heaven To where sea-whelmed the drowned folk lie In sepulchres no tempest stirs. And only eyeless things pass by. In Piccadilly spirits pass : Oh, eyes and cheeks that glow ! Oh, strength and comeliness ! Alas, The lustrous health is earth I know From shrinking eyes that recognise No brother in my rags and woe. I know no handicraft, no art, But I have conquered fate ; For I have chosen the better part. And neither hope, nor fear, nor hate. With placid breath on pain and death, My certain alms, alone I wait. And daily, nightly comes the call. The pale unechoing note. The faint ' Aha ! ' sent from the wall Of heaven, but from no ruddy throat Of human breed or seraph's seed, A phantom voice that cries by rote. John Davidson : Ballads and Sofigs. SUNDAY IN LONDON 159 The Song-Bird 19th Century 'T^HERE was a young lady of Beverley, •^ Whose friends said she sang very cleverly ; " She'll win great renown In great London town," Said the good people of Beverley. But in London this lady of Beverley Found all her best notes fell but heavily ; And when this she did find, She said, "Never mind, They still think me a song-bird at Beverley." Nursery Rhymes : Old and New. Sunday in London 1812 npHE seventh day this ; the jubilee of man. London ! right well thou know'st the day of prayer : Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artizan, And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air : Thy coach of hackney, whisky, one-horse chair. And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl ; To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow, make repair ; Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl. Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl. Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair, Others along the safer turnpike fly ; i6o LONDON TOWN Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, And many to the steep of Highgate hie. Ask ye, Boeotian shades ! the reason why ? 'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. Lord Byron : Childc Harold. A Calm 1894 A PLOT of grass reposing in The shadow of a lime, A thoughtful cat, a puppy's tin, And half a whiff of thyme ! Suburban belfries that repeat Their wholesome invitation, A Sabbath murmur in the street, A sense of the creation ! A heart at once subdu'd and free, A wise and idle calm ; And London, like the breathless sea. Or like a breathed psalm ! Anon. Islington 1827 nPHY fields, fair Islington ! begin to bear ■^ Unwelcome buildings, and unseemly piles ; The streets are spreading, and the Lord knows where HIGHGATE i6i Improvement's hand will spare the neighb'ring stiles, The rural blandishments of Maiden Lane Are every day becoming less and less, While kilns and lime roads force us to complain Of nuisances time only can suppress. A few more years, and Copenhagen House Shall cease to charm the tailor and the snob ; And where attornies' clerks in smoke carouse, Regardless wholly of to-morrow's job. Some Claremont Row, or Prospect Place shall rise, Or terrace, p'rhaps misnomer'd Paradise ! J. G. : Honeys Table Book. Highgate 1827 A LREADY, Highgate ! to thy skirts they bear Bricks, mortar, timber, in no small degree, And thy once pure, exhilarating air Is growing pregnant with impurity ! The would-be merchant has his " country box," A few short measures from the dusty road, Where friends on Sunday talk about the stocks, Or praise the beauties of his " neat abode " : One deems the wall-flow'r garden, in the front, Unrivall'd for each aromatic bed ; Another fancies that his old sow's grunt " Is so much like the country," and, instead Of living longer down in Crooked Lane, Resolves at once to " ruralize " again ! /. G. : Hone's Table Book, M 1 62 LONDON TOWN To Hampstead 1815 nPHE baffled spell that bound me is undone, And I have breathed once more beneath thy sky, Lovely-brow'd Hampstead ; and my looks have run O'er and about thee : and had scarce drawn nigh. When I beheld, in momentary sun, One of thy hills gleam bright and bosomy. Just like that orb of orbs, a human one. Let forth by chance upon a lover's eye. Forgive me then, that not till now I spoke ; For all the comforts, miss'd in close distress. With airy nod come up from every part, O'er smiling speech : and so I gazed, and took A long, deep draught of silent freshfulness, Ample, and gushing round my feeble heart. Leigh Hunt : Sonnets to Hampstead. The Same 1815 A STEEPLE issuing from a leafy rise, With farmy fields in front and sloping green, Dear Hampstead, is thy southern face serene, Silently smiling on approaching eyes. Within, thine ever-shifting looks surprise. Streets, hills and dells, trees overhead now seen. SUNDAY AT HAMPSTEAD 163 Now down below, with smoking roofs between — A village, revelling in varieties. Then northward what a range — with heath and pond ! Nature's own ground ; woods that let mansions through, And cottaged vales with billowy fields beyond. And clump of darkening pines, and prospects blue. And that clear path through all, where daily meet Cool cheeks, and brilliant eyes, and morn-elastic feet ! Leigh Hunt : Sonnets to Hauipstcad. Sunday at Hampstead 1863 'T^HIS is the Heath of Hampstead, There is the dome of Saint Paul's ; Beneath, on the serried house-tops, A chequered lustre falls : And the mighty city of London, Under the clouds and the light. Seems a low wet beach, half shingle. With a few sharp rocks upright. Here will we sit, my darling. And dream an hour away : The donkeys are hurried and worried, But we are not donkeys to-day : Through all the weary week, dear, We toil in the murk down there, 1 64 LONDON TOWN Tied to a desk and a counter, A patient, stupid pair ! But on Sunday we slip our tether. And away from the smoke and the smirch ; Too grateful to God for His Sabbath To shut its hours in a church ; Away to the green, green country, Under the open sky ; Where the earth's sweet breath is incense And the lark sings psalms on high ! Would you grieve very much, my darling, If all yon low wet shore W^ere drowned by a mighty flood-tide, And we never toiled there more ? Wicked? There is no sin, dear, In an idle dreamer's head ; He turns the world topsy-turvy To prove that his soul's not dead. I am sinking, sinking, sinking ; It is hard to sit upright ! Your lap is the softest pillow ! Good-night, my Love, good-night ! James Thomson {Auf/ior of " The City of Dreadful NighV^): Collected Poems. TOWARD GREEN PLAINS 165 A Day at Hampton Court 1889 TT is our custom, once in every year, Mine and two others', when the chestnut trees Are white at Bushey, Ascot being near, To drive to Hampton Court, and there, at ease In that most fair of Enghsh palaces. Spend a long summer's day. What better cheer Than the old "Greyhound's," seek it where you please? And where a royal garden statelier ? The morning goes in tennis, a four set. With George the marker. 'Tis a game for gods, Full of return and volley at the net, And laughter and mirth-making episodes Not wholly classic. But the afternoon Finds us punt-fishing idly with our rods. Nodding and half in dreams, till all too soon Darkness and dinner drive us back to town. Wilfrid Scaiuen Blunt. Toward Green Plains 1795 nPHE Lord of Light shakes off his drowsyhed. -^ Fresh from his couch up springs the lusty sun. And girds himself his mighty race to run ; Meantime, by truant love of rambling led, I turn my back on thy detested walls, 1 66 LONDON TOWN Proud City, and thy sons I leave behind, A selfish, sordid, money-getting kind. Who shut their ears when holy Freedom calls. I pass not thee so lightly, humble spire, That mindest me of many a pleasure gone, Of merriest days, of love and Islington, Kindling anew the flames of past desire ; And I shall muse on thee, slow journeying on. To the green plains of pleasant Hertfordshire. Charles Lamb : Collected Poems. Enough 1828 Needless it were to say how willingly I bade the huge Metropolis farewell, It's din, and dust and dirt, and smoke and smut, Thames' water, paviour's ground, and London sky : Weary of hurried days and restless nights, Watchmen, whose office is to murder sleep When sleep might else have weighed one's eyelids down. . Escaping from all this, the very whirl Of mail-coach wheels bound outward from Lad-lane, Was peace and quietness. Three hundred miles Of homeward way seemed to the body rest, And to the mind repose. Thomas S out hey : Epistle to Allan Cunningham. G O where we may, rest where we will, Eternal London haunts us still. Thomas Moore : Rhymes on the Road. LONDON RIVER Above all ryuers, thy Ryuer hath renovvne, Whose beryall stremys, pleasant and preclare, Under thy lusty wallys renneth down. Where many a swanne doth swymme with wingis fare Where many a barge doth saile, and row with are ; Where many a ship doth rest with toppe-royall. O ! towne of townes, patrone and not compare : London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Dunbar. /~^ LIDE gently, thus for ever glide, ^^ O Thames ! that other bards may see As lovely visions by thy side As now, fair river ! come to me. O glide, fair stream, for ever so, Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep waters now are flowing. William Wordsworth : Rc/iicinbrafjce of Collins. The Genius of the Thames 1810 T^ VEN now, methinks, in solemn guise, By yonder willowy islet gray, I see thee, sedge-crowned Genius ! rise, And point the glories of thy way. Tall reeds around thy temples play ; Thy hair the liquid crystal gems ; To thee I pour the votive lay. Oh Genius of the silver Thames ! I70 LONDON RIVER Along thy course no pine-clad steep, No alpine summits, proudly tower ; No woods, impenetrably deep, O'er thy pure mirror darkly lower ; The orange-grove, the myrtle bower. The vine, in rich luxuriance spread ; The charms Italian meadows shower ; The sweets Arabian valleys shed ; The roaring cataract, wild and white ; The lotos-flower, of azure light ; The fields, where ceaseless summer smiles ; The bloom, that decks the ^gean isles ; The hills, that touch the empyreal plain, Olympian Jove's sublime domain ; To other streams all these resign : Still none, oh Thames ! shall vie with thine. Far other charms than these possess, Oh Thames ! thy verdant margin bless : Where peace, with freedom hand-in-hand. Walks forth along the sparkling strand. And cheerful toil, and glowing health. Proclaim a patriot nation's wealth. The blood-stained scourge no tyrants wield ; No groaning slaves invert the field ; But willing labour's careful train Crown all thy banks with waving grain, With beauty decks thy sylvan shades, With livelier green invests thy glades. And grace, and bloom, and plenty, pours On thy sweet meads and willowy shores. THE GENIUS OF THE THAMES 171 The plain, where herds unnumbered rove, The laurelled path, the beechen grove, The lonely oak's expansive pride. The spire, through distant trees descried, The cot, with woodbine wreathed around. The field, with waving corn embrowned, The fall, that turns the frequent mill. The seat, that crowns the woodland hill. The sculptured arch, the regal dome. The fisher's willow-mantled home, The classic temple, flower-entwined. In quick succession charm the mind, Till, where thy widening current glides To mingle with the turbid tides, Thy spacious breast displays unfurled The ensigns of the assembled world. And still before thy gentle gales, The laden bark of Commerce sails ; And down thy flood, in youthful pride. Those mighty vessels sternly glide. Destined, amid the tempest's rattle, To hurl the thunder-bolt of battle, To guard, in danger's hottest hour, Britannia's old prescriptive power, And through winds, floods, and fire, maintain Her native empire of the main. Thomas Love Peacock : The Genius of the Thames. 172 LONDON RIVER Thames and I sis 1590 'T^HEN was there heard a most celestiall sound Of dainty musicke, which did next ensew Before the spouse : that was Arion crownd, Who, playing on his harpe, unto him drew The eares and hearts of all that goodly crew ; That even yet the dolphin, which him bore Through the ^gean seas from pirates' vew. Stood still by him astonisht at his lore, And all the raging seas for ioy forgot to rore. So went he playing on the watery plaine : Soon after whom the lovely bridegroome came, The noble Thamis, with all his goodly traine ; But him before there went, as best became. His auncient parents, namely th' auncient Thame ; But much more aged was his wife than he. The Ouze, whom men doe Isis rightly name ; Full weake and crooked creature seemed shee. And almost blind through eld, that scarce her way could see. Therefore on either side she was sustained Of two smal grooms, which by their names were hight The Churne and Charwell, two small streames, which pained Themselves her footing to direct aright. Which fayled oft through faint and feeble plight : But Thame was stronger, and of better stay, THAMES AND ISIS 173 Yet seem'd full aged by his outward sight, With head all hoary, and his beard all gray, Deawed with silver drops that trickled downe alway, And eke he somewhat seem'd to stoupe afore With bowed backe, by reason of the lode And auncient heavy burden which he bore Of that faire City, wherein make abode So many learned impes, that shoote abrode, And with their braunches spred all Britany, No lesse then do her elder sister's broode, Joy to you both, ye double noursery Of arts ! but, Oxford, thine doth Thame most glorify. But he their sonne full fresh and iolly was. All decked in a robe of watchet hew, On which the waves, glittering like christall glas, So cunningly enwoven were, that few Could weenen whether they were false or trew : And on his head hke to a coronet He wore, that seemed strange to common vew, In which were many towres and castels set. That it encompast round as with a golden fret. Like as the mother of the gods, they say, In her great iron charet wonts to ride, When to Love's pallace she doth take her way, Old Cybele, aray'd with pompous pride, Wearing a diademe embattild wide With hundred turrets, like a turribant : With such an one was Thamis beautifide ; That was to weet the famous Troynovant, In which her kingdomes throne is chiefly resiant. 174 LONDON RIVER And round about him many a pretty page Attended duely, ready to obay ; All little rivers which owe vassallage To him, as to their lord, and tribute pay : The chaulky Kenet ; and the Thetis gray ; The morish Cole ; and the soft-sliding Breane ; The wanton Lee, that oft doth loose his way ; And the still Darent, in whose waters cleane Ten thousand fishes play and decke his pleasant streame. Ed))iund Spenser : The Faerie Queen. Cooper's Hill 1643 1\ /r Y eye, descending from the Hill, surveys Where Thames among the wanton valleys strays. Thames ! the most lov'd of all the Ocean's sons. By his old sire, to his embraces runs. Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea. Like mortal life to meet eternity ; Though with those streams he no resemblance hold, Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold ; His genuine and less guilty wealth t'explore. Search not his bottom, but survey his shore. O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing. And hatches plenty for th' ensuing spring ; Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay. Like mothers which their infants overlay ; Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave. Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. No unexpected inundations spoil FATHER THAMES 175 The mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil ; But godlike his unweary'd bounty flows ; First loves to do, then loves the good he does. Nor are his blessings to his banks confin'd, But free and common as the sea or wind, When he, to boast or to disperse his stores, Full of the tribute of his grateful shores, Visits the world, and in his flying tow'rs Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours ; Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants, Cities in deserts, woods in cities, plants. So that to us no thing, no place, is strange. While his fair bosom is the World's Exchange, O could I flow like thee ! and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme ; Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull ; Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full. Sir John Dcnhajii : Cooper's Hill. Father Thames 1713 A T length, great Anna said, " Let discord cease ! " She said, the world obeyed, and all was peace ! In that blest moment, from his oozy bed Old Father Thames advanced his rev'rend head ; His tresses dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream His shining horns diff'used a golden gleam ; Graved on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides His swelling waters, and alternate tides ; The figured streams in waves of silver roU'd, And on her banks Augusta rose in gold. 176 LONDON RIVER Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood, Who swell with tributary urns his flood : First the famed authors of his ancient name, The winding Isis and the fruitful Thame ; The Kennet swift, for silver eels renown'd ; The Loddon slow, with verdant alders crown'd ; Cole, whose dark streams his flowery islands lave ; And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave ; The blue, transparent Vandalis appears ; The gulfy Lea his sedgy tresses rears ; And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood ; And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood. High in the midst, upon his urn reclined, His sea-green mantle waving with the wind, The god appear'd ; he turned his azure eyes Where Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise ; And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore : — " Hail, sacred Peace ! hail, long-expected-days. That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise ! Though Tiber's streams immortal Rome behold. Though foaming Hermus swells with tides of gold. From heaven itself though seven-fold Nilus flows. And harvests on a hundred realms bestows ; — These now no more shall be the Muse's themes, Lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams. Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine. And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine ; Let barb'rous Ganges arm a servile train : Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign. No more my sons shall dye with British blood Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood : Safe on my shore each unmolested swain Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain ; THE THAMES 177 The shady empire shall retain no trace Of war or blood, but in the sylvan chase ; The trumpet sleep while cheerful horns are blown, And arms employ'd on birds and beasts alone. Behold ! th' ascending villas on my side Project long shadows o'er the crystal tide ; Behold ! Augusta's glitt'ring spires increase, And temples rise, the beauteous works of peace. I see, I see, where two fair cities bend Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend ! There mighty nations shall inquire their doom, The world's great oracle in times to come ; Three kings shall sue, and suppliant states be seen Once more to bend before a British queen, Alexander Pope : Windsor Forest. The Thames From Richmond Hill 1727 O AY, shall we wind ^^ Along the streams ? or walk the smiling mead ? Or court the forest glades ? or wander wild Among the waving harvests ? or ascend, While radiant Summer opens all its pride. Thy hill, delightful Shene ? Here let us sweep The boundless landscape : now the raptur'd eye. Exulting, swift to huge Augusta send. Now to the Sister Hills that skirt her plain, To lofty Harrow now, and now to where Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow. 1 78 LONDON RIVER In lovely contrast to this glorious view, Calmly magnificent ; then will we turn To where the silver Thames first rural grows. There let the feasted eye unwearied stray : Luxurious, there, rove through the pendent woods That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat ; And, stooping thence to Ham's embow'ring walks, Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retir'd. With her, the pleasing partner of his heart. The worthy Queensberry yet laments his Gay, And polish'd Cornbury wooes the willing Muse. Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames ; Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore The healing god, to royal Hampton's pile. To Clermont's terraced height, and Esher's groves. Where in the sweetest solitude, embrac'd By the soft windings of the silent Mole, From courts and senates Pelham finds repose. Enchanting vale ! beyond whate'er the Muse Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung ! O vale of bliss ! O softly swelling hills ! On which the power of cultivation lies, And joys to see the wonders of his toil. Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires. And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays ! Happy Britannia ! where the Queen of Arts, Inspiring vigour. Liberty abroad Walks, unconfined, even to thy farthest cots, And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. James TJwmson : Swmner. WINDSOR TO LONDON 179 Windsor to London 1612 T) UT now this mighty flood, upon his voyage prest, (That found how with his strength, his beauties still increas'd, From where brave Windsor stood on tip-toe to behold The fair and goodly Thames, so far as e'er he could. With kingly houses crown'd, of more than earthly pride, Upon his either banks, as he along doth glide), With wonderful delight doth his long course pursue, Where Oatlands, Hampton Court, and Richmond he doth view. Then Westminster the next great Thames doth entertain, That vaunts her palace large, and her most sumptuous fane : The land's tribunal seat that challengeth for her's, The crowning of our Kings, their famous sepulchres. Then goes he on along by that more beauteous strand. Expressing both the wealth and bravery of the land. (So many sumptuous bowers, within so little space, The all-beholding Sun scarce sees in all his race.) And on by London leads, which like a crescent lies, Whose windows seem to mock the star-befreckled skies ; Besides her rising spires, so thick themselves that show. As do the bristling reeds within his banks that grow. There sees his crowded wharfs, and people-pest'red shores. His bosom overspread with shoals of lab'ring oars ; With that most costly Bridge that doth him most renown, By which he clearly puts all other rivers down. Michael Draytott : Polyolbion. i8o LONDON RIVER Two Asylums 1792 /^"^ O, with old Thames, view Chelsea's glorious pile, ^~^ And ask the shattered hero, whence his smile ? Go, view the splendid domes of Greenwich — go ; And own what raptures from reflection flow. Hail, noblest structures imag'd in the wave ! A nation's grateful tribute to the brave. Hail, blest retreats from war and shipwreck, hail ! That oft arrest the wondering stranger's sail. Long have ye heard the narratives of age, The battle's havoc, and the tempest's rage ; Long have ye known Reflection's genial ray Gild the calm close of Valour's various day. Samuel Roge?'s : The Pleasures of Memory. A Riddle of the Thames 1894 A T windows that from Westminster Look southward to the Lollard's Tower, She sat, my lovely friend. A blur Of gilded mist, — ('twas morn's first hour,) — Made vague the world : and in the gleam Shivered the half-awakened stream. A RIDDLE OF THE THAMES i8i Through tinted vapour looming large, Ambiguous shapes obscurely rode. She gazed where many a laden barge Like some dim-moving saurian showed. And 'midst them, lo ! two swans appeared. And proudly up the river steered. Two stately swans ! What did they there ? Whence came they ? Whither would they go ? Think of them, — things so faultless fair, — 'Mid the black shipping down below ! On through the rose and gold they passed, And melted in the morn at last. Ah, can it be, that they had come Where Thames in sullied glory flows, Fugitive rebels, tired of some Secluded lake's ornate repose, Eager to taste the life that pours Its muddier wave 'twixt mightier shores ? We ne'er shall know : our wonderment No barren certitude shall mar. They left behind them, as they went, A dream than knowledge ampler far ; And from our world they sailed away Into some visionary day. William IValson ; Odes and Other Poems. 1 82 LONDON RIVER On the Report of a Wooden Bridge to be built at Westminster 1737 "D Y Rufus' hall, where Thames polluted flows, Provok'd, the Genius of the river rose. And thus exclaim'd : " Have I, ye British swains, Have I for ages lav'd your fertile plains ? Giv'n herds, and flocks, and villages increase. And fed a richer than a golden fleece ? Have I, ye merchants, with each swelling tide. Poured Afric's treasure in, and India's pride ? Lent you the fruit of every nation's toil ? Made every climate yours, and every soil ? Yet pilfer'd from the poor, by gaming base, Yet must a wooden bridge my waves disgrace ? Tell not to foreign streams the shameful tale, And be it publish'd in no Gallic vale," He said : — and plunged into his crystal dome. While o'er his head the circling waters foam. James TJioinso7i : Collected Poems. Composed upon Westminster Bridge September 3, 1802 T? ARTH has not anything to show more fair : ■^ Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty : This City now doth, like a garment, wear WESTMINSTER 183 The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky ; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill ; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will : Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still ! William Wordsxvorth : Miscellaneous Sonnets. Westminster 1892 O T. Margaret's bells, "^ Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles, Sing in the storied air All rosy-and-golden, as with memories Of woods at evensong, and sands and seas Disconsolate for that the night is nigh. O, the low, lingering lights ! The large last gleam (Hark ! how those brazen choristers cry and call !) Touching these solemn ancientries, and there. The silent River ranging tide-mark high And the callow, grey-faced Hospital, With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream ! The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees, And from the wistful, the fast-widowing sky 1 84 LONDON RIVER (Hark ! how those plangent comforters call and cry !) Falls as in August plots late roseleaves fall. The sober Sabbath stir — Leisurely voices, desultory feet ! — Comes from the dry, dust-coloured street, Where in their summer frocks the girls go by, And sweethearts lean and loiter and confer. Just as they did an hundred years ago, Just as an hundred years to come they will : — When you and I, Dear Love, lie lost and low, And sweet-throats none our welkin shall fulfil, Nor any sunset fade serene and slow ; But, being dead, we shall not grieve to die. William Ernest Henley : London Voluntaries Westminster Abbey 1765 /^FT let me range the gloomy aisles alone, ^^ Sad luxury ! to vulgar minds unknown, Along the walls where speaking marbles show What worthies form the hallow'd mould below ; Proud names, who once the reins of empire held ; In arms who triumph'd ; or in arts excell'd ; Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood ; Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood ; Just men, by whom impartial laws were given ; And saints who taught, and led, the way to Heaven ! Thomas Tickell : Dedication 0/ Addison'' s Works to the Earl of Warwick. TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER 185 Lines on the Tombs in Westminster 1640 IW ORTALITY, behold and fear ! What a change of flesh is here ! Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones ; Here they lie, had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands ; Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust They preach, " In greatness is no trust." Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest, royallest seed That the earth did e'er suck in, Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried, " Though gods they were, as men they died ! " Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings : Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. Francis Beaumont : Miscellaneous Poems. 1 86 LONDON RIVER The Temple of Reconciliation 1808 T T ERE where the end of earthly things Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung ; Here, where the fretted aisles prolong The distant notes of holy song, As if some angel spoke again, " All peace on earth, good-will to men " ; If ever from an English heart. Oh, here let prejudice depart ! Sir Walter Scott : Introduction to Canto i of '"'• MarniionP The Burial of Addison 1765 /^^AN I forget the dismal night that gave ^^ My soul's best part for ever to the grave ! How silent did his old companions tread. By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead. Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings ! What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire ; The pealing organ, and the pausing choir ; The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay'd ; And the last words, that dust to dust convey'd ! THE CORONATION 187 While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. Oh, gone for ever ! take this long adieu ; And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague. TJionias Tickell : Dedication of Addison's Works to the Earl oj Wanvick, The Coronation 1612 f~^ OD save you, sir ! Where have you been broiling ? ^-^ yd Gent. Among the crowd i' the Abbey ; where a finger Could not be wedg'd in more ; I am stifled With the mere rankness of their joy. 2nd Gent. You saw the ceremony ? yd Gent. That I did. \st Gent. How was it ? yd Gent. Well worth the seeing. 27id Gent. Good sir, speak it to us. yd Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream Of lords and ladies, having brought the Queen To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off A distance from her \ while her grace sat down To rest a while, some half an hour or so, In a rich chair of state, opposing freely The beauty of her person to the people. Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman That ever lay by man : which when the people Had the full view of, such a noise arose As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest, 1 88 LONDON RIVER As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks, (Doublets, I think) flew up ; and had their faces Been loose, this day they had been lost. Such joy I never saw before. Great-bellied women, That had not half a week to go, like rams In the old time of war, would shake the press. And make them reel before them. No man living Could say, "This is my wife," there; all were woven So strangely in one piece. 2nd Gent. But, pray, what follow'd? yd Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest paces Came to the altar ; where she kneel'd, and saint-like Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly. Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people : When by the Archbishop of Canterbury She had all the royal makings of a queen ; As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown, The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems Laid nobly on her : which perform'd, the choir, With all the choicest music of the kingdom. Together sung Te Deutn. So she parted. And with the same full state pac'd back again. To York place, where the feast is held. Shakespeare : Henry VIII. Somerset House 1668 "OEFORE my gate a street's broad channel goes, ^-^ Which still with waves of crowding people flows, And ev'ry day there passes by my side. Up to its western rcacli, the London tide, SOMERSET HOUSE 189 The springtides of the term : my front looks down On all the pride and bus'ness of the Town. My other fair and more majestic face (Who can the fair to more advantage place ?) For ever gazes on itself below, In the best mirror that the world can show. And here behold, in a long, bending row, How two joint cities make one glorious bow ; The midst, the noblest place, possess'd by me. Best to be seen by all, and all o'ersee. Which way soe'er I turn my joyful eye, Here the great Court, there the rich Town, I spy ; On either side dwells Safety and Delight, Wealth on the left, and Pow'r upon the right. T' assure yet my defence, on either hand. Like mighty forts, in equal distance stand Two of the best and stateliest piles which e'er Man's lib'ral piety of old did rear. Where the two princes of th' apostle's band. My neighbours and my guards, watch and command. And thou, fair River ! who still pay'st to me Just homage in thy passage to the sea, Take here this one instruction as thou go'st : When thy mix'd waves shall visit every coast, When round the world their voyage they shall make And back to thee some secret channels take, Ask them what nobler sight they e'er did meet. I90 LONDON RIVER Except thy mighty Master's sov'reign fleet, Which now triumphant o'er the main does ride, The terror of all lands, the ocean's pride ! Abraham Cowley : Miscellanies. Dawn 1892 O TILL, still the streets, between their carcanets "^ Of linking gold, are avenues of sleep. But see how gable ends and parapets In gradual beauty and significance Emerge ! And did you hear That little twitter-and-cheep, Breaking inordinately loud and clear On this still, spectral, exquisite atmosphere ? 'Tis a first nest at matins ! And behold A rakehell cat — how furtive and acold ! A spent witch homing from some infamous dance- Obscene, quick-trotting, see her tip and fade Through shadowy railings into a pit of shade ! And now ! a httle wind and shy, The smell of ships (that earnest of romance), A sense of space and water, and thereby A lamplit bridge ouching the troubled sky. And look, O, look ! a tangle of silver gleams And dusky lights, our River and all his dreams. His dreams that never save in our deaths can die. What miracle is happening in the air, Charging the very texture of the gray A SPOUSALL 191 With something luminous and rare ? The night goes out Hke an ill-parcelled fire, And, as one lights a candle, it is day. The extinguisher, that perks it like a spire On the little formal church, is not yet green Across the water ; but the house-tops nigher, The corner-lines, the chimneys — look how clean, How new, how naked ! See the batch of boats, Here at the stairs, washed in the fresh-sprung beam ! And those are barges that were goblin floats. Black, hag-steered, fraught with devilry and dream ! And in the piles the water frolics clear. The ripples into loose rings wander and flee, And we — we can behold that could but hear The ancient River singing as he goes New-mailed in morning to the ancient Sea. IVilliam Ernest Henley : London Voluntaries. A Spousall 1596 A T length they all to mery London came. To mery London, my most kindly Nurse, That to me gave this Life's first native source Though from another place I take my name. An house of auncient fame : There when they came, whereas those bricky towres The which on Themmes brode aged backe doe ryde, Where now the studious Lawyers have their bowers, 192 LONDON RIVER There whylome wont the Templar Knights to byde, Till they decayd through pride : Next whereunto there standcs a stately place Where oft I gained giftes and goodly grace Of that great Lord, which therein wont to dwell, Whose want too well now feeles my freendless case ; But ah ! here fits not well Olde woes, but joyes, to tell Against the bridale daye, which is not long ; Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song. Yet therein now doth lodge a noble Peer, Great England's glory, and the World's wide wonder. Whose dreadfull name late through all Spainc did thunder, And Hercules' two pillors standing neere Did make to quake and feare : Faire branch of Honor, flower of Chevalrie ! That fillest England with thy triumphe's fame, Joy have thou of thy noble victorie, And endlesse happinesse of thine owne name That promiseth the same ; That through thy prowesse, and victorious armes Thy country may be freed from forraine harmes ; And great Elisa's glorious name may ring Through all the world, fil'd with thy wide alarmes Which some brave muse may sing To ages following. Upon the brydale day, which is not long : Sweete Themmes ! runne softly till I end my Song. From those high towers this noble Lord issuing Like Radiant Hesper, when his golden hayre In th' Ocean billows he hath bathed fayre, SHAKESPEARE 193 Descended to the River's open vewing, With a great traine ensuing. Above the rest were goodly to bee seene Two gentle Knights of lovely face and feature, Beseeming well the bower of anie Queen, With gifts of wit, and ornaments of nature. Fit for so goodly stature. That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight, Which decke the bauldricke of the Heavens bright ; They two, forth pacing to the River's side. Received those two faire Brides, their loves delight ; Which, at th' appointed tyde. Each one did make his Bryde Against their brydale day, which is not long : Sweete Themmes ! runne softly, till I end my Song. Edmund Spenser : Prothalamion. Shakespeare 1640 O WEET Swan of Avon ! what a sight it were To see thee in our water yet appear. And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That so did take Eliza, and our James ! Beti Jonson : To the Memory of my Beloved Master, William Shakespeare. 194 LONDON RIVER Tears to Thamesis 1648 T SEND, I send here my supremest kiss •^ To thee, my silver-footed Thamesis. No more shall I reiterate thy Strand, Whereon so many stately structures stand : Nor in the summer's sweeter evenings go To bathe in thee, as thousand others do ; No more shall I along thy crystal glide In barge with boughs and rushes beautifi'd, With soft, smooth virgins for our chaste disport. To Richmond, Kingston, and to Hampton Court. Never again shall I with finny oar Put from, or draw unto the faithful shore, And landing here, or safely landing there, Make way to my beloved Westminster, Or to the golden Cheapside, where the earth Of Julia Herrick gave to me my birth. May all clean nymphs and curious water-dames With swan-like state float up and down thy streams No drought upon thy wanton waters fall To make them lean and languishing at all. No ruffling winds come hither to disease Thy pure and silver-wristed Naiades ! Keep up your state, ye streams ; and as ye spring, Never make sick your banks by surfeiting ! Grow young with tides, and though I see ye never Receive this vow, so fare ye well for ever ! Robert Herrick : Hesperides. THE GREAT FROST 195 The Great Frost 1684 'T'HE various sports behold here in this piece, Which for six weeks were seen upon the ice ; Upon the Thames the great variety Of plays and booths is here brought to your eye. Here coaches, as in Cheapside, run on wheels, Here man (out-tipling of the fishes) reels : Instead of waves that us'd to beat the shore, Here bulls they bait, till loudly they do roar ; Here boats do slide, where boats were wont to row, Where ships did sail, the sailors do them tow ; And passengers in boats the river crost, For the same price as 'twas before the frost. There is the printing booth of wondrous fame. Because that each man there did print his name. And sure, in former ages, ne'er was found, A press to print, where men so oft were drown'd. In blanket booths, that sit at no ground rent, Much coin in beef and brandy there is spent. The Dutchmen here in nimble cutting skates, To please the crowd do show their tricks and feats ; The rabble here in chariots run around. Coffee, and tea, and mum doth here abound. The tinkers here do march at sound of kettle. And all men know that they are men of mettle : Here roasted was an ox before the court, Which to much folks afforded meat and sport ; At nine-pins here they play, as in Moorfields, This place the pastime us of foot-ball yields : 196 LONDON RIVER The common hunt here makes another show, As he to hunt an hare is wont to go ; But though no woods are here or hares so fleet, Yet men do often foxes catch and meet ; Into a hole here one by chance doth fall. At which the watermen began to bawl, What, will you rob our cellar of its drink ? When he, alas ! poor man, no harm did think. Here men well mounted do on horses ride Here they do throw at cocks as at Shrovetide ; A chariot here so cunningly was made, That it did move itself without the aid Of horse or rope, by virtue of a spring That Vulcan did contrive, who wrought therein. The rocks at nine-holes here do flock together As they are wont to do in summer weather. Three ha'porth for a penny, here they cry. Of gingerbread, come, who will of it buy ? This is the booth where men did money take. For crape and ribbons that they there did make ; But in six hours, this great and rary show Of booths and pastimes all away did go. A?ion. : Old Ballad. The Great Thaw 1684 'T^HIS Winter was sharp, it did plainly appear, The like has not been for this many a year ; The River of Thames was congeal'd to a rock, And people in multitudes thither did flock ; THE GREAT THAW 197 Thus many poor tradesmen were out of employ, The truth I am certain there's none to deny. Then let us be thankful, and praise God therefor, For He in good time heard the cry of the Poor. The Frost it was sharp, most bitter and cold. It pierced all people the time it did hold ; Great coal-merchants, they that had laid in their store. Were void of all pity, and grinded the poor ; And in their extremity it did appear, They bought 'em in cheap, but they sold 'em out dear. Then Id us be thankful . . . Poor tradesmen, alas, that great charge must maintain, I needs must confess they had cause to complain : Their hearts were oppressed with sorrow and care ; They walked up and down, but most bleak was the air. And Charity that was as cold as the wind By woful experience some hundreds did find. Then let us be thatikful . . . In this mighty River they there did invent All kinds of vain pastime to reap their content ; They acted all rudeness there with one accord. And little regarded the hand of the Lord : Many poor families suffered this time. Whilst some drowned sorrow in glasses of wine. Then let us be thankful . . . From Westminster Hall to the Temple each day The River of Thames 'twas made a high-way ; For foot-men and horsemen, and coaches beside, And many brave gentlemen in them did ride. 198 LONDON RIVER But all this great triumph, we justly might fear, Might make our sad judgment to fall most severe. Then let us be tha?ikful . . . Then during the Frost there they followed their blows, In music, and gaming, and acting of shows ; On this mighty River they roasted an ox. They bated the bull, and they hunted the fox : For fear that our Lord He should angry be. Then let us be tha?ikful . . . But when they perceiv'd the great Frost it did break, They were forc'd to pack up, and then Thames to forsake The wind and the tide they have broke it in sunder, And now we will leave them to talk of the wonder. Then let us rejoice still, and be of good cheer, We hope we may have a most plentiful year. Then let us be thankful , . . The Water-men now at all stairs they shall fly, " Next Oars ! " and " Next Sculler ! " let this be their cry : For now you may see they have changed their notes, They puU'd down their tents, and they row in their boats. 'Twas the work of the Lord, we may well understand. He made mighty rivers as firm as the land. Then let us be thankful, a?id praise God therefor, For He in good time heard the cry of the Poor. Anon. ; Old Ballad. CLEOPATRA'S NEEDLE 199 Ballade of Cleopatra's Needle 1880 'W'E giant shades of Ra and Turn, Ye ghosts of gods Egyptian, If murmurs of our planet come To exiles in the precincts wan Where, fetish or Olympian, To help or harm no more ye list, Look down, if look ye may, and scan This monument in London mist ! Behold, the hieroglyphs are dumb That once were read of him that ran When seistron, cymbal, trump, and drum Wild music of the Bull began ; When through the chanting priestly clan Walk'd Ramses, and the high sun kiss'd This stone, with blessing scored and ban — This monument in London mist. The stone endures though gods be numb ; Though human effort, plot, and plan Be sifted, drifted, like the sum Of sands in wastes Arabian. What king may deem him more than man. What priest says Faith can Time resist While this endures to mark their span — This monument in London mist ? 200 LONDON RIVER Envoy Prince, the stone's shade on your divan Falls ; it is longer than ye wist : It preaches, as Time's gnomon can, This monument in London mist ! Andt'cw Latis: : Ballades in Blue China. Song : to Celia 1616 \^ ISS me, sweet : the wary lover Can your favours keep, and cover, When the common courting jay All your bounties will betray. Kiss again ! no creature comes. Kiss, and score up wealthy sums On my lips, thus hardly sundered. While you breathe. First give a hundred. Then a thousand, then another Hundred, then unto the other Add a thousand, and so more : Till you equal with the store, All the grass that Rumney yields, Or the sands in Chelsea Fields, Or the drops in silver Thames, Or the stars, that gild his streams. In the silent summer-nights, When youths ply their stolen delights ; LONDON BRIDGE 201 That the curious may not know How to tell 'em as they flow, And the envious, when they find What their number is, be pined. Ben Joiison : The Forest. London Bridge 1657 A 17" HEN Neptune from his billows London spi'd, Brought proudly thither by a high spring-tide ; As through a floating wood he steer'd along, And dancing castles cluster'd in a throng ; When he beheld a mighty Bridge give law Unto his surges, and their fury awe ; When such a shelf of cataracts did roar, As if the Thames with Nile had chang'd her shore ; When he such massy walls, such tow'rs did eye. Such posts, such irons upon his back to lie ; When such vast arches he observ'd, that might Nineteen Rialtos make for depth and height ; When the cerulean god these things survey'd, He shook his trident, and astonish'd said. Let the whole Earth now all her wonders count. This Bridge of wonders is the paramount. Lines Prefixed to Howell's Londinopolis. 202 LONDON RIVER Shooting the Bridge 1798 00 thy dark arches, London Bridge, bestride ^ Indignant Thames, and part his angry tide ; Where oft — returning from those green retreats, Where fair VauxhalUa decks her sylvan seats ; — Where each spruce nymph, from city compters free. Sips the frothed syllabub, or fragrant tea ; While with sliced ham, scraped beef, and burnt champagne, Her 'prentice lover soothes his amorous pain ; — There oft, in well-trimmed wherry, glide along Smart beaux and giggling belles, a glittering throng ; Smells the tarred rope — with undulation fine Flaps the loose sail — the silken awnings shine ; " Shoot we the bridge ! " — the venturous boatmen cry — " Shoot we the bridge ! " — the exulting fare reply. — Down the steep fall the headlong waters go. Curls the white foam, the breakers roar below. — The veering helm the dexterous steersman stops. Shifts the thin oar, the fluttering canvas drops ; Then with closed eyes, clenched hands, and quick-drawn breath, Darts at the central arch, nor heeds the gulf beneath. — Full 'gainst the pier the unsteady timbers knock ; The loose planks starting own the impetuous shock ; The shifted oar, dropped sail, and steadied helm. With angry surge the closing waters whelm — Laughs the glad Thames, and clasps each fair one's charms That screams and scrambles in his oozy arms. OLD LONDON BRIDGE 203 — Drenched each smart garb, and clogged each struggling limb, Far o'er the stream the cockneys sink or swim : While each badged boatman clinging to his oar, Bounds o'er the buoyant wave, and climbs the applauding shore. George CaiDiing : The Loves of the Triangles. Farewell to Old London Bridge 1832 A DIEU ! thou old and honor'd way Across the rolling tide. In strength and beauty thou hast stretch'd Thy form from side to side. On thee the peaceful Pilgrim train Have met the blessing sight. And laurell'd Kings and Conquerors Pass'd proudly from the fight ! The traitor and the true man too, The graceless and the good, By turns have blacken'd in the sun Where thy proud portals stood ; But Pilgrim's rest, and Warrior's sleep, And Martyrdom can ne'er Again with evil eye behold Her sickening horrors there ! O'er thee the choral song of praise, The incense and the pray'r 204 LONDON RIVER From Superstition's altar rose, And fill'd the fragrant air ; On thee the dance was Hghtly trod, The banquet gaily spread, By nimble feet by busy hands Now number'd with the dead. The pomp of tourney and of tilt Thy battlements could boast, And many a train of loveliness And many a warlike host — In fairest show of pageantry They trod thy causeway o'er, But none, or beautiful, or brave, Shall tread that causeway more. Thy strength is fled — thy beauty lost- And each proportion true Is fading fast — and soon will all Have ceas'd to greet the view : And many a massy stone is sent, A tribute fair from thee. To deck a bright and sunny bay In our unconquer'd sea ; And well I wean, of all the crowds Who now unfearing tread That miracle of masonry. Which stretches in thy stead A MERRY VOYAGE 205 Across the broad and busy stream, There doth not wander one Who will not from his heart of heart Rejoice when thou art gone ! For thou dost make the flowing tide The grave of gentle youth : And boyhood's heart of hopefulness, And beauty's eye of truth. By thee — thou Moloch of the flood — Were doom'd on either shore. To beat with wild ambition's throb And smile in love no more : — Yet thou had charms in Fancy's eye ; And Memory's tablet fair. The record of thy glories past Unfadingly shall bear ; And on the scroll of ages trac'd Thy ev'ry grace shall stand. Thou ancient waymark of the stream And wonder of the land ! /. P. : Carmen Ante Paestiim. A Merry Wherry- Ferry Voyage 1662 HTHE year which I do call as others do. Full 1600, adding twenty-two: The month of July that's for ever fam'd, Because 'twas so by Julius Caesar nam'd. 2o6 LONDON RIVER Just when six days, and to each day a night, The dogged Dog-days had begun to bite, On that day which doth blest remembrance bring, The name of an Apostle, and our King, On that remarkable good day, Saint James, I undertook my voyage down the Thames. So I with colours finely did repair My boat's defaults, and made her fresh and fair. Thus, being furnish'd with good wine and beer, And bread and meat (to banish hunger's fear). With sails, with anchor, cables, sculls, and oars. With card and compass, to know seas and shores, With lanthorne, candle, tinder-box, and match. And with good courage, to work, ward, and watch. Well mann'd, well ship'd, well victual'd, well appointed. Well in good health, well timber'd and well jointed : All wholly well, and yet not half fox'd well, Twixt Kent and Essex, we to Gravesend fell. There I had welcome of my friendly host (A Gravesend trencher and a Gravesend toast). Good meat and lodging at an easy rate. And rose betimes, although I lay down late. Bright Lucifer, the messenger of day. His burnisht twinkling splendour did display : Rose cheek'd Aurora hid her blushing face. She, spying Phoebus coming, gave him place, Whilst Zephyrus and Auster mix'd together, Breath'd gently, as fore-boding pleasant weather. Old Neptune had his daughter Thames supphed With ample measure of a flowing tide, But Thames supposed it was but borrowed goods, And with her ebbs paid Neptune back his floods. Then at the time of this auspicious dawning, WELCOMED TO LONDON 207 I roused my men, who scrubbing, stretching, yawning. Arose, left Gravesend, rowing down the stream, And near to Lee, we to an anchor came. Because the sands were bare, and water low. We rested there, till it two hours did flow : And then to travel went our galley foyst. Our anchor quickly weigh'd, our sail up hoist, Where thirty miles we passed, a mile from shore. The water two foot deep, or little more. Thus passed we on the brave East Saxon coast. From three at morn, till two, at noon almost. By Shoebury, Wakering, Foulness, Tillingham, And then we into deeper water came. There is a crooked bay runs winding far To Maldon, Esterford, and Colchester, Which, 'cause 'twas much about (to ease men's pain), I left the land, and put into the main. John Taylor : A Very Merry Wherry-Ferry Voyage^ or York for My Money. Mr. Pope Welcomed to London 1720 T ONG hast thou, friend, been absent from thy soil, — ' Like patient Ithacus at siege of Troy ; I have been witness of thy six years' toil, Thy daily labours and thy nights' annoy, Lost to thy native land with great turmoil. On the wide sea, oft threatening to destroy : Methinks with thee I've trod Sigaean ground. And heard the shores of Hellespont resound. 2o8 LONDON RIVER Did I not see thee when thou first sett'st sail To seek adventures fair in Homer's land ? Did I not see thy sinking spirits fail, And wish thy bark had never left the strand ? Ev'n in mid ocean often didst thou quail, And oft lift up thy holy eye and hand, Praying the Virgin dear, and saintly choir, Back to the port to bring thy bark entire. Cheer up, my friend ! thy dangers now are o'er ; Methinks — nay, sure the rising coasts appear ; Hark ! how the guns salute from either shore, As thy trim vessel cuts the Thames so fair : Shouts answering shouts from Kent and Essex roar, And bells break loud through every gust of air : Bonfires do blaze, and bones and cleavers ring. As at the coming of some mighty king. Now pass we Gravesend with a friendly wind, And Tilbury's white fort, and long Blackwall ; Greenwich, where dwells the friend of human kind, More visited than either park or hall, Withers the good, and (with him ever join'd) Facetious Disney, greet thee first of all : I see his chimney smoke, and hear him say, Duke ! that's the room for Pope, and that for Gay. Come in, my friends ! here shall ye dine and lie, And here shall breakfast, and here dine again ; And sup and breakfast on (if ye comply). For I have still some dozens of champagne : His voice still lessens as the ship sails by ; He waves his hand to bring us back in vain ; THE PORT OF LONDON 209 For now I see, I see proud London's spires ; Greenwich is lost, and Deptford Dock retires. Oh, what a concourse swarms on yonder quay ! The sky re-echoes with new shouts of joy ; By all this show, I ween, 'tis Lord Mayor's day ; I hear the voice of trumpet and hautboy, — No, now I see them near — oh, these are they Who come in crowds to welcome thee from Troy. Hail to the bard, whom long as lost we mourn'd ; From siege, from battle, and from storm, return'd ! How loved, how honour'd thou ! Yet be not vain ! And sure thou art not, for I hear thee say — '* All this, my friends, I owe to Homer's strain. On whose strong pinions I exalt my lay. What from contending cities did he gain ? And what rewards his grateful country pay ? None, none were paid — why then all this for me? These honours. Homer, had been just to thee." John Gay : Collected Poenis. The Port of London 1744 "\T OW silver Isis brightening flows along. Echoing from Oxford shore each classic song ; Then weds with Tame ; and these, O London, see Swelling with naval pride, the pride of thee ! Wide, deep, unsullied Thames, meandering glides And bears thy wealth on mild majestic tides. 2IO LONDON RIVER Thy ships, with gilded palaces that vie, In glittering pomp strike wondering China's eye ; And thence returning bear, in splendid state, To Britain's merchants, India's eastern freight. India, her treasures from her western shores. Due at thy feet, a willing tribute pours ; Thy warring navies distant nations awe, And bid the world obey thy righteous law. Thus shine thy manly sons of liberal mind ; Thy Change deep-busied, yet as courts refin'd ; Councils, like senates, that enforce debate, With fluent eloquence and reason's weight. Whose patriot virtue, lawless power controls ; Their British emulating Roman souls. Of these the worthiest still selected stand. Still lead the senate, and still save the land : Social, not selfish, here, O Learning, trace Thy friends, the lovers of all human race ! Richard Savage : London and Bristol Delineated. Hogarth's Tour 1732 "-pWAS first of morn on Saturday, The seven-and-twentieth day of May, When Hogarth, Thornhill, Tothall, Scott, And Forrest, who this journal wrote. From Covent-Garden took departure, To see the world by land and water. Our march we with a song begin ; Our hearts were light, our breeches thin. HOGARTH'S TOUR 211 We meet with nothing of adventure Till Billingsgate's Dark-house we enter, Where we diverted were, while baiting, With ribaldry, not worth relating (Quite suited to the dirty place). But what most pleas'd us was his Grace Of Puddle Dock, a porter grim, Whose portrait Hogarth, in a whim. Presented him in caricature, He pasted on the cellar door. But hark ! the Watchman cries " Past one," 'Tis time that we on board were gone. Clean straw we find laid for our bed, A tilt for shelter over head. The boat is soon got under sail, Wind near S.E. a mack'rel gale, Attended by a heavy rain ; We try to sleep, but try in vain, So sing a song, and then begin To feast on biscuit, beef, and gin. At Purfleet find three men of war. The Dursley galley, Gibraltar, And Tartar pink, and of this last The pilot begg'd of us a cast To Gravesend, which he greatly wanted. And readily by us was granted. The grateful man, to make amends, Told how the officers and friends Of England were by Spaniards treated. And shameful instances repeated. While he these insults was deploring, Hogarth, like Premier, fell to snoring, But waking cry'd, " I dream'd " — and then 212 LONDON RIVER Fell fast asleep, and snor'd again. The morn clear'd up, and after five At port of Gravesend we arrive. We made a shift to land by six, And up to Mrs. Bramble's go (A house that we shall better know). There get a barber for our wigs. Wash hands and faces, stretch our legs, Had toast and butter, and a pot Of coffee (our third breakfast) got : Then, paying what we had to pay, For Rochester we took our way. Viewing the new church as we went, And th' unknown person's monument. The beauteous prospects found us talk, And shorten'd much our two hours' walk, Though by the way we did not fail To stop and take three pots of ale, And this enabled us by ten At Rochester to drink again. Tobacco then, and wine provide, Enough to serve us for this tide. Get dinner, and our reckoning pay. And next prepare for London hey ; So, hiring to ourselves a wherry, We put off, all alive and merry. The tide was strong, fair was the wind, Gravesend is soon left far behind, HOGARTH'S TOUR 213 Under the tilt on straw we lay, Observing what a charming day, There stretch'd at ease we smoke and drink Londoners like, and now we think Our cross adventures all are past, And that at Gravesend was the last : But cruel Fate to that says no ; One yet shall Fortune find his foe. While we (with various prospects cloy'd) In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy'd, More diligent and curious, Scott Into the forecastle had got. And took his papers out, to draw Some ships which right ahead he saw, There sat he, on his work intent, When, to increase our merriment, So luckily we shipped a sea. That he got sous'd, and only he. Nothing more happen'd worthy note At Billingsgate we change our boat, And in another through bridge get, By two, to Stairs of Somerset, Welcome each other to the shore, To Covent Garden walk once more, And, as from Bedford Arms we started. There wet our whistles ere we parted. With pleasure I observe, none idle Were in our travels, or employ'd ill. Tothall, our treasurer, was just. And worthily discharg'd his trust ; (We all sign'd his accounts as fair ;) 2 14 LONDON RIVER Sam Scott and Hogarth, for their share, The prospects of the sea and land did ; As Thornhill of our tour the plan did ; And Forrest wrote this true relation Of our five days' peregrination. This to attest our names we've wrote all, Viz. Thornhill, Hogarth, Scott, and Tothall. TV. Gostling. The Jolly Young Waterman 1774 A ND did you not hear of a jolly young waterman, Who at Blackfriars Bridge used to ply ? He feather'd his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart and delighting each eye. He look'd so neat and row'd so steadily, The maidens all flocked to his boat so readily ; And he ey'd the young rogues with so charming an air. That this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare. What sights of fine folks he row'd in his wherry, 'Twas clean'd out so nice and so painted withal ; He was always first oars when the fine city ladies In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall. And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering, But 'twas all one to Tom, their jibing and jeering ; For loving or liking he little did care, For this waterman ne'er was in want of a fare. POLL OF WAPPING 215 And yet but to see how strangely things happen, As he row'd along thinking of nothing at all, He was plied by a damsel so lovely and charming. That she smiled and so straightway in love did he fall. And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow, He'd wed her to-night, before to-morrow ; And how should this waterman ever know care. When he's married and never in want of a fare ? Charles Dibdin : The Waicrinan^ or the Fhst of August, Poll of Wapping 1810 'W'OUR London girls, with all their airs, Must strike to Poll of Wapping Stairs, No tighter lass is going. From Iron Gate to Limehouse Hole You'll never meet a kinder soul : Not while the Thames is flowing. And sing Pull away, pull away, Pull ! I say. Not while the Thames is flowing ! Her father, he's a hearty dog. Poll makes his flip, and serves his grog. And never stints his measure ; She minds full well the house affairs. She seldom drinks, and never swears ; And isn't that a pleasure ? 21 6 LONDON RIVER And sing Pull away, pull away, Pull ! I say, Not while the Thames is flowing ! And when we wed, the happy time, The bells of Wapping all shall chime ; And, ere we go to Davy, The girls like her shall work and sing, The boys like me shall serve the King, On board Old England's Navy ! And sing Pull away, pull away, Pull ! I say, Not while the Thames is flowing ! Charles Dibdin : Songs. Wapping Old Stairs 1790 'W'OUR Molly has never been false, she declares, ■*■ Since last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs, When I swore that I still would continue the same, And gave you the 'bacco box mark'd with your name ; When I pass'd a whole fortnight between decks with you. Did I e'er give a kiss, Tom, to one of the crew ? To be useful and kind, with my Thomas I stay'd, For his trousers I wash'd, and his grog, too, I made. Though you threaten'd, last Sunday, to walk in the Mall With Susan from Deptford, and likewise with Sal, In silence I stood your unkindness to hear. And only upbraided my Tom with a tear : A WHITEBAIT DINNER 217 Why should Sal, or should Susan, than me be more priz'd ? For the heart that is true, Tom, should ne'er be despis'd ; Then be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake, Still your trousers I'll wash, and your grog, too, I'll make. " Arley " .• The British Album. A Whitebait Dinner 1812 A LL day we sat, until the sun went down — 'Twas summer, and the Dog-star scorched the town- At fam'd Blackwall, O Thames ! upon thy shore. Where Lovegrove's tables groan beneath their store ; We feasted full on every famous dish, Dress'd many ways, of sea and river fish — Perch, mullet, eels, and salmon, all were there, And whitebait, daintiest of our fishy fare ; Then meat of many kinds, and venison last, Quails, fruit, and ices, crowned the rich repast. Thy fields. Champagne, supplied us with our wine, Madeira's Island, and the rocks of Rhine. The sun was set, and twilight veiled the land : Then all stood up, — all who had strength to stand, And pouring down, of Maraschino, fit Libations to the gods of wine and wit, In steam-wing'd chariots, and on iron roads. Sought the great City and our own abodes. Thomas Love Peacock : Collected Poetns. 21 8 LONDON RIVER The Boy at the Nore 1836 T SAY, little Boy at the Nore, Do you come from the small Isle of Man ? Why, your history a mystery must be, — Come tell us as much as you can, Little Boy at the Nore ! You live, it seems, wholly on water, Which your Gambier calls living in clover ; But how comes it, if that is the case. You're eternally half-seas over, — Little Boy at the Nore ? While you ride, while you dance, while you float. Never mind your imperfect orthography ; But give us as well as you can, Your watery autobiography, Little Boy at the Nore ! Boy at the Nore {loquitur). I'm the tight little Boy at the Nore, In a sort of sea negus I dwells ; Half and half 'twixt salt-water and Port, I'm reckoned the first of the swells, — I'm the Boy at the Nore ! I lives with my toes to the flounders. And watches through long days and nights ; Yet, cruelly eager, men look To catch the first glimpse of my lights, — I'm the Boy at the Nore. THE BOY AT THE NORE 219 I never gets cold in the head, So my hfe on salt-water is sweet ; I think I owes much of my health To being well used to wet feet — As the Boy at the Nore. There's one thing, I'm never in debt ; Nay ! — I liquidates more than I oughter ; So the man to beat Cits as goes by, In keeping the head above water, Is the Boy at the Nore. I've seen a good deal of distress, Lots of Breakers in Ocean's Gazette ; They should do as I do, — rise o'er all ; Ay, a good floating capital get, Like the Boy at the Nore ! I'm a'ter the sailor's own heart, And cheers him, in deep water rolling ; And the friend of all friends to Jack Junk, Ben Backstay, Tom Pipes, and Tom Bowling, Is the Boy at the Nore ! Could I e'er but grow up, I'd be off For a week to make love to my wheedles ; If the tight little Boy at the Nore Could but catch a nice girl at the Needles, We'd have huo at the Nore ! They thinks little of sizes on water, On big waves the tiny one skulks, — 2 20 LONDON RIVER While the river has Men of War on it, — Yes, the Thames is oppressed with Great Hulks, And the Boy's at the Nore ! But I've done,— for the water is heaving Round my body as though it would sink it ! And I've been so long pitching and tossing, That sea-sick — you'd hardly now think it — Is the Boy at the Nore ! Thomas Hood : Collected Poems. Father of Cities 1897 T^ATHER of cities, on whose bosom vast A thousand golden argosies have lain. Wilt thou yet flow dishonoured to the main With all thy mighty palaces down cast ? Broken as Tyre's of old thy myriad mast ? Night's diadems on gleaming arch and fane That crown thee as a monarch, sunk and vain ? Scrolled on a barren wilderness thy past ? If so, proud river ! still thy boast may be That thou dost bear to the forgetful sea Such spoil as never yet oblivion Hath sepulchred within her furrow wan ; And that hath perished with thy fame and thee The brightest aureole from glory gone. Margaret Armour : Thames Soniiets. LONDON CITY Thy famous Maire, by pryncely governaunce, With swerd of justice the ruleth prudently. No Lord of Paris, Venyce, or Floraunce In dygnitie or honoure goeth to hym nye. He is exampler, loode-star, and guye, Principal! patrone and roose orygynalle, Above all Maires as maister moost worthy ; London, thou art the Flour of Cities all. Dunbar. /^LERK of the Bow bell with the yellow locks, For thy late ringing thy head shall have knocks. Children of Cheap, hold you all still. For you shall have the Bow bell rung at your will. Old City Rhyme. London Praised and Cursed 1682 T ONDON, thou great Emporium of our isle, "^ O, thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Nile How shall I praise or curse to thy desert ? Or separate thy sound from thy corrupted part ? I call'd thee Nile ; the parallel will stand : Thy tides of wealth o'erflow the fatten'd land ; Yet monsters from thy large increase we find Engender'd on the slime thou leav'st behind. Sedition has not wholly seiz'd on thee ; Thy nobler parts are from infection free. Of Israel's tribes thou hast a numerous band ; But still the Canaanite is in the land ; 224 LONDON CITY Thy military chiefs are brave and true ; Nor are thy disenchanted burghers few. The head is loyal which thy heart commands ; But what's a head with two such gouty hands ? The wise and wealthy love the surest way ; And are content to thrive and to obey. But wisdom is to sloth too great a slave ; None are so busy as the fool and knave. Those let me curse ; what vengeance will they urge, Whose ordures neither plague nor fire can purge ; Nor sharp experience can to duty bring, Nor angry Heaven, nor a forgiving king ! John Drydeii : The Medal. A London Prentice About 1387 A PRENTIS whylom dwelled in our citee, And of a craft of vitaillers was he ; Gaillard he was, as goldfinch in the shawe, Broun as a berie, a propre short felawe. With lokkes blake, y-kempt ful fetisly. Dauncen he could so wel and jolily. That he was cleped Perkin Revelour. He was as ful of love and paramour As is the hive ful of honey swete ; Wel was the wenche with him mighte mete. At every brydale woulde he singe and hoppe. He loved bet the taverne than the shoppe. For whan ther any ryding was in Chepe, Out of the shoppe thider wolde he lepe, A LONDON PRENTICE 225 Til that he hadde al the sighte y-seyn, And daunced wel, he wolde nat come ageyn ; And gadered him a meinee of his sort To hoppe and singe, and maken swich disport. And ther they setten steven for to mete To pleyen at the dys in swich a strete. For in the toune was ther no prentys That fairer coude caste a paire of dys Than Perkin coude, and there-to he was free Of his dispense, in place of privetee. That fond his maister wel in his chaffare ; For often tyme he fond his box ful bare. For soothly a prentis, a revelour, That haunteth dys, riot, or paramour, His maister shal it in his shoppe abye, Al have he no part of the minstralcye ; For thefte and riot, they ben convertible, Al conne he pleye on giterne or ribible. Revel and trouthe, as in a low degree. They ben ful wrothe al day, as men may see. This ioly prentis with his maister abood. Til he were ny out of his prentishood, Al were he snibbed bothe erly and late, And somtyme lad with revel to Newgate ; But atte laste his maister him bethoghte, Up-on a day, whan he his paper soghte. Of a proverbe that seith this same word, " Wel bet is roten appel out of hord Than that it rotie al the remenaunt," So fareth it by a riotous servaunt ; It is wel lasse harm to lete him pace, Than he shende alle the servaunts in the place. Therefore his maister yaf him aquitance, Q 226 LONDON CITY And bad him go with sorwe and with meschance ; And thus this ioly prentis hadde his leve. Now lat him riote al the night or leve. Geoffrey Chancer : Canterbury Tales. To Ring the Bells of London Town I 8th Century r^ AY go up and gay go down, ^""^ To ring the bells of London Town. Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement's. Bull's eyes and targets Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's. Brickbats and tiles, Say the bells of St. Giles'. Halfpence and farthings. Say the bells of St. Martin's. Pancakes and fritters. Say the bells of St. Peter's. Two sticks and an apple, Say the bells of Whitechapel. CHURCH BELLS 227 Pokers and tongs, Say the bells of St. John's. Kettles and pans, Say the bells of St. Ann's. Old father Baldpate, Say the slow bells of Aldgate. You owe me ten shillings, Say the bells of St. Helen's. When will you pay me ? Say the bells of Old Bailey. When I grow rich. Say the bells of Shoreditch. Pray when will that be. Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know. Says the great bell of Bow. Gay go up and gay go down, To ring the bells of London Town. Nursery Rhyme. 228 LONDON CITY Sir Richard Whittington's Advancement 1 6th Century T T ERE must I tell the praise Of worthy Whittington, Known to be in his days Thrice lord-mayor of London. But of poor parentage Born was he, as we hear, And in his tender age Bred up in Lancashire. Poorly to London then Came up this simple lad ; Where, with a merchant-man, Soon he a dwelling had ; And in a kitchen plac'd A scullion for to be ; Where a long time he pass'd In labour drudgingly. His daily service was Turning at the fire ; And to scour pots of brass, For a poor scullion's hire : Meat and drink all his pay, Of coin he had no store ; Therefore to run away In secret thought he bore. DICK WHITTINGTON 229 So from the merchant-man Whittington secretly Towards his country ran, To purchase liberty. But as he went along In a fair summer's morn, London's bells sweetly rung Whittington's back return ; Evermore sounding so — " Turn again, Whittington ; For thou, in time, shall grow Lord-mayor of London," Whereupon, back again Whittington came with speed, A servant to remain As the Lord had decreed. Still blessed be the bells. This was his daily song ; This my good fortune tells. Most sweetly have they rung. If God so favour me, I will not prove unkind ; London my love shall see. And my large bounties find. But, see his happy chance ! This scullion had a cat. Which did his state advance. And by it wealth he gat. 2 30 LONDON CITY His master ventur'd forth, To a land far unknown, With merchandize of worth As is in stories shown : Whittington had no more But his poor cat as then, Which to the ship he bore Like a brave, valiant man. Vent'ring the same, quoth he, I may get store of gold, And mayor of London be, As the bells have me told. Whittington's merchandize. Carried to a land Troubled with rats and mice As they did understand ; The king of the country there. As he at dinner sat, Daily remain'd in fear Of many mouse and rat. Meat that on trenchers lay, No way they could keep safe ; But by rats bore away, Fearing no wand or staff; Whereupon, soon they brought Whittington's nimble cat; Which by the king was bought, Heaps of gold given for that. DICK WHITTINGTON 231 Home again came these men, With their ship laden so ; Whittington's wealth began By this cat thus to grow : ScuUion's Ufe he forsook, To be a merchant good. And soon began to look How well his credit stood. After that, he was chose Sheriff of the City here, And then full quickly rose Higher, as did appear : For, to the City's praise, Sir Richard VVhittington Came to be in his days Thrice mayor of London, More his fame to advance. Thousands he lent the king, To maintain war in France, Glory from thence to bring. And after, at a feast Which he the king did make. He burnt the bonds all in jest. And would no money take. Ten thousand pounds he gave To his prince willingly ; And would no penny have For this kind courtesy. 232 LONDON CITY As God thus made him great, So he would daily see Poor people fed with meat, To shew his charity ; Prisoners poor cherish'd were, Widows sweet comfort found ; Good deeds, both far and near Of him do still resound. Whittington's college is One of his charities ; Record reporteth this To lasting memories. Newgate he builded fair, For prisoners to lie in ; Christ-church he did repair Christian love for to win. Many more such like deeds Were done by Whittington ; Which joy and comfort breeds, To such as look thereon. Old Ballad. Pretty Bessee and the London Merchant About 1550 T TT was a blind beggar, had long lost his sight, He had a faire daughter of bewty most bright : And many a gallant brave suiter had shee. For none was soe comelye as prettye Bessee. PRETTY BESSEE 233 And though shee was of favor most faire, Yett seeing shee was but a poor beggar's heyre Of ancyent housekeepers despised was shee Whose sonnes came as suiters to prettye Bessee. Wherefore in great sorrow faire Bessy did say, Good father and mother, let me goe away To seeke out my fortune, whatever it bee. This suite then they granted to prettye Bessee. Then Bessy, that was of bewtye soe bright, All cladd in gray russett, and late in the night From father and mother alone parted shee ; Who sighed and sobbed for prettye Bessee. Shee went till shee came to Stratford-le-Bow ; Then knew shee not whither, nor which way to goe ; With teares she lamented her hard destinie. So sadd and soe heavy was prettye Bessee. Shee kept on her journey untill it was day. And went unto Rumford along the hye way ; Where at the Queenes Armes entertained was shee : So faire and wel favoured was prettye Bessee. Shee had not been there a month to an end. But master and mistress and all was her friend : And every brave gallant, that once did her see Was streight-way enamourd of prettye Bessee. Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold. And in their songs daylye her love was extold ; Her bewtye was blazed in every degree ; Soe fayre and soe comlye was prettye Bessee. 2 34 LONDON CITY The young men of Rumford in her had their joy, Shea shewed herself courteous and modestlye coye ; And at her commandment still wold they bee ; Soe fayre and soe comlye was prettye Bessee. Foure suitors att once unto her did goe ; They craved her favor, but still she sayd noe ; I wold not wish gentles to marry with mee. Yett ever they honored prettye Bessee. The first of them was a gallant young knight, And he came unto her disguisde in the night, The second a gentleman of good degree. Who wooed and sued for prettye Bessee. A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small. He was the third suiter, and proper withall ; Her master's own sonne the fourth man must bee. Who swore he would dye for prettye Bessee. And, if thou wilt marry with mee, quoth the knight. He make thee a ladye with joy and delight ; My hart's so inthralled by thy bewtie. That soone I shall dye for prettye Bessee. The gentleman sayd, Come marry witli mee, As fine as a ladye my Bessy shal bee : My life is distressed : O heare me, quoth hee ; And grant me thy love, my prettye Bessee. Let me bee thy husband, the merchant cold say, Thou shalt live in London both gallant and gay ; My shippes shall bring home rych Jewells for thee. And I will for ever love prettye Bessee. PRETTY BESSEE 235 Then Bessy shee sighed, and thus shee did say, My father and mother I nieane to obey ; First gett there good will, and be faithfull to nice. And you shall enjoye your prettye Bessee. To every one this answer shee made, Wherefore unto her they joyfullye sayd, This thing to fulfill wee all doe agree ; But where dwells thy father, my prettye Bessee ? My father, shee said, is soone to be seene ; The seely blind beggar of Bednall-greene, That daylye sits begging for charitie, He is the good father of prettye Bessee. His markes and his tokens are knowen very well ; He alwayes is led with a dogg and a bell ; A seely olde man, God knoweth, is hee, Yett hee is the father of prettye Bessee. Nay then, quoth the merchant, thou art not for mee : Nor, quoth the innholder, my wiffe thou shalt bee : I lothe, sayd the gentle, a beggar's degree. And therefore, adewe, my prettye Bessee ! Why then, quoth the knight, hap better or worse, I waighe not true love by the waight of the purse. And bewtye is bewtye in every degree ; Then welcome unto me, my prettye Bessee. With thee to thy father forthwith I will goe. Nay soft, quoth his kinsmen, it must not be soe ; A poor beggar's daughter noe ladye shall bee. Then take thy adew of prettye Bessee. 236 LONDON CITY But soone after this, by breake of the day The knight had from Rumford stole Bessy away. The younge men of Rumford, as thicke might bee, Rode after to feitch againe prettye Bessee. As swifte as the winde to ryde they were seene, Untill they came neare unto Bednall-greene ; And as the knight lighted most courteouslie They all fought against him for prettye Bessee. But rescew came speedilye over the plaine, Or else the young knight for his love had been slaine. This fray being ended, then straitway he see His kinsmen come rayling at prettye Bessee. Then spake the blind beggar, Although I bee poore, Yett rayle not against my child at my own doore ; Though shee be not decked in velvett and pearle, Yett will I drop angells with you for my girle. And then, if my gold may better her birthe. And equall the gold that you lay on the earth, Then neyther rayle nor grudge you to see The blind beggar's daughter a lady to bee. But first you shall promise, and have itt well knowne, The gold that you drop shall all be your owne. With that they replyed. Contented bee wee. Then here's quoth the beggar for prettye Bessee. With that an angell he cast on the ground, And dropped in angels full three thousand pound ; And oftentimes itt was proved most plaine, For the gentlemen's one the beggar droppt twayne. LONDON'S SEVEN IMAGES 237 Soe that the place, wherein they did sitt, With gold it was covered every whitt. The gentlemen then having dropt all their store, Sayd, Now, beggar, hold, for wee have noe more. Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright. Then marry, quoth he, my girle to this knight ; And heere, added hee, I will now throwe you downe A hundred pounds more to buy her a gowne. The gentlemen all, that this treasure had seene. Admired the beggar of Bednall-greene : And all those, that were her suiters before. Their fleshe for very anger they tore. Thus was faire Besse matched to the knight, And then made a ladye in others despite ; A fairer ladye there never was seene. Than the blind beggar's daughter of Bednall-greene. But of their sumptuous marriage and feast, What brave lords and knights thither were prest. The second fitt shall set forth to your sight With marvellous pleasure and wished delight. Percy s Reliques of A7ictcnt Efiglish Poetry. London's Seven Images 1668 T^HOUGH most of the images be pulled down, And none be thought remain in town, I am sure there be in London yet Seven images in such and such a place ; 238 LONDON CITY And few or none I think will hit, Yet every day they show their face, And thousands see them every year, But few I think can tell me where, Where Jesu Christ aloft doth stand : Law and Learning on either hand, Discipline in the Devil's neck. And hard by her are three direct, There Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance stand. Where find ye the like in all this land ? Inscriptioji hi the Porch of the Old Guildhall. London's Welcome to Henry V. 1415 'T'HE Mayr of London was redy bown, ■^ With alle the craftes of that Citee, AUe clothyd in red through out the town, A semely sight it was to se : To the Blak heth thanne rod he. And spredde the way on every syde ; XX'' M' men myght well se. Our comely Kyng for to abyde. Wot ye right well that thus it 7vns, Gloria tibi Trinitas. The Kyng from Eltham sone he cam, Hys presenors with hym dede brynge. And to the Blak heth ful sone he cam. He saw London withoughte lesynge ; WELCOME TO HENRY V. 239 Heil, ryall London, seyde oure Kyng, Crist the kepe evere from care ; And thanne gaf it his blessyng, And praied to Crist that it well fare. Wot ye right 7vell that thus it 7vas, Gloria tibi Trinitas. The Mair hym mette with mochc honour, With all the aldermen without lesyng ; Heil, seyde the mair, the conquerour, The grace of God with the doth spryng ; Heil duk, heil prynce, heil comely Kyng, Most worthiest Lord under Crist ryall, Heil rulere of Remes withoute lettyng, Heil flour of knyghts now over all. Wot ye right well that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. Here is come youre Citee all, Yow to worchepe and to magnyfye, To welcome yow, bothe gret and small, With yow everemore to lyve and dye. Grauntmercy, Sires, our Kyng gan say ; And toward London he gan ride ; This was upon seynt Clementys day, They wolcomed hym on every syde. Wot ye right well that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. The lordes of Fraunce, thei gan say then, Ingelond is nought as we wen, It farith be these Englisshmen, As it doth he a swarm of ben ; 240 LONDON CITY Ingland is like an hive withinne, There fleeres makith us full well to wryng, Tho ben there arrowes sharpe and kene, Through oure harneys they do us styng. Wot ye right well that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. To London Brigge thanne rood oure Kjmg, The processions there they mette hym ryght, " Ave Rex Anglor," their gan syng, ** Flos mundi," thei seyde, Goddys knyght, To London Brigge whan he com ryght, Upon the gate ther stode on hy, A gyaunt that was full grym of syght, To teche the Frensshmen curtesye. Wot ye right well that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. And at the drawe brigge, that is faste by, Two toures there were upright ; An antelope and a lyon stondyng hym by. Above them seynt George oure lady knyght, Besyde hym many an angell bright, "Benedictus" thei gan synge, " Qui venit in nomine domin," goddes knyght, "Gracia Dei" with yow doth sprynge. Wot ye right tvell that thus if 7aas, Gloria tibi Trinitas. Into London thanne rood oure Kyng, Full goodly there thei gonnen hym grete ; Through out the town thanne gonne they syng, For joy and merthe y yow behete ; WELCOME TO HENRY V. 241 Men and women for joye they allc, Of his comyn thei weren so fayn, That the Condyd bothe grete and smalle, Ran wyn ich on as y herde sayn. Wot ye right well thai thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. The tour of Cornhill that is so shene, I may well say now as y knowe, It was full of Patriarkes alle be dene, " Cantate " thei songe upon a rowe ; There bryddes thei gon down throwe, An hundred there flewe aboughte oure kyng, " Laus ejus " bothe hyghe and lowe " In ecclesia sanctorum," thei dyd syng. Wot ye right tvell that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. Unto the Chepe thanne rood oure Kyng ; To the Condyt whanne he com tho, The XII apostelys thei gon syng, " Benedict, anima domino." XII kynges there were on a rowe. They kneyld doun be on asent, And obles aboughte oure Kyng gan throwe And wolcomyd hym with good entent. Wot ye right toe II that thus it ivas, Gloria tibi Trinitas. The Cros in Chepe verrament. It was gret joy it for to beholde ; It was araied full reverent. With a castell right as God wolde, R 242 LONDON CITY With baners brighte beten with gold. And angelys senssyd hym that tyde ; With besaunts riche many a fold, They strewed oure Kyng on every syde. Wot ye right zvell that thus it zaas, Gloria tibi Trinitas. Virgynes out of the castell gon glyde, For joy of hym they were daunsyng, They kneyld a doun alle in that tyde, " Nowell," " Nowell," alle thei gon syng. Unto Poules thanne rood oure Kyng, XIII bysshopes hym mette there right, The grete bellys thanne did they ryng, Upon his feet full faire he light. Wot ye right zvell that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. And to the heighe auter he went right, " Te Deum " for joye thanne thei gon syng ; And there he offred to God almyght : And thanne to Westminster he wente withoute dwellyng. In XV wekes forsothe, he wroughte al this, Conquered Harfleu and Agincourt ; Crist brynge there soules all to blys. That in that day were mort. Wot ye right well that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. Crist that is oure Hevene Kyng, His body and soule save and se ; Now all Ingelond may say and syng, " Blyssyd mote be the Trinite," AFTER AGINCOURT 243 This jornay have ye herd now alle be dene, The date of Crist I wot it was, A thousand foure hundred and fyftene. Wot ye right welt that thus it was, Gloria tibi Trinitas. John Lydgate : Minor Poems. After Agincourt 1599 "DEHOLD, the EngUsh beach Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys, Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea. Which, like a mighty whifBer 'fore the king, Seems to prepare his way : so let him land ; And solemnly see him set on to London. So swift a pace hath thought, that even now You may imagine him upon Blackheath ; Where that his lords desire him to have borne His bruised helmet, and his bended sword, Before him through the city : he forbids it. Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride ; Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent. Quite from himself to God. But now behold, In the quick forge and working-house of thought, How London doth pour out her citizens ! The mayor and all his brethren, in best sort, — Like to the senators of th' antique Rome, With the plebeians swarming at their heels, — Go forth, and fetch their conquering Caesar in. William Shakespeare : Henry V. 244 LONDON CITY Lines Spoken at the Opening of the New River 1613 T ONG have we labour'd, long desir'd and pray'd, "^ For this great work's perfection : And by the aid Of Heaven, and good men's wishes, 'tis at length Happily conquer'd by cost, art, and strength, And after five years' dear expense in days, Travail, and pains, beside the infinite ways Of envy, malice, false suggestions. Able to daunt the spirits of mighty ones In wealth and courage. This, a work so rare, Only by one man's industry, cost, and care, Is brought to blest effect, so much withstood ; His only aim, the City's general good. And where (before) many unjust complaints. Enviously seated, caused oft restraints. Stops, and great crosses, to our master's charge And the work's hindrance : Favour now at large Spreads itself open to him, and commends To admiration both his pains and ends : The king's most gracious love. Perfection draws Favour from princes, and from all applause. Then worthy magistrates, to whose content, (Next to the state) all this great care was bent. And for the public good (which grace requires) Your loves and furtherance chiefly he desires. To cherish these proceedings, which may give Courage to some that may hereafter live, KING JAMES I. AT ST. PAUL'S 245 To practise deeds of goodness and of fame, And gladly light their actions by his name. Clerk of the work, reach me the book to show, How many arts from such a labour flow. First, here's the overseer, this tri'd man, An ancient soldier, and an artisan. The clerk, next him, mathematician. The master of the timber-work takes place Next after these ; the measurer, in like case, Bricklayer, and engineer ; and after those, The borer and the pavior. Then it shows The labourers ; next keeper of Amwell-head, The walkers last : so all their names are read. Yet these but parcels of six hundred more, That (at one time) have been employ'd before. Yet these in sight, and all the rest will say. That all the week they had their ready pay. Now for the fruits then : Flow forth, precious Spring, So long and dearly sought for, and now bring Comfort to all that love thee ; loudly sing. And with thy crystal murmurs strook together, Bid all thy true well-wishers welcome hither. City Poet : Stew's Survey of Loudon. King James I. at St. Paul's 1619 /~* OD bless our noble king, ^'^ Was there ever such a thing ! In March, when the weather waxed cold, 246 LONDON CITY He went from Whitehall To the church of St. Paul, Which oft-time hath been bought and sold. When he came to Temple Bar, Which you know it is not far, The streets were rail'd on every side ; There were many gay babies. And fair brave painted ladies, " God bless our noble king ! " they all cried. The Mayor of the town Came in a velvet gown, And with him never catchpole or varlet. But jobbernolls there were plenty. Aldermen almost twenty. And most of them were clad all in scarlet. The Mayor laid down his mace. And cry'd, " God save Your Grace, And keep our king from all evil ! " With all my heart, I then wist The good mace had been in my fist, To ha' pawn'd it for supper at the Devil. The master Recorder, In very seemly order Made unto the king such a speech. In such mild and loving sort. As most men do report, It made their hearts to fall into their breech. KING JAMES I. AT ST. PAUL'S 247 It would have done your hearts good To ha' seen how the company stood, With their flags and their banners so gay ; Their wives they were not there, Might a man not safely swear There was many a cuckold made that day ? Archie came in gold Most glorious to behold, Which made the people fall into a laughter ; Some men that stood by, When the fool they did spy Expected many lords to follow after. When they miss'd the king's cloak, It sore amaz'd the folk, To see him in his doublet and his hose ; His horse had, before and behind, Two feathers to keep off the wind, Which was as good as you may well suppose. But when he came to Paul's God bless all Christian souls ! Open flew the great west door. And in the king did enter. Was he not bold to venture. That never was in Paul's in life before. The priests in their copes, Like to so many popes. Sung all to rejoicing of the people ; And as they all sung. The bells they should have rung. But i' faith there was but one in the steeple. 248 LONDON CITY God bless our noble king, In winter and in spring, The prince and the lady so gay ! God bless our lords and many more, The bishops, earls, and judges, Would ever rejoice to see this day. Old Ballad. The Great Fire 1666 A S when some dire usurper Heaven provides ■^ To scourge his country with a lawless sway, His birth perhaps some petty village hides And sets his cradle out of fortune's way : Till fully ripe, his swelling fate breaks out, And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on : His prince, surprised at first, no ill could doubt, And wants the power to meet it when 'tis known. Such was the rise of this prodigious Fire Which, in mean buildings first obscurely bred. From thence did soon to open streets aspire. And straight to palaces and temples spread. The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, And luxury, more late, asleep were laid : All was the Night's, and in her silent reign, No sound the rest of nature did invade. THE GREAT FIRE 249 In this deep quiet, from what source unknown, These seeds of fire their fatal birth disclose ; And, first, few scattering sparks about were blown, Big with the flames that to our ruin rose. There in some close-pent room it crept along, And, smouldering as it went, in silence fed ; Till th' infant monster, with devouring strong, Walked boldly upright with exalted head. The Alarm At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze Called up some waking lover to the sight ; And long it was ere he the rest could raise. Whose heavy eyelids yet were full of night. The next to danger, hot pursued by fate, Half-clothed, half-naked, hastily retire ; And frighted mothers strike their breasts, too late, For helpless infants left amidst the fire. Their cries soon waken all the dwellers near ; Now murmuring noises rise in every street ; The more remote run stumbling with their fear. And in the dark men justle as they meet. So weary bees in little cells repose ; But if night-robbers lift the well-stored hive, A humming through their waxen city grows, And out upon each other's wings they drive. 2 50 LONDON CITY Now streets grow thronged and busy as by day : Some run for buckets to the hallowed quire ; Some cut the pipes, and some the engines play, And some, more bold, mount ladders to the fire. In vain : for from the east a Belgian wind His hostile breath through the dry rafters sent ; The flames impelled soon left their foes behind. And forward, with a wanton fury, went. A key of fire ran all along the shore, And lightened all the river with a blaze ; The wakened tides began again to roar. And wondering fish in shining waters gaze. Old Father Thames raised up his reverend head, But feared the fate of Simois would return ; Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed. And shrunk his waters back into his urn. Day and the King Now day appears, and with the day the King, Whose early care had robbed him of his rest ; Far off the cracks of falling houses ring. And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast. Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke. With gloomy pillars, cover all the place, Whose little intervals of night are broke By sparks that drive against his sacred face. THE GREAT FIRE 251 More than his guards his sorrows made him known, And pious tears which down his cheeks did shower ; The wretched in their grief forgot their own ; So much the pity of a king has power ! He wept the flames of what he loved so well, And what so well had merited his love ; For never prince in grace did more excel, Or royal city more in duty strove. Nor with an idle care did he behold ; (Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress ;) He cheers the fearful, and commends the bold, And makes despairers hope for good success. Himself directs what first is to be done. And orders all the succours which they bring : The helpful and the good about him run, And form an army worthy such a king. He sees the dire contagion spread so fast, That, where it seizes, all relief is vain. And therefore must unwillingly lay waste That country which would else the foe maintain. The powder blows up all before the fire : Th' amazed flames stand gathered on a heap. And from the precipice's brink retire. Afraid to venture on so large a leap. No help avails ; for, hydra-like, the fire Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way, And scarce the wealthy can one-half retire, Before he rushes in to share the prey. 252 LONDON CITY The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud ; Those offer mighty gain, and those ask more : So void of pity is th' ignoble crowd, When others' ruin may increase their store ! Night in the Fields Night came, but without darkness or repose, A dismal picture of the general doom ; Where souls distracted when the trumpet blows, And half unready, with their bodies come. Those who have homes, when home they do repair, To a last lodging call their wandering friends ; Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care, To look how near their own destruction tends. Those who have none sit round where once it was, And with full eyes each wonted room require ; Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place, As murdered men walk where they did expire. Some stir up coals and watch the vestal fire, Others in vain from sight of ruin run ; And while through burning labyrinths they retire. With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun. The most in fields, like herded beasts, lie down. To dews obnoxious, on the grassy floor ; And while their babes in sleep their sorrows drown. Sad parents watch the remnants of their store. THE GREAT FIRE 253 While by the motion of the flames they guess What streets are burning now, and what are near, An infant, waking, to the paps would press, And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear. A New London Methinks already, from this chymic flame, I see a City of more precious mould. Rich as the town which gives the Indies name. With silver paved, and all divine with gold. Already, labouring with a mighty fate. She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow. And seems to have renewed her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of time allow. More great than human now, and more august. Now deified, she from her fires does rise ; Her widening streets on new foundations trust. And, opening, into larger parts she flies. Before, she like some shepherdess did show. Who sat to bathe her by a river's side : Not answering to her fame, but rude and low, Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride. Now, like a maiden queen, she will behold. From her high turrets, hourly suitors come : The East with incense, and the West with gold. Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom. 2 54 LONDON CITY The silver Thames, her own domestic flood, Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train ; And often wind, as of his mistress proud. With longing eyes to meet her face again. The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stained, and traffic lost. The venturous merchant, who designed more far. And touches on our hospitable shore, Charmed with the splendour of this northern star Shall here unlade him, and depart no more. Our powerful navy shall no longer meet. The wealth of France or Holland to invade ; The beauty of this town, without a fleet, From all the world shall vindicate her trade. And while this famed Emporium we prepare, The British Ocean shall such triumphs boast That those who now disdain our trade to share. Shall rob, like pirates, on our wealthy coast. Already we have conquered half the war, And the less dangerous part is left behind ; Our trouble now is but to make them dare, And not so great to vanquish as to find. Thus to the Eastern wealth through storms we go, But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more , A constant trade-wind will securely blow. And gently lay us on the spicy shore. John Dry den : Annus Mirabilis. THE LORD MAYOR'S TABLE 255 A Song for the Lord Mayor's Table 1674 T ET all the Nine Muses lay by their abuses, "^ Their railing and drolling on tricks of the Strand, To pen us a ditty in praise of the City, Their treasure, and pleasure, their pow'r and command. Their feast, and guest, so temptingly drest, Their kitchens all kingdoms replenish ; In bountiful bowls they do succour their souls. With claret, Canary, and Rhenish : Their lives and wives in plenitude thrives, They w^ant neither meat nor money ; The Promised Land's in a Londoner's hand, They wallow in milk and honey. For laws, and good orders. Lord Mayor and Recorders, And Sheriff, with Councils, keep all in decorum ; The simple in safety from cruel and crafty, When crimes of the times are presented before 'em. No town as this in Christendom is So quiet by day and night ; No ruffian or drab dares pilfer or stab, And hurry away by flight ; Should danger come, at beat of drum (It is in such strong condition). An army 'twould raise in a very few days, With money and ammunition. For science, and reading, true wit, and good breeding, No city's exceeding in bountiful fautors ; 256 LONDON CITY No town under heaven doth give, or has given, Such portions to sons, or such dowries to daughters. Their name and fome doth through all the world flame, For courage and gallant lives : No nation that grows are more curst to their foes, Or kinder unto their wives : For bed and board, this place doth afford A quiet repose for strangers ; The Lord Mayor and Shrieves take such order with thieves, Men sleep without fear of dangers. For gownsmen and swordsmen, this place did afford men. That were of great policy, power, and renown ; A Mayor of this City, stout, valiant, and witty, Subdu'd a whole army by stabbing of one ; A traitor, that ten thousand men gat Together in warlike swarms ; And for this brave feat, his red dagger is set In part of the City arms. Should I declare the worthies that are, And did to this place belong, 'Twould puzzle my wit : and I think it more fit For a chronicle than a song. One meanly descended, and weakly attended. By Fortune befriended, in this city plac'd. From pence unto crowns, from crowns unto pounds. Up to hundreds of thousands hath risen at last. In chain of gold, and treasure untold, In scarlet, on horseback to boot ; (To th' joy of his mother) when his elder brother It may be, has gone on foot. THE LORD MAYOR'S TABLE 257 Such is the fate of temporal state, For Providence thinks it fit, Since the eldest begat must enjoy the estate. The youngest shall have the wit. Plague, famine, fire, sword, as our stories record, Did unto this city severely fix. And flaming September will make us remember One thousand six hundred sixty-six. When house, and hall, and churches did fall (A punishment due for our sin). No town so quick burn'd, into ashes was turn'd And sooner was built again. Such is the fate of London's estate. Sometimes sh' has a sorrowful sup Of misery's bowl ; but to quicken her soul. For mercy doth hold her up. Our ruins did show, five or six years ago. Like an object of woe to all eyes that came nigh us : Yet now 'tis as gay as a garden in May, Guildhall and th' Exchange are in Statu quo prius. Our feasts in halls, each company calls. To treat 'em as welcome men : The Muses, all nine, do begin to drink wine ; Apollo doth shine again. True union and peace make plenty increase. And every trade to spring ; The city so wall'd, may be properly call'd The chamber of Charles, our king. Our princes have been (as on record is seen). Good authors and fautors of love to this place ; s 258 LONDON CITY By many good charters, to strengthen our quarters, With divers indulgences, favour, and grace. Their love so much to London is such, They do, as occasion calls. Their freedom partake, for society sake, — Kings have been made free of halls ! If city and court together consort, This nation can never be undone : Then let the hall ring with God prosper the King ! And bless the Lord Mayor of London. Thomas Jordan : The Goldsmiths' Jubilee. The Worshipful Drapers 1679 O ELECTED citizens i' th' morning all, "^ At sev'n o'clock, do meet at Drapers-Hall, The masters, wardens, and assistants, join For the first rank, in their gowns fac'd with foin ; The second order do, in merry moods, March in gowns fac'd with budge and livery hoods ; In gowns and scarlet hoods thirdly appears A youthful number of foins bachelors. Forty budge bachelors the triumph crowns, Gravely attir'd in scarlet hoods and gowns. Gentlemen-ushers which white staves do hold Sixty ; in velvet coats and chains of gold. Next, thirty more in plush and buff there are, That several colours wave, and banners bear. The Serjeant trumpet thirty-six more brings. Twenty the Duke of York's, sixteen the King's, THE WORSHIPFUL DRAPERS 259 The Serjeant wears two scarfs, whose colours be, One the Lord Mayor's, t'other's the Company. The king's drum-major follow'd by four more Of the king's drums and fifes, make London roar. Then thus attir'd, with gown, fur, hood, and scarf, March all through King's - street down to Three- Crane-wharf ; Where the Lord Mayor and th' Aldermen discharge A few gentlemen waiters, and take barge At the west end o' th' wharf; and at the east The court assistant, livery, and the best Gentlemen-ushers : such as stay on shore Are ushers, foins, and the budge bachelor : Who for a time repose themselves and men, Until his lordship shall return again : Who now with several companies make haste To Westminster, but in the way is plac'd A pleasure-boat that hath great guns aboard. And with two broadsides doth salute my Lord. They row in triumph all along by th' Strand, But when my Lord and Companies do land At the new Palace-stairs, orderly all Do make a lane to pass him to the hall. Where having took an oath that he will be Loyal and faithful to His Majesty, His government, his crown and dignity, With other ceremonials said and done, In order to his confirmation ; Sealing of writs in courts, and such-like things, As show his power abstracted from the King's, He takes his leave o' th' lords and barons, then 26o LONDON CITY With his retinue he retreats again To th' water-side, and (having given at large To the poor of Westminster) doth re-embarge, And scud along the river 'till he comes To Blackfriars-stairs, where guns and thund'ring drums Proclaim his landing ; when he's set ashore, He is saluted by three volleys more. ThoDias Joj'da/i : London in Luster. The Mercers' Company's Song 1686 A DVANCE the Virgin, lead the van. Of all that are in London free The Mercer is the foremost man That founded a society. Chorus. — Of all the trades that London grace We are the first in time and place. When Nature in perfection was, And virgin beauty in her prime. The Mercer gave the nymph a gloss. And made e'en beauty more sublime. Chorus. — In this above our brethren blest, The Virgin's since our coat and crest. Let others boast of lions bold. The camel, leopard, and the bear, That tigers fierce their arms uphold, And ravenous wolves their scutcheons rear, Chorus. — To our Virgin innocence Is both supporter and defence. MERCHANT TAYLORS 261 Then let a loyal peal go round, There's none dare claim priority ; To Caesar's health each glass be crown'd Whose predecessors made us free. Chorus.— 0{ all the trades that London grace, Ours first in dignity and place. City Poet : London Yearly Jubilee. The Merchant Taylors' Glory : or Four Famous Feasts of England 1692 "P NGLAND is a kingdom, Of all the world admired ; More stateliness in pleasures Can no way be desired : The court is full of bravery, The city stor'd with wealth. The law preserveth unity, The country keepeth health. Yet no like pomp and glory Our chronicles record. As four great feasts of England Do orderly afford. All others be but dinners called, Or banquets of good sort ; And none but four be named feasts Which here I will report. 262 LONDON CITY St. George, our English champiora, In most delightful sort, Is celebrated, year by year, In England's royal court. The King, with all his noble train, In good and rich array. Still glorifies the festival Of great St. George's day. The honoured Mayor of London The second feast ordains. By which the worthy citizen Much commendation gains : For lords and judges of the land, And knights of good request, To Guildhall come to countenance Lord Mayor of London's feast. Also the Serjeants of the law. Another feast affords. With grace and honour glorified By England's noble lords. And this we call the Serjeants' feast, A third in name and place ; But yet there is a fourth, likewise. Deserves a gallant grace. The Merchant Taylors' Company, The fellowship of fame. To London's lasting dignity, Lives honour'd with the same. A gift King Henry the Seventh gave. Kept once in three years still ; MERCHANT TAYLORS 263 Where gold and gowns be to poor men Given by King Henry's will. Full many a good fat buck he sent, The fairest and the best, The King's large forests can afford, To grace this worthy feast. A feast that makes the number just, And last account of four ; Therefore let England thus record. Of feasts there be no more. Then let all London companies, So highly in renown ; Give Merchant Taylors name and fame To wear the laurel crown : For seven of England's royal kings Thereof have all been free, And with their loves and favours grac'd This worthy Company. King Richard, once the Second nam'd. Unhappy in his fall, Of all his race of royal kings, Was freeman first of all. Bolinbroke, fourth Henry next, By order him succeeds, To glorify his brotherhood. By many princely deeds. Fifth Henry, which so valiantly Deserved fame in France, Became free of this Company, Fair London to advance. 264 LONDON CITY Sixth Henry, the next in reign, Though luckless in his days, Of Merchant Taylors freeman was. To their eternal praise. Fourth Edward, that most worthy king, Beloved of great and small, Also performed a freeman's love In this renowned hall. Third Richard, which by cruelty. Brought England many woes, Unto this worthy company No little favour shows. But richest favours yet at last. Proceeded from a King, Whose kingdom round about the world In princes' ears do ring. King Henry, whom we call the Seventh, Made them the greatest grac'd, Because in Merchant Taylors' hall His picture now stands plac'd. Their charter was his princely gift, Maintained to this day ; He added Merchajit to the name Of Taylors, as some say. So Merchant Taylors they be call'd, His royal love was so. No London Company the like Estate of kings can show. MERCHANT TAYLORS 265 From time to time, we thus behold, The Merchant Taylors' glory. Of whose renown, the Muses' pen May make a lasting story. This love of kings begat such love Of our now royal Prince, For greater love than this to them Was ne'er before nor since, It pleased so his princely mind, In meek kind courtesy, To be a friendly Freeman made Of this brave company. O London, then in heart rejoice, And Merchant Taylors sing Forth praises of this gentle Prince, The son of our good King. To tell the welcome to the world He then in London had. Might fill us full of pleasant joys. And make our hearts full glad. His triumphs were perform'd and done. Long lasting will remain, And chronicles report aright. The order of it plain. City Poet. 266 LONDON CITY Hyde Park Camp 1665 T T ELP now (Minerva) stand a soldier's friend, Direct my muse that I may not offend. Tlie absent to inform is all my aim A worthy work can never purchase blame. In July, sixteen hundred sixty and five (O happy is the man that's now alive), When God's Destroying Angel sore did smite us, 'Cause he from sin by no means could invite us ; When lovely London was in mourning clad. And not a countenance appear'd but sad ; When the contagion all about was spread ; And people in the streets did fall down dead ; When moneyed fugitives away did flee, And took their heels in hope to be scot-free ; Just then we march'd away, the more's the pity. And took our farewell of the Doleful City. With heavy hearts unto Hyde Park we came. To choose a place whereat we might remain : Our ground we view'd, then straight to work we fall, And build up houses without any wall. We pitch'd our tents on ridges, and in furrows. And there encampt, fearing the Almighty arrows, But O alas ! What did all this avail ; Our men (ere long) began to droop and quail. Our lodgings cold, and some not us'd thereto, Fell sick and died, and made no more ado. At length the Plague amongst us 'gan to spread When every morning some were found stark dead. HYDE PARK CAMP 267 Down to another field the sick were ta'en ; But few went down, that e'er came up again. For want of comfort, many I observ'd Perish'd and died, which might have been preserv'd. But that which most of all did grieve my soul, To see poor Christians dragg'd into a hole : Tie match about them, as they had been logs And draw them into holes, far worse than dogs. Methinks I hear some say, " Friend, prithee hark. Where got you drink and victuals in the park ? " Aye, there's the query ; we shall soon decide it, Why, we had men, call'd sutlers, provided : Subtle they were, before they drove this trade, But by this means, they all were subtler made. No wind, or weather, ere could make them flinch, Yet they would have the soldiers at a pinch. For my part, I know little of their way, But what I heard my fellow-soldiers say ; One said, their meat and pottage was too fat ; Yes, quoth another, we got none of that : Besides, quoth he, they have a cunning sleight. In selling out their meat by pinching weight ; To make us pay sixpence a pound for beef, To a poor soldier, is no little grief. Their bread is small, their cheese is mark'd by th' inch. And to speak truth, they're all upon the pinch. As for their liquor, drink it but at leisure, And you shall ne'er be drunk with over measure. Alas, Hyde Park, these are with thee sad days. Thy coaches are all turn'd to brewers' drays ; Instead of girls with oranges and lemons, The bakers' boys they brought in loaves by dozens ; 268 LONDON CITY And by that means they kept us pretty sober, Until the latter end of wet October. They promis'd we should march, and then we leapt. But all their promises were brok' {or kept). They made us all, for want of winter quarters. Ready to hang ourselves in our own garters. At last the dove came with the olive branch. And told for certain that we should advance Out of the field ; O then we leapt for joy. And cry'd with one accord, Vh'e k Roy. Upon Gunpowder Treason Day (at night), We burnt our bed-straw, to make bonfire light ; And went to bed, that night, so merry hearted For joy, we and our lodgings should be parted: Next morning we were up by break of day, To be in readiness to march away. We bid adieu to Hyde Park's fruitful soil, And left the country to divide the spoil. With flying colours we the City enter, And then into our quarters boldly venture. Our landladies said " Welcome " (as was meet) But for our landlords, some look'd sour, some sweet, So soon as we were got into warm bed, We look'd as men new metamorphosed. But now I think 'tis best to let them sleep, Whilst I out of the chamber softly creep, To let you know that now my task is done. Would I had known as much when I begun. A sadder time, I freely dare engage Was never known before in any age. God bless King Charles, and send him long to reign And grant we never may know the like again. Alton. : Old Broadside. LORD MAYOR'S SHOW 269 Lord Mayor's Show 1832 T F ye would delighted be, Little Cockneys come to me ; I will tell you all I know Of the City's shining show ; I will tell you how the great Rode to Westminster in state, Partly in their gilded coaches Which no vulgar form approaches ; Partly in their barges strong Row'd by Nelson's Nobs along ; I will tell how people stare At the Sheriffs and Lord Mayor : Not because they're better then In themselves than other men, But because they're finer drest, And more gaudy than the rest ! I will tell how great and small Go to breakfast at Guildhall ; Where as loyal souls they take, For the constitution's sake, Of roast beef a pound and quarter, Ere they venture on the water ! Hark, the bells are pealing loudly. While the flags are waving proudly : Horn and trumpet, drum and fife, By the strong, in deadly strife, 270 LONDON CITY Each to drown the other, sounded, Make confusion more confounded ! Lo ! in coats of flaming red, Staff in hand, and plume on head. O'er the stones on chargers, rattle Marshals who were ne'er in battle ! See when decked in armour gay, Dubb'd for only half a day, Ride like tailors on a board Knights that never drew a sword : While with step that seldom tires Trudge, exalted to Esquires, People who had ne'er till then Been so much as gentlemen. Now aside the curtain draw From the sages of the law. And behold the legal sport In the great Exchequer Court ! Then the new Lord Mayor is shown. And his smiles around are thrown. Though by custom not a word From his longing lips is heard ; But for phrase of sounding sense. In the mines of eloquence. The Recorder deeply digs, While the Barons nod their wigs ; And the Chief, with speech polite. Bows the party from his sight ! Then they hasten one and all To the banquet at Guildhall ! There the Lady Mayoress walks. Dines and dances, smiles and talks, LORD MAYOR'S SHOW Showing well the City's beauties How with grace to do their duties. There the turtle rich they see, Calipash and Calipee. And when they have eat enough, Of the greasy gouty stuff. Then his Lordship standing up Pledges in the loving cup, Ev'ry Prelate, Prince, and Peer Who may happen to be near ! Then begins the puff inventing Giving healths and complimenting, While they have the power to think Men will speechify and drink ; And when that is all gone by They will drink and speechify. To the ballroom now retire Lest the joys too soon expire ; There some light and laughing spark. Doctor's son, or lawyer's clerk. Seeks his pleasures to enhance, Sweating through a country dance, Swings his tail with matchless skill Gliding through a gay quadrille ; And the scene (with aching head) Ends by reehng home to bed ! Little Cockneys would you know All the moral of this Show— 'Tis that daily diligence, Time, and truth, and common sense, Oft will raise an honest man More than birth or fortune can :— 271 272 LONDON CITY 'Tis that men in life's gay dream Are not always what they seem : — 'Tis that pomp and outward glare, Won by toil, and sought with care, Are but for a season bright ; Soon they vanish from the sight : — 'Tis — but I no further press on Here's sufficient for one lesson. Now to think of what you know. Little Cockneys you may go ! J. P. : Carmen Ante Paestuni. A Good Lord Mayor 1832 A GOOD Lord Mayor is one who does not need The office gold his family to feed ; But rather gives from out his private store. For honour's sake, as much again or more. A good Lord Mayor is one who will not strain. Like some of old, to save, and gripe, and gain ; And all forgetful of his festive state. Let the cat kitten in the kitchen grate ! A good Lord Mayor is one who will not send For many a guest to serve some private end ; And when they do his bidding, whisper loud, Scar'd at the number, " Bless me ! what a crowd ! " A GOOD LORD MAYOR 273 A good Lord Mayor is one who will not play At cards all night and in the morning pray ; But constant strive, in all his deeds to be A bright example of consistency ! A good Lord Mayor is one who will maintain The City's rights ; nor, some low praise to gain, Let sleep the power which o'er the Thames it sways, And wink at fishing in unlawful ways. A good Lord Mayor is one who will not say Men must not worship in the open way ; Nor bid the warning voice for all be dumb To church who will not, or who cannot, come ! A good Lord Mayor is one who will essay The law's strong arm upon the bad to lay : Nor bear that culprits should in crimes run on. And do five hundred, while confin'd for one ! A good Lord Mayor is one who will not mix His office duties with his politics ; Nor, idly anxious for the mob's applause, Neglect the just dispensing of the laws ! A good Lord Mayor is one who will not smile Alike upon the valued and the vile ; Nor seek around his social hearth to draw The Son of Belial and the man of straw ! A good Lord Mayor, just like a clock that goes From week to week, nor variation knows, To all who ask to tell will ne'er refuse. Nor through his office either gain or lose ! T 274 LONDON CITY A good Lord Mayor — but I must end my song, Lest it should prove too costly or too long : To cap the climax thus, I am not sorry, A good Lord Mayor — will be Sir Peter Laurie ! /. P. : Carmen Ante Paestum. The Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch 1599 (~\ FOR a Muse of fire, that would ascend ^^^ The brightest heaven of invention ! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself. Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all. The flat unraised spirit that hath dar'd, On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth So great an object : Can this cockpit hold The vasty fields of France ? or may we cram With this Wooden the very casques That did affright the air at Agincourt ? O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may Attest in little space, a million ; And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, On your imaginary forces work : Suppose, within the girdle of these walls Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, Whose high upreared and abutting fronts BARTHOLOMEW FAIR 275 The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder. Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ; Into a thousand parts divide one man, And make imaginary puissance ; Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth : For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, Carry them here and there ; jumping o'er times : Turning the accomphshment of many years Into an hour-glass. Shakespeare : King Henry V. Bartholomew Fair 1762 ■\1 JHILE gentlefolks strut in their silver and satins, We poor folks are tramping in straw hat and pattens ; Yet as merrily old EngUsh ballads can sing-o. As they at their opperores outlandish ling-o ; Calling out bravo, anckoro, and caro Tho 'f I will sing nothing but Bartlemew fair-o. Here was, first of all, crowds against other crowds driving. Like wind and tide meeting, each contrary striving ; Shrill fiddling, sharp fighting, and shouting and shrieking. Fifes, trumpets, drums, bagpipes, and barrow girls squeaking. Come my rare round and sound, here's choice of fine ware-o. Though all was not sound sold at Bartlemew fair-o. 276 LONDON CITY There was drolls, hornpipe dancing, and showing of postures, With frying black-puddings ; and op'ning of oysters ; With salt-boxes solos, and gallery folks squalling, The taphouse guests roaring, and mouthpieces bawling. Pimps, pawnbrokers, strollers, fat landladies, sailors. Bawds, bailiffs, jilts, jockeys, thieves, tumblers, and tailors. Here's Punch's whole play of the Gun-powder Plot, sir. With beasts all alive, and pease-porridge all hot, sir ; Fine sausages fry'd, and the black on the wire. The whole court of France, and nice pig at the fire. Here's the up and downs; who'll take a seat in the chair-o? Tho' there's more up and downs than at Bartlemew fair-o. Here's Whittington's cat, and the tall dromedary. The chaise without horses, and queen of Hungary : Here's the merry-go-rounds, come who rides, come who rides, sir? Wine, beer, ale, and cakes, fire-eating besides, sir ; The fam'd learned dog that can tell all his letters, And some men, as scholars, are not much his betters. The world's a wide fair, where we ramble 'mong gay things ; Our parsons, like children, are tempted by play-things ; By sound and by show, by track and by trumpery. The fal-lals of fashion and Frenchify'd frumpery. What is life but a droll, rather wretched than rare-o ? And thus ends the ballad of Bartlemew fair-o. George Alexatider Stevens : A Description of Bartholomew Fair in London. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY 277 The Ballad of Sally in our Alley 1713 /^F all the girls that are so smart ^^^ There's none like pretty Sally, She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally, She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets. And through the streets does cry 'em ; Her mother she sells laces long, To such as please to buy 'em ; But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally ! She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When she is by I leave my work (I love her so sincerely). My master comes like any Turk, And bangs me most severely. But, let him bang his belly full, I'll bear it all for Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days that's in the week, I dearly love but one day, 278 LONDON CITY And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday ; For then I'm drest, all in my best, To walk abroad with Sally ; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master carries me to church. And often am I blamed, Because I leave him in the lurch, As soon as text is named : I leave the church in sermon time And slink away to Sally ; She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. When Christmas comes about again, O then I shall have money ; I'll hoard it up, and box and all I'll give it to my Honey : And, would it were ten thousand pounds ; I'd give it all to Sally : She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbours all. Make game of me and Sally ; And (but for her) I'd better be A slave and row a galley : But when my seven long years are out, O then I'll marry Sally ! O then we'll wed and then we'll bed. But not in our alley. Henry Carey : Poems. THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER 279 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington 1672 'T^HERE was a youth, and a well-belov'd youth, -^ And he was a Squire's son ; And he loved the bailiff's daughter dear That lived in Islington. Yet she was coy, and would not believe That he did love her so, No, nor at any time would she Any countenance to him show. But when his friends did understand His fond and foolish mind. They sent him up to London An apprentice for to bind. And when he had been seven long years, And never his love did see : Many a tear have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of me. Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and play, All but the bailiff's daughter dear ; She secretly stole away. She pulled off her gown of green And put on ragged attire. And to fair London she would go, Her true love to enquire. 2 8o LONDON CITY And as she went along the high road, The weather being hot and dry, She sat her down upon a green bank, And her true love came riding by. She started up with a colour so red, Catching hold of his bridle-rein ; One penny, one penny, kind sir, she said, Will ease me of much pain. Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, Pray tell me where you were born : At Islington, kind sir, said she, Where I have had many a scorn. I prythee, sweet-heart, tell to me, O tell me whether you know The bailiff's daughter of Islington ? She is dead, sir, long ago. If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also ; For I will unto some far country, Where no man shall me know. O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, She standeth by thy side ; She is here alive, she is not dead, And ready to be thy bride. O farewell grief, and welcome joy, Ten thousand times therefore, For now I have found mine own true love, Whom I thought I should never see more. Old Ballad. A CITY SHOWER 281 A City Shower 1710 /^~^AREFUL observers may foretell the hour ^^ (By sure prognostics) when to dread a shower. While rain depends, the pensive cat gives o'er Her frolics, 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'll spend in coach-hire more than save in wine. A coming shower your shooting corns presage, Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage. Sauntering in coffee-house is Dulman seen ; He damns the climate, and complains of spleen. Meanwhile the south, rising with dabbled wings, A sable cloud athwart 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 shower is borne aslope. Such is that sprinkhng 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 that shunn'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 ? 282 LONDON CITY Sole coat ! where dust, cemented by the rain, Erects the nap, and leaves a cloudy stain ! Now in contiguous drops the flood comes down, Threatening with deluge this devoted Town. To shops in crowds the draggled females fly. Pretend to cheapen goods, but nothing buy. The Templar spruce, while every spout's abroach. 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 feuds, and join to save their wigs. Box'd in a chair, the beau impatient sits, While spouts run clattering o'er the roof by fits, And ever and anon with frightful din The leather sounds ; he trembles from within. So when Troy chairmen bore the Wooden Steed, Pregnant with Greeks impatient to be freed (Those bully Greeks, who, as the moderns do. Instead of paying chairmen, ran them through), Laocoon 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 : Filths of all hues and odours seem to tell What street they sail'd from by their sight and smell. They, as each torrent drives, with rapid force, From Smithfield or St. 'Pulchres shape their course. And in huge confluence join'd at Snowhill ridge. Fall from the conduit prone to Holborn bridge. Jonathan Swift : Collected Poems. A CITY CALENDAR 283 A City Calendar 1716 "P XPERIENC'D men, inur'd to City ways, ■^ Need not the calendar to count their days. When through the town with slow and solemn air Led by the nostril, walks the muzzled bear ; Behind him moves majestically dull, The pride of Hockley-hole, the surly bull ; Learn hence the periods of the week to name, Mondays and Thursdays are the days of game. When fishy stalls with double store are laid ; The golden-belly'd carp, the broad-finned maid. Red-speckled trouts, the salmon's silver jowl. The jointed lobster, and unscaly sole. And luscious 'scallops to allure the tastes Of rigid zealots to delicious fasts ; Wednesdays and Fridays you'll observe from hence, Days, when our sires were doom'd to abstinence. When dirty waters from balconies drop. And dext'rous damsels twirl the sprinkling mop, And cleanse the spatter'd sash, and scrub the stairs ; Know Saturday's conclusive morn appears. Successive cries the season's change declare. And mark the monthly progress of the year. Hark, how the street with treble voices ring, To sell the bounteous product of the Spring ! Sweet-smelling flow'rs, and elder's early bud. With nettle's tender shoots, to cleanse the blood : 2 84 LONDON CITY And when June's thunder cools the sultry skies, Ev'n Sundays are profan'd by mack'rel cries. Walnuts the fruit'rer's hand, in Autumn, stain, Blue plums and juicy pears augment his gain ; Next oranges the longing boys entice, To trust their copper fortunes to the dice, When rosemary and bays, the poet's crown, Are bawl'd in frequent cries through all the town, Then judge the festival of Christmas near, Christmas, the joyous period of the year. Now with bright holly all your temples strow. With laurel green and sacred mistletoe. Now, heav'n-born Charity, thy blessings shed ! Bid meagre Want uprear her sickly head ; Bid shiv'ring limbs be warm ; let Plenty's bowl In humble roofs make glad the needy soul. See, see, the heaven-born maid her blessings shed ; Lo ! meagre Want uprears her sickly head ; Cloth'd are the naked, and the needy glad, While selfish Avarice alone is sad. John Gay : Trivia. Marketing 1716 OHALL the large mutton smoke upon your boards? Such, Newgate's copious market best affords. Would'st thou with mighty beef augment thy meal ? Seek Leaden-hall ; St. James's send thee veal ; CAKES AND ALE 285 Thames-street gives cheese ; Covent Garden fruits ; Moor-fields old books ; and Monmouth-street old suits. Hence may'st thou well supply the wants of life, Support thy family, and clothe thy wife. Volumes on shelter'd stall expanded lie, And various science lures the learned eye ; And bending shelves, with pond'rous scholiasts groan, And deep divines to modern shops unknown ; Here, like the bee, that on industrious wing Collects the various odours of the Spring, Walkers, at leisure, learning's flow'rs may spoil Nor watch the wasting of the midnight oil, May morals snatch from Plutarch's tatter'd page, A mildew'd Bacon, or Stagyra's sage. Here fauntering 'prentices o'er Otway weep, O'er Congreve smile, or over D sleep ! Pleas'd sempstresses the Lock's fam'd Rape unfold. And Squirts read Garth, till apozems grow cold. John Gay : Trivia. Cakes and Ale 1676 A T Islington ^^ A fair they hold. Where cakes and ale Are to be sold. At Highgate, and At Holloway The like is kept Here every day, 286 LONDON CITY At Totnam Court And Kentish Town, And all those places Up and down. Poor Robi/i's Almanack. Summer's Return 1642 "\T OW damsel young, that dwells in Cheap, For very joy begins to leap, Her elbow small she oft does rub ; Tickled with hope of syllabub ! For mother (who does gold maintain On thumb, and keys in silver chain) In snow-white clout, wrapt nook of pie. Fat capon's wing, and rabbit's thigh. And said to hackney coachman " Go, Take shillings six ; say ay, or no," — " Whither says he ? " Quoth she, " Thy team Shall drive to place where groweth cream." But husband gray now comes to stall. For prentice notch'd he straight does call, Ho, ho ! to Ishngton ; enough ; Fetch Job my son, and our dog Ruffe ; For there in pond through mire and muck, We'll cry, hey duck, there Ruffe, hey duck ! Sir William Davenant : T/ie Lon^ Vacation. THE LITTLE DANCERS 287 London in July 1893 T 1 THAT ails my senses thus to cheat ? What is it ails the place, That all the people in the street Should wear one woman's face ? The London trees are dusty-brown Beneath the summer sky ; My love, she dwells in London town, Nor leaves it in July. O various and intricate maze. Wide waste of square and street ; Where, missing through unnumbered days, We twain at last may meet ! And who cries out on crowd and mart ? Who prates of stream and sea ? The summer in the city's heart — That is enough for me. Amy Levy : A London Plane Tree and other Poems. The Little Dancers 1895 T ONELY, save for a few faint stars, the sky "^ Dreams ; and lonely, below, the little street Into its gloom retires, secluded and shy. Scarcely the dumb roar enters this soft retreat ; 58 LONDON CITY And all is dark, save where come flooding rays From a tavern window : there, to the brisk measure Of an organ that down in an alley merrily plays, Two children, all alone and no one by, Holding their tattered frocks, through an airy maze Of motion, lightly threaded with nimble feet, Dance sedately : face to face they gaze, Their eyes shining, grave with a perfect pleasure. Laurence Bi7iyon : London Visions (^First Series.') White Conduit House 1760 Ty^riTH "Sunday's come" mirth brightens ev'ry face, And paints the rose upon the housemaid's cheek, Harriet, or Mol, more ruddy. Now the heart Of prentice resident in ample street. Or alley kennel-wash'd, Cheapside, Cornhill, Or Cranborne, thee for calcuments renown'd With joy distends. His meal meridian o'er With switch in hand, he to White Conduit House Hies merry-hearted. Human beings here In couples multitudinous assemble. Forming the drollest groups, that ever trod Fair Islingtonian plains. Male after male, Dog after dog succeeding — husbands — wives — Fathers and mothers — brothers — sisters — friends — And pretty little boys and girls. Around, Across, along, the gardens shrubby maze. They walk, they sit, they stand. What crowds press on Eager to mount the stairs, eager to catch WHITE CONDUIT HOUSE 289 First vacant bench or chair in long-room plac'd. Here prig with prig holds conference polite, And indiscriminate the gaudy beau And sloven mix. Here he, who all the week Took bearded mortals by the nose, or sat Weaving dead hairs, and whistling wretched strain. And eke the sturdy youth, whose trade it is Stout oxen to contund, with gold-bound hat And silken stocking, strut. The red-arm'd belle Here shews her tasty gown, proud to be thought The butterfly of fashion : and forsooth Her haughty mistress deigns for once to tread The same unhallow'd floor — 'Tis hurry all And rattling cups and saucers. Waiter here, And waiter there, and waiter here and there, At once is called — Joe — Joe — Joe — Joe — Joe Joe on the right — and Joe upon the left, For every vocal pipe re-echoes Joe — Alas Poor Joe ! Like Francis in the play He stands confounded, anxious how to please The many-headed throng. But shou'd I paint The language, humours, custom of the place, Together with all curt'sies, lowly bows. And compliments extern, 'twould swell my page Beyond its limits due. Suiifice it then For my prophetic Muse to say, " So long As fashion rides upon the wing of time, While tea and cream and butter'd rolls can please. While rival beaux, and jealous belles exist, So long. White Conduit House, shall be thy fame." W. Woty : Gcntlemmi s Magazi?ie. 290 LONDON CITY On the University Carrier, who Sickened in the Time of his Vacancy, being Forbid to go to London by Reason of the Plague 1631 T T ERE lies old Hobson ; Death hath broke his girt, And here, alas, hath laid him in the dirt. Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one, He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. 'Twas such a shifter, that if truth be known, Death was half glad when he had got him down ; For he had any time this ten years full Dodged with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull. And surely Death could never have prevail'd Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd ; But lately finding him so long at home, And thinking now his journey's end was come, And that he had ta'en up his latest inn. In the kind office of a chamberlain, Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night, Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light : If any ask for him, it shall be said, Hobson has supp'd, and's newly gone to bed. John Milton : Miitor Poems. THE CIT'S COUNTRY-BOX 291 The Cit's Country-Box 1757 T^HE wealthy Cit, grown old in trade, Now wishes for the rural shade, And buckles to his one-horse chair Old Dobbin^ or the founder'd mare ; While wedg'd in closely by his side, Sits Madam, his unwieldy bride, V^\\}ii Jacky on a stool before 'em. And out they jog in due decorum. Scarce past the turnpike half a mile, How all the country seems to smile ! And as they slowly jog together. The Cit commends the road and weather ; While Madam doats upon the trees. And longs for ev'ry house she sees, Admires its views, its situation. And thus she opens her oration. "What signify thy loads of wealth. Without that richest jewel health } Excuse the fondness of a wife. Who doats upon your precious life ! Such ceaseless toil, such constant care. Is more than human strength can bear. One may observe it in your face — Indeed, my dear, you break apace : And nothing can your health repair. But exercise and country air. Sir Traffic has a house, you know, About a mile from Cheney-row ; He's a good man, indeed 'tis true, But not so ivartn, my dear, as you : 292 LONDON CITY And folks are always apt to sneer — One would not be out-done, my dear ! " Sir Traffic's name so well apply'd, Awak'd his brother merchant's pride ; And Thrifty, who had all his life Paid utmost deference to his wife, Confess'd her arguments had reason, And by th' approaching summer season. Draws a few hundreds from the stocks. And purchases his country-box. Some three or four miles out of town, An hour's ride will bring you down. He fixes on his choice abode, Not half a furlong from the road : And so convenient does it lay, The stages pass it ev'ry day : And then so snug, so mighty pretty. To have a house so near the City ! Take but your places at the Boar You're set down at the very door. Well then, suppose them fix'd at last. White-washing, painting, scrubbing past, Hugging themselves in ease and clover. With all the fuss of moving over ; Lo a new heap of whims are bred, And wanton in my lady's head ! " Well to be sure, it must be own'd. It is a charming spot of ground ; So sweet a distance for a ride, And all about so comitrified ! 'Twould come but to a trifling price To make it quite a paradise ; I cannot bear those nasty rails, THE CIT'S COUNTRY-BOX 293 Those ugly broken mouldy pales : Suppose, my dear, instead of these. We build a railing all Chinese. Although one hates to be expos'd, 'Tis dismal to be thus enclos'd ; One hardly any object sees — I wish you'd fell those odious trees, Objects continual passing by Were something to amuse the eye. But to be pent within the walls — One might as well be at St. Paul's. Our house beholders would adore. Was there a level lawn before. Nothing its view to incommode, But quite laid open to the road ; While ev'ry trav'ler in amaze, Should on our Uttle mansion gaze, And pointing to the choice retreat, Cry, That's Sir Thrifty's country seat." No doubt her arguments prevail, For Madam's taste can never fail. Blest age ! when all men may procure The title of a connoisseur ; When noble and ignoble herd Are governed by a single word ; Though, like the royal German dames. It bears a hundred Christian names ; As genius, fancy, judgment, go/'If, Whim, caprice, Je ne scat quoi, virtu ; Which appellations all describe Taste, and the modern tasteful tribe. Now bricklayers, carpenters, and joiners, With Chinese artists and designers. 294 LONDON CITY Produce their scheme of alteration, To work this wond'rous reformation. The useful dome, which secret stood, Enbosom'd in the yew-tree wood, The trav'ler with amazement sees A temple, Gothic or Chinese, With many a bell and tawdry rag on, And crested with a sprawling dragon ; A wooden arch is bent astride A ditch of water, four foot wide. With angles, curves, and zig-zag lines. From Halfpenny's exact designs. In front a level lawn is seen. Without a shrub upon the green, Where taste would want its first great law, But for the skulking, sly ha-ha, By whose miraculous assistance. You gain a prospect two-fields' distance. And now from Hyde Park Corner come The gods of Athens and of Rome : Here squabby Cupids take their places, With Venus, and the clumsy Graces : Apollo there, with aim so clever. Stretches his leaden bow for ever ; And there, without the pow'r to fly. Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury. The villa thus completely grac'd. All own that Thrifty has a taste ; And Madam's female friends and cousins. With common-council-men by dozens, Flock every Sunday to the seat, To stare about them, and to eat. Robert Lloyd: The Con7wisseur. THE POET BAFFLED 295 The Poet Baffled 1772 T N that broad spot, where two great roads divide, And invahds stop doubtful where to ride ; Whether the salutary air to breathe On Highgate's steepy hill, or Hampstead's heath ; Where Mother Red-cap shows her high-crown'd hat, Upon a stile a past'ral poet sat. Him not Apollo nor the Muses nine Inspir'd with love of verse, but hopes to dine : He labour'd not for that vain meed renown, But fiU'd the stated sheet for half-a-crown ; And, all regardless what the critics said, The churlish bookseller was all his dread. For him he pens the unharmonious strain. For him he racks his unprolific brain, For him he reads on Privy-garden wall, For him turns o'er the books on ev'ry stall. For him the pillag'd line he makes his own, From authors long forgot, or never known, For him he braves the parching sun and wind. To store with images his vacant mind, For him he now strays o'er the dusty green, To make a past'ral for the Magazine. In vain, alas, shall City bards resort, For past'ral images, to Tottenham-court ; Fat droves of sheep, consign'd from Lincoln fens, That swearing drovers beat to Smithfield pens, Give faint ideas of Arcadian plains, With bleating lambkins, and with piping swains. 296 LONDON CITY I've heard of Pope, of Phillips, and of Gay, They wrote not past'rals in the King's highway : On Thames' smooth banks, they fram'd the rural song, And wander'd free, the tufted groves among ; Cull'd every flow'r the fragrant mead affords, And wrote in solitude, and din'd with lords. Alas for me ! what prospects can I find To raise poetic ardour in my mind ? Where'er around, I cast my wand'ring eyes, Long burning rows of fetid bricks arise, And nauseous dunghills swell in mould'ring heaps. Whilst the fat sow beneath their covert sleeps. I spy no verdant glade, no gushing rill, No fountain bubbling from the rocky hill. But stagnant pools adorn our dusty plains, Where half-starv'd cows wash down their meal of grains. No traces here of sweet simplicity, No lowing herd winds gently o'er the lea, No tuneful nymph, with cheerful roundelay, Attends, to milk her kine, at close of day. But droves of oxen through yon clouds appear, With noisy dogs and butchers in their rear. To give poetic fancy small relief. And tempt the hungry bard with thoughts of beef. From helps like these, how very small my hopes ! My past'rals, sure, will never equal Pope's. Since then no images adorn the plain. But what are found as well in Gray'sTnn Lane, Since dust and noise inspire no thought serene. And three-horse stages little mend the scene, I'll stray no more to seek the vagrant Muse, But ev'n go write at home, and save my shoes. Charles Jenncr : Toivn Eclogues. THE SPREAD OF LONDON 297 The Spread of London 1813 O AINT George's Fields are fields no more, The trowel supersedes the plough ; Huge inundated swamps of yore Are changed to civic villas now. The builder's plank, the mason's hod. Wide, and more wide extending still, Usurp the violated sod. From Lambeth Marsh to Balaam Hill. Pert poplars, yew trees, water tubs, No more at Clapham meet the eye, But velvet lawns, acacian shrubs. With perfume greet the passer-by. Thy carpets, Persia, deck our floors, Chintz curtains shade the polish'd pane, Verandas guard the darken'd doors, Where dunning Phoebus knocks in vain. Not thus acquir'd was Gresham's hoard, Who founded London's mart of trade ; Not such thy life, Grimalkin's lord, Who Bow's recalling peal obey'd. In Mark or Mincing Lane confin'd, In cheerful toil they pass'd the hours ; 'Twas theirs to leave their wealth behind. To lavish, while we live, is ours. 298 LONDON CITY They gave no treats to thankless kings, Many their gains, their wants were few ; They built no house with spacious wings, To give their riches pinions too. Yet sometimes leaving in the lurch Sons, to luxurious folly prone. Their funds rebuilt the parish church — ■ Oh ! pious waste, to us unknown. We from our circle never roam. Nor ape our sires' eccentric sins ; Our charity begins at home, And mostly ends where it begins. Horace and James Smith : Horace in Londo/t. Rural Felicity 1839 T 1 /"ELL, the country's a pleasant place, sure enough, for people that's country born, And useful, no doubt, in a natural way, for growing our grass and corn. It was kindly meant of my cousin Giles, to write and invite me down, Tho' as yet all I've seen of a pastoral life only makes one more partial to Town. At first I thought I was really come down into all sorts of rural bliss ; RURAL FELICITY 299 For Porkington Place, with its cows and its pigs, and its poultry, looks not much amiss ; There's something about a dairy farm, with its different kinds of live stock. That puts one in mind of Paradise, and Adam and his innocent flock ; But somehow the good old Elysium fields have not been well handed down. And as yet I have found no fields to prefer to dear Leicester Fields up in town. And after all, an't there new-laid eggs to be had upon Holborn Hill ? And dairy-fed pork in Broad St, Giles's, and fresh butter wherever you will ? And a covered cart that brings cottage bread quite rustical- like and brown ? So one isn't so very uncountrified in the very heart of the town. Howsomever my mind's made up, and although I'm sure cousin Giles will be vext, I mean to book me an inside place up to town upon Satur- day next. And if nothing happens, soon after ten, I shall be at the old Bell and Crown, And perhaps I may come to the country again, when London is all burnt down. Thomas Hood : Collected Poems. 300 LONDON CITY The Diverting History of John Gilpin 1782 T OHN GILPIN was a citizen J Of credit and renown, A trainband captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, '* Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No hoUday have seen. To-morrow is our wedding day, And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton, All in a chaise and pair. My sister, and my sister's child. Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride On horseback after we." He soon replied, — " I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done. I am a linendraper bold, As all the world doth know. And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go." JOHN GILPIN 301 Quoth Mrs. Gilpin,—" That's well said ; And for that wine is dear, We will be furnished with our own. Which is both bright and clear." John Gilpin kissed his loving wife ; O'erjoyed was he to find, That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allowed To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was stayed, Where they did all get in ; Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin. Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folk so glad, The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad. John Gilpin at his horse's side Seized fast the flowing mane. And up he got, in haste to ride. But soon came down again ; For saddletree scarce reached had he. His journey to begin. When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. 302 LONDON CITY So down he came ; for loss of time, Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew. Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs, — " The wine is left behind ! " " Good lack ! " quoth he, " yet bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise." Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) Had two stone bottles found, To hold the liquor that she loved. And keep it safe and sound. Each bottle had a curling ear. Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true. Then over all, that he might be Equipped from top to toe. His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed. Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, With caution and good heed. JOHN GILPIN 303 But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which galled him in his seat. So " Fair and softly," John he cried. But John he cried in vain : That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must, Who cannot sit upright. He grasped the mane with both his hands. And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before. What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; Away went hat and wig ; He little dreamt, when he set out, Of running such a rig. The wind did blow, the cloak did fly. Like streamer long and gay. Till, loop and button failing both, At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung ; A bottle swinging at each side, As hath been said or sung. 304 LONDON CITY The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all ; And every soul cried out, "Well done !" As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin — who but he ? His fame soon spread around ; " He carries weight ! " " He rides a race ! " " 'Tis for a thousand pound ! " And still, as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view. How in a trice the turnpike men Their gates wide open threw. And now, as he went bowing down His reeking head full low. The bottles twain behind his back Were shattered at a blow. - Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen. Which made his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been. But still he seemed to carry weight. With leathern girdle braced ; For all might see the bottle necks Still dangling at his waist. Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, Until he came unto the Wash Of Edmonton so gay ; JOHN GILPIN 305 And there he threw the Wash about, On both sides of the way, Just Uke unto a trundUng mop, Or a wild goose at play. At Edmonton, his loving wife From the balcony spied Her tender husband, wondering much To see how he did ride. " Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! — Here's the house ! " They all at once did cry ; "The dinner waits, and we are tired : " — Said Gilpin—" So am I ! " But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there ; For why ? — his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew. Shot by an archer strong ; So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin, out of breath. And sore against his will, Till, at his friend the calender's. His horse at last stood still. The calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him : — 3o6 LONDON CITY " What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ; Tell me you must and shall — Say why bareheaded you are come, Or why you come at all ? " Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke ; And thus unto the calender, In merry guise, he spoke : — " I came because your horse would come ; And, if I well forbode, My hat and wig will soon be here, — They are upon the road." The calender, right glad to find His friend in merry pin, Returned him not a single word, But to the house went in ; Whence straight he came with hat and wig ; A wig that flowed behind, A hat not much the worse for wear. Each comely in its kind. He held them up, and in his turn. Thus showed his ready wit : " My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit. But let me scrape the dirt away That hangs upon your face ; And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case." JOHN GILPIN 307 Said John, — " It is my wedding day, And all the world would stare, If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware." So turning to his horse, he said, " I am in haste to dine ; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here. You shall go back for mine." Ah ! luckless speech, and bootless boast, For which he paid full dear : For while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear ; Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And galloped off with all his might, As he had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig : He lost them sooner than at first, For why ? — they were too big. Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away. She pulled out half-a-crown ; And thus unto the youth she said, That drove them to the Bell,- "This shall be yours, when you bring back My husband safe and well." 3o8 LONDON CITY The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain ; Whom in a trice he tried to stop By catching at his rein ; But not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more. And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels. Six gentlemen upon the road. Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scampering in the rear. They raised a hue and cry : — "Stop thief! stop thief! — a highwayman ! Not one of them was mute ; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike-gates again Flew open in short space ; The toll-men thinking as before. That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too. For he got first to town ; Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down. BOW BELLS 309 Now let us sing, long live the King, And Gilpin, long live he ; And when he next doth ride abroad. May I be there to see ! William Cowper. Bow Bells 1869 A T the brink of a murmuring brook ^^^ A contemplative Cockney reclined ; And his face wore a sad sort of look. As if care were at work on his mind. He sigh'd now and then as we sigh When the heart with soft sentiment swells ; And a tear came and moisten'd each eye As he mournfully thought of Bow Bells. I am monarch of all I survey ! (Thus he vented his feelings in words) — But my kingdom, it grieves me to say, Is inhabited chiefly by birds. In this brook that flows lazily by I believe that oiie tittlebat dwells. For I saw something jump at a fly As I lay here and long'd for Bow Bells. Yonder cattle are grazing — it's clear From the bob of their heads up and down ;- But I cannot love cattle down here As I should if I met them in town. 3IO LONDON CITY Poets say that each pastoral breeze Bears a melody laden with spells ; But I don't find the music in these That I find in the tone of Bow Bells. I am partial to trees, as a rule ; And the rose is a beautiful flower. (Yes, I once read a ballad at school Of a rose that was wash'd in a shower.) But, although I may doat on the rose, I can scarcely believe that it smells Quite so sweet in the bed where it grows As when sold within sound of Bow Bells. No ; I've tried it in vain once or twice. And I've thoroughly made up my mind That the country is all very nice — But I'd much rather mix with my kind. Yes ; to-day — if I meet with a train — I will fly from these hills and these dells ; And to-night I will sleep once again (Happy thought !) within sound of Bow Bells. Henry S. Leigh : Carols of Cockayne. In an Old City Church 1879 /^"\NE dull, foggy day in December, ^-^ When biting and bleak was the air, I once lost my way, I remember, And paused in a quaint City square. AN OLD CITY CHURCH 311 Though lacking all splendour or gladness, The flavour of good long ago Clung dose to the place in its sadness, And grave-yard half covered with snow ; While the black, puny branches, all leafless and bare, Seemed to add to the gloom of this dull City square ! The railings were rusty and rimy, The church looked so mouldy and grim ; The houses seemed haunted and grimy. The windows were gruesome and dim. The iron gate scrooped on its hinges. The clock struck a querulous chime. As though it were feeling some twinges 'Twas almost forgotten by Time. But I opened the door, and the picture was fair, In the fine ancient church, in this sad City square ! A fair little lass, holly-laden — With eyes of cerulean blue — Is helping a sweet dark-eyed maiden Twine ivy with laurel and yew ; How busy the deft taper fingers ! What taste and what art they display ! How lovingly each of them lingers, Adjusting a leaf or a spray ! — I close the door softly, I've no business there. And drift out in the fog of the grim City square. /. Ashby-Sterry : The Lazy Minstrel. 312 LONDON CITY The Reverie of Poor Susan 1800 A T the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years : Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide. And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's. The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven ; but they fade The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes ! William Wordsworth : Lyrical Ballads. IN CITY STREETS 313 In City Streets 1898 "V/ONDER in the heather there's a bed for sleeping, Drink for one athirst, ripe blackberries to eat ; Yonder in the sun the merry hares go leaping, And the pool is clear for travel-wearied feet ! Sorely throb my feet, a-tramping London highways (Ah, the springy moss upon a northern moor !) Through the endless streets, the gloomy squares and byways, Homeless in the City, poor among the poor ! London streets are gold — ah, give me leaves a-glinting 'Midst grey dykes and hedges in the autumn sun ! London water's wine, poured out for all unstinting — ■ God ! for the little brooks that tumble as they run ! O my heart is fain to hear the soft wind blowing, Soughing through the fir-tops up on northern fells ! O my eye's an-ache to see the brown burns flowing Through the peaty soil and tinkling heather-bells ! Ada Smith : Le Quartier Lathi. 314 LONDON CITY Vision 1898 "D ETWEEN New Cross and London Bridge, I peered from a third-class " Smoker," Over the grimy waste of roofs, Into the yellow ochre. When lo ! from the midst of the chimney pots Up rose a brave three-master, With brand new canvas on every spar As fair as alabaster. And, gazing on that gallant sight, In a moment's space, or sooner. The smoke gave place to a southern breeze. The train to a bounding schooner. Again the vessel stood to sea, Majestic, snowy-breasted ; Again great ships rode nobly by, On purple waves foam-crested. Again we passed mysterious coasts. Again soft nights enwound us ; Again the rising sun revealed Strange fishing craft around us. The spray was salt, the air was glad — When — bump ! — we reached the station ! What did I care though the fog was there. With this for compensation ! E. V. Lttcas : The Spectator. IN THE CITY 315 The Child in the City 1894 A CITY child, half girl, half elf, ■^ With tattered boots and gipsy hair, Hops quaintly, babbling to herself. Along the great Cathedral stair. To catch her inattentive ear The half of London roars in vain ; Nor with a glance does she revere The power of Paul's impending fane. She hops and skips in sober sort. And to herself serenely smiles. As though her soul were in her sport, Her feet were following fairies' wiles. So on some tide-beleaguered beach We in our childish days have played. Unmindful of the blue sea's reach, And by its murmurs undismayed. So, though no more with childhood's name. Yet babes in ignorance and faith. Men play life's all-absorbing game. Nor heed the imminence of death. IVilson Benington. 3i6 LONDON CITY An Evening Song 1869 TJ*ADES into twilight the last golden gleam Thrown by the sunset on upland and stream ; Glints o'er the Serpentine — tips Netting Hill — Dies on the summit of proud Pentonville. Day brought us trouble, but Night brings us peace ; Morning brought sorrow, but Eve bids it cease. Gaslight and Gaiety, beam for a while ; Pleasure and Paraffin, lend us a smile. Temples of Mammon are voiceless again — Lonely policemen inherit Mark Lane — Silent is Lothbury — quiet Cornhill — Babel of Commerce, thine echoes are still. Far to the South — where the wanderer strays Lost among graveyards and riverward ways. Hardly a footfall and hardly a breath Comes to dispute Laurence — Pountney with Death. Westward the stream of Humanity glides ; — 'Busses are proud of their dozen insides, Put up thy shutters, grim Care, for to-day — Mirth and the lamplighter hurry this way. Out on the glimmer weak Hesperus yields ! Gas for the cities and stars for the fields. Daisies and buttercups, do as ye list ; I and my friends are for music and whist. HejDj S. Leigh : Carols of Cockayne. FIRE The Bell-Man 1648 "pROM noise of scare-fires rest ye free From murders, Benedicite ; From all mischances that may fright Your pleasing slumbers in the night Mercy secure ye all, and keep The goblin from ye, while ye sleep. — Past one a clock, and almost two, — My masters all. Good day to you. Robert Herrick : Hesperides. Fire 1873 " T71RE! Away there to the east — Towards the Surrey ridge, — I see a puff of dunnish smoke Over the Southwark bridge " ; A single curl of murky mist That scales the summer air : — And the watchman wound his listless way Slow down the turret stair. London ! that deck'st thyself with wave-won wealth, Sea-spoils, fanes, palaces. And temples high ; Well said the turbaned traveller of the East " Behold— and die ! " 317 31 8 LONDON CITY Behold these streets ; survey these monster marts, The lordly Changes of our merchant kings ; Consider the great Thames, and all its breast Brave with white wings ; Wharves, stately with warehouses, Docks, with a world's treasure-chest in bail, What hand shall touch ye ? What rash foe assail ? " Fire ! — to the eastivard — Fire ! ! " A hurrying tramp of feet : A sickly haze that wraps the town Like a leaden winding sheet : A smothering smoke is in the air — A crackling sound — a cry — And yonder, up over the furnace-pot That smokes like the smoke of the cities of Lot There's something fierce and hissing and hot That licks the very sky. Fire ! fire ! ghostly fire ! — It broadens overhead, — Red glow the roofs in lurid light The heav'ns are glowing-red ; From east to west — from west to east— Blood-red the turbid Thames — " Fire !• — fire ! — The engines ! — Fire ! — Or half the town's in flames — Fire " ... A raging, quivering gulf . . , A wild stream blazing by . . . Black ruin . . . fearful flaming heaps White faces to the sky . . . MIDNIGHT 319 "The engines, Ho ! back for your lives !" The swarthy helmets gleam : Flash fast, broad wheel ! — Hold, wood and steel ! — Whilst the shout rings up, and the wild bells peal. And the flying hoofs strike flame. Stand from the causeway — horse and man — Back, while there's time for aid ; Back gilded coach — back lordly steed — A hundred lives hang on their speed And fear and fate and daring deed — Room for the Fire Brigade ! H. Cholmo7idelcy Pennell : Modern Babylon. Midnight 1822 T TNFATHOMABLE Night ! how dost thou sweep Over the flooded earth, and darkly hide The mighty City under thy full tide ; Making a silent palace for old Sleep Like his own temple under the hushed deep, Where all the busy day he doth abide, And forth at the late dark, outspreadeth wide His dusky wings, whence the cold waters sweep ! How peacefully the living millions lie ! Lulled unto death beneath his poppy spells. There is no breath — no living stir — no cry — No tread of foot — no song — no music — call — Only the sound of melancholy bells — The voice of Time — survivor of them all ! Thomas Hood: Collected Poems. /^UR revels now are ended : these our actors, ^^^ As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air : And like the baseless fabrick of this vision. The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself. Yea, all that it inherit, shall dissolve ; And like this insubstantial pageant faded. Leave not a rack behind. Shakespeare : The Tempest. NOTES NOTES LONDON TOWN Page 3. — London ; That Great Sea. Shelley saw the dark and mixed sides of London life. The stanzas en- titled " Hell " in Peter Bell the Third are evidence of this : Hell is a city much like London — A populous and a smoky city ; There are all sorts of people undone, And there is little or no fun done ; Small justice shown, and still less pity. Some cheerless concessions are made in one of the last stanzas : So good and bad, sane and mad ; The oppressor and the oppressed ; Those who weep to see what others Smile to inflict upon their brothers ; Lovers, haters, worst and best ; All are damned — they breathe an air, Thick, infected, joy-dispelling ; Each pursues what seems most fair, Mining like moles through mind, and there Scoop palace-caverns vast where Care In throned state is ever dwelhng. Shelley's view of London recalls, by contrast, Tennyson's inspiriting picture of London as seen by the boy, who ... at night along the dusky highway, near and nearer drawn. Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn. And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men. . . . Page 4. — The Flour of Cities All. This noble panegyric by William Dunbar, the father of Scottish poetry, was composed by him in 1501, when he came to London 324 LONDON IN SONG with the embassy sent to King Henry VII. to arrange the marriage of James IV. of Scotland and Princess Margaret of England. The ambassadors were Robert Blackadder, Arch- bishop of Glasgow ; Patrick Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell ; Andrew Forman, Apostolical Prothonotary ; and Sir Robert Lundy, Treasurer of Scotland. These, with their retinue, were entertained at a banquet in Christmas week by the Lord Mayor, Sir John Shaw ; it was on this occasion that Dunbar recited his poem, which remains unrivalled as a glorification of London. Page 6. — Hail, London ! From the Gevtleviaiis Maga- zine, September 1739 : "No need of fables to enhance thy praise, no wand'ring demi-god thy walls to raise." — The writer alludes to Geofifrey of Monmouth's mythical account of the founding of London by Brute, a descendant of ^neas, who is declared to have come to England 1008 B.C. and built Troy Novant, or New Troy, afterwards called Caer Lud (under King Lud), and finally London. " Sublime Augusta rais'd her tow'ry head." — Augusta was the name enjoyed by London in the last half century of the Roman occupation. Page 14. — To London. Henry Luttrell, the author of these lines, and of the lines on "A London Fog" quoted on p. 103, was the witty, worldly friend of Byron, Rogers, Moore, and Lady Blessington. In his Letters to Julia, first published in 1820, but afterwards greatly improved, Luttrell happily blends descriptions of London in the Season with playful advice on social behaviour, etc. The above extracts are from the third edition. Page 19. — The Poet's London. "See the gilt barge, and hear the fated king prompt the first mavis of our Minstrel Spring." — Lord Lytton, in his own note on this couplet, quotes Charles Knight's London as follows : One of the most remarkable pictures of ancient manners which has been transmitted to us is that in wliich the poet Gower describes the circumstances under which he was commanded by King Richard II. " to make a book after his best." The good old rhymer . . . had taken boat, and upon the broad river he met the King in his stately barge. . . . The monarch called him on board his own vessel, and desired him to book "some new thing." This was the origin of tlie Confcssio Amantis. NOTES 325 " Or mark, with mitred Nevile, the array of arms and craft alarm 'the Silent Way.'" — Edward Hall in his CJironicIc tells how the Archbishop of York (brother to the King-maker), after leaving the widow of Edward IV. in the sanctuary of West- minster, looked out on the river and saw many boatmen, under the Duke of Gloucester, watching that no person went to sanctuary, or passed to Westminster unsearched. " Or landward, trace, where thieves their festive hall hold by the dens of Law." — This is rather obscure. Lord Lytton's own note places the " festive hall " in Devereux Court, close to Essex Street. Here in the last century were " Tom's " and the "Grecian'' coffee-houses, and here died, in 1678, Marchant Needham, one of our earliest newspaper promoters. Page 21. — The Contrast. Captain Charles Morris was one of the choice spirits of the Beefsteak Club. His lines on Pall Mall have been more quoted, perhaps, than any other verses about London. Less known are his lines " On the Destruction of the Star and Garter Tavern in Pall Mall, and the Demolition of Carlton Palace," yet they have an interesting bearing on " The Contrast.'' " What art thou now ? " he asks, addressing the " Star and Garter " : What art thou now ? a heap of rubbish'd stone : " Pride, pomp, and circumstance" forever gone ! A prostrate lesson to the passing eye. To teach the high how low they soon may lie. Dvist are those walls, where long, in pictured pride, The far-famed Dilettanti graced their side ; And where so long my gay and frolic heart Roused living spirits round these shades of art. Lank are they all, in heedless silence lost. Or midst the flames, as useless refuse cast. Down falls the Palace too ! — and now I see The street, a path of deadly gloom to me : And, as I range the town, I, sighing, say, " Turn from Pall Mall : that's now no more the way. Thy once-loved ' shady side,' oft-praised before. Shorn from earth's face, now hears thy strains no more : And where thy Muse long ply'd her welcome toil, Cold speculation barters. out the soil." Page 24. — London Lycpeny. This excellent ballad restores to us the London of the fifteenth century. Whether it was written by John Lydgate is a question ; but it is 326 LONDON IN SONG attributed to him by the late Mr. HaUiwell-PhiUips and by other writers. Two texts of the ballad exist in MS. in the British Museum; one, in the Harleian MSS., is quoted by Northouck, and several other historians of London ; the other, in the handwriting of Stow, is in the same collection. The text quoted is the first. The ballad is often entitled " London Lackpenny," and the emendation is reasonable. " London lickpenny " appears to have been a proverbial phrase, indicating London's capacity for retaining the money of visitors. But here the visitor had no money ; and the burden of the ballad is London's cold reception of him on this account : hence " Zci;6"/'penny." " Hot pescods." — The nursery rhyme says : Piping hot ! smoking hot ! What have I got ? You have not ; Hot grey pease, hot ! hot ! hot ! " There is more music in this song," says a writer of the last century, " on a cold frosty night than ever the syrens were possessed of who captivated Ulysses, and the effects stick closer to the ribs." " Cherryes in the ryse." — Cherries on the branch. " Canwyke streete." — Canwyke, Candlewright, or Candle- wick Street is the modern Cannon Street. Stow, who refers to Lydgate's ballad with relish, supposes the name to have been taken from the candle-makers who throve there. Page 28. — Return to London. In 1647 Herrick was ejected by the Puritan powers from his vicarage at Dean Prior, near Totnes, in Devonshire, and came to London. He had long bemoaned his " loathed country life " ; for although he sang of " hock carts, wassails, wakes," with unction, his heart was ever in town. See "Tears to Thamesis," page 194. Page 29. — The May-Lord. This song is put into the mouth of Ralph, an apprentice, in the " The Knight of the Burning Pestle." The May-Day exodus, described with such spirit, was a very old London custom. Chaucer refers to it in his " Court of Love " : — " And forth goth all the court both most and leste, to fetch the flowers fresh, and braunch and blome." In the reign of Henry VIII. the Lord Mayor and Corporation went out into Kent on May-Day to gather the NOTES 327 may, and were met on Shooter's Hill by the King and his queen, Catherine of Arragon. It was the London May-Day, too, that Herrick bade Corinna not neglect : Come, my Corinna, come, and, coming, mark How each field turns a street, each street a park Made green and trimm'd with trees : see how Devotion gives each house a bough Or branch : each porch, each door ere this An ark, a tabernacle is. Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove ; As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street And open fields and we not see't ? Come, we'll abroad ; and let's obey The proclamation made for May : And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ; But, my Corinna, come let's go a-Maying, A deal of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home, Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream Before that we have left to dream. Page 31. — The Milkmaids' Dance. The milkmaids' part in the old London May-Day festivities was lively, and dated back some centuries. A French traveller of the seven- teenth century, writes, referring to London : On the First of May, and the five and six days following, all the pretty young country girls that serve the town with milk, dress themselves up very neatly, and borrow abundance of silver plate, whereof they make a pyramid, which they adorn with ribbons and flowers, and carry upon their heads, instead of their common milk -pails. In this equipage, accompanied by some of their fellow milkmaids and a bagpipe or fiddle, they go from door to door, dancing before the houses of their customers, in the midst of boys and girls that follow them in troops, and everybody gives them something. The Islington milkmaids kept up their May-Day dances to the end of the eighteenth century. At Vauxhall there hung a picture of the " Milkmaids' Dance on May Day," in which two sooty chimney -boys were introduced. Jacks-in-the- Green, usually personated by sweeps, are still seen on May-Day in the London suburbs. The London May-Day is an interesting subject, and it deserves adequate treatment at a time when Maypoles (indoor) are being revived in Bermondsey, Wal- worth, and other gloomy districts. 328 LONDON IN SONG Page 32. — The May Pole in the Strand. These spirited lines are probably by Nicholas Breton, who wrote several pieces under the name of " Pasquil." Page 2,']. — Don Juan in London. Lord Byron left London, never to return, in 1816. He wrote the London passages in Do7iJuan at Genoa in 1823. "Through little boxes framed of bricks, to let the dust in at your ease." — See Robert Lloyd's " The Cit's Country-Box," page 291. " As the party crossed the bridge." — The " bridge " was old Westminster Bridge, built by Charles Labelye, the Swiss, and first opened to the public in 1750. " The lamps of Westminster's more regular gleam." — West- minster Bridge had been lit with gas in 1 8 14, and on Christmas Day of that year the general lighting of London by gas had been inaugurated. " The French were not as yet a lamp-lighting nation." — Nor were the English united in their love of gas. Sir Humphry Davy's scoffing suggestion that the dome of St. Paul's should be used as a gasometer was typical ; and the dwellers in Grosvenor Square haughtily burned oil for twenty years after the rest of London had adopted gas. Page 39. — Ye Flags of Piccadilly. The late Mr. Locker- Lampson's lines on Piccadilly should be mentioned : Piccadilly ! Shops, palaces, bustle, and breeze, The whirring of wheels and the murmui- of trees ; By night or by day, whether noisy or stilly, Whatever my mood is, I love Piccadilly — etc. Page 40, — Fair Pall Mall. John Gay's poem, " Trivia ; or The Art of Walking the Streets of London," from which these lines are taken, was first published in 17 16 by Bernard Lintot. It was printed for that bookseller "at the Cross-Keys between the Temple Gates in Fleet Street " ; and the sign of the cross-keys is emblazoned on the title-page, which bears, also, the motto from Virgil : Quo te Mccri pedes ? An, quo via dticif, in Urbc7ii ? Gay makes the pleasant point in his " Advertisement " that since it will be seen that he walks on foot he may be saved from the envy of the critics. He also acknowledges that he had some help from Swift. Perhaps "Trivia" was a direct attempt to emulate Swift's NOTES 329 poems "Morning in London" (see page 103, and Note), and "A City Shower" (page 281). Be that as it may, "Trivia," as a plain, rhymed description of the London streets a hundred and fifty years ago, is in\'aluable. We need a New Ti-ivia, a revised " Art of Walking the Streets of London." Page 41. — St. JajNies's Street. In the late editions of London Lyrics Mr. Locker- Lampson appended the following Note to these verses : I am told that these lines have disturbed some Americans, but surely without cause. The remark in the seventh stanza is natural in the mouth of a rather exclusive habitui^ of St. James's, who has the mortification to feel that he is no longer young, who is too shallow-minded to appreciate our advances in civilisation during the last forty years, but who is, never- theless, sufficiently keen to see what is possible in the future. My friends know I have a sincere admiration for the American people. Page 44. — A Song of Hyde Park. After the Restoration, Hyde Park became the resort of fashion, and a scene of much display. In 1669, only two years before this song was written, Pepys tells how he and his wife drove in Hyde Park, with their servants in new livery : " The people did look mightily upon us." Page 45. — Rotten Row. Matthew Arnold's lines, in his poem " Summer in Hyde Park," may be c^uoted : Onward we moved, and reach'd the Ride Where gaily flows the human tide. The young, the happy, and the fair. The old, the sad, the worn, were there ; Some vacant, and some musing went, And some in talk and merriment. Nods, smiles, and greetings, and farewells ! And now and then, perhaps there swells A sigh, a tear — but in the throng All changes fast, and hies along. Hies, ah, from whence, what native ground ? And to what goal, what ending, bound ? Page 49. — WiLLY-NiLLY IN Piccadilly. " She clears that gate, which has cleared itself since then, at Hyde Park Corner." The toll gates at Hyde Park Corner were removed in October 1825 ; their appearance may be seen in the picture ascribed, doubtfully, to Dagaty, " View of Hyde Park Corner," in the National Gallery. 330 LONDON IN SONG Page 51. — Kensington Gardens. These are the opening lines in Thomas Tickell's " Kensington Gardens." Dr. Johnson said of this poem that it was " unskilfully compounded of Grecian deities and Gothic fairies." Page 52.- — A Woman of Fashion. These lines are often attributed to Thomas Tickell (as in the Lyra Elcganii- aniin), but it is impossible that Tickell, who died in 1740, should have written of macaronies. The first macaroni balanced his cane about 1770. The lines quoted were found among Sheridan's papers by Tom Moore. Sheridan seems to have known Kensington Gardens well ; he described them again in his prologue to Lady Craven's " The Miniature Picture." The year was young when this comedy was played, hence we read : — What prudent cit dares yet the season trust, Bask in his whisky, and enjoy the dust ? Hous'd in Cheapside, scarce yet the gayer spark' Achieves the Sunday triumph of the Park. Scarce rural Kensington due honour gains. The vulgar verdure of her walk remains. Where white-rob'd Misses amble two by two, Nodding to booted beaux — how do, how do ? With gen'rous questions that no answer wait, How vastly full ! A'n't you come vastly late ? Isn't it quite charming? When do you leave town? A'n't you quite tir'd? Pray, can we set you down? Page 56. — A New Song of the Spring Garden. The garden referred to by Mr. Austin Dobson was opened at Vaux- hall about the year 1661, under the name of the New Spring Garden at Vauxhall, and was afterwards known by the shorter name of Spring Gardens. It must not be confused with the Spring Garden at Charing Cross, the name of which still survives. The New Spring Garden at Vauxhall was leased in 1728 by Mr. Jonathan Tyers, who founded Vauxhall Gardens on the same site. Page 57. — Farmer Colin at Vauxhall. In 1741, the date of this song, Vauxhall Gardens had assumed, under Jonathan Tyers, the character they were to keep for more than half a century. Mr. Warwick Wroth's account of Vauxhall in his work, The Lotidon Pleasure Gardens of the Eighteenth Century, NOTES 331 is interesting and exhaustive. Mr. Austin Dobson has minutely described the appearance of the Gardens when in the height of their fame in his Eighteenth Century Vignettes, first series. " The king there dubs a farmer," etc. — In this stanza Farmer CoHn describes three pictures in the Pavihon, viz. : " The King and Miller of Mansfield," " Sailors Tippling at Wapping," and "A Girl Stealing a Kiss from a Youth Asleep." Page 59. — Vauxhall. These reminiscences of Thomas Hood's apply to the time 1826-30. The "taking Kate Stephens" was engaged for Vauxhall in 1826. Blackmore's feats on the rope may have begun later, for he was making his "terrific ascents" as late as 1837. Page 65. — On St. James's Park, as lately Improved BY His Majesty. The interest of the poem is wider than its title ; the imperial associations of the Abbey and the Parlia- ment being introduced. This royal park took shape under Henry VIII. and James I. ; but Charles II. was the first monarch to lay it out formally. Here he delighted to saunter with his spaniels, and feed the foreign birds collected in Birdcage Walk. He is even said to have been observed swimming in the lake. " They bathe in summer, and in winter slide." — Some of Waller's vaticinations have not been fulfilled ; public bathing and fishing from "gilded barges" have never been among the pleasures of St. James's Park. "Yonder, the harvest of cold months laid up." — An ice- house was one of Charles II.'s innovations. " Here a well-polish'd Mall." Charles was fond of the game of pall-mall, and a new mall, 1424 feet in length, was made, and duly kept up by " the king's cockle-strewer." Page 76. — Phil Porter's P'arewell to Town, when Dying. " Oh what a Tennis Court was there ! " There were many tennis courts in London, and doubtless each had its warm partisans. Page T^. — Mr. Pope's Farewell to London. In 171 5 Pope was beginning his translation of the Iliad (" And Homer — damn him! — calls"). The warm-hearted reference to Gay in the last stanza lends interest to Gay's fanciful poem, "Mr. 332 LONDON IN SONG Pope's Welcome from Greece " (quoted on page 207), when Homer no longer " called." Perhaps Gay never saw Pope's four-line compliment, for, according to Mr. Courthope, his "Farewell" was first printed in 1776. Page 79. — To Mr. MacAdam. "Down from 'The County' to the Palace Gate," i.e. from the "County" Assur- ance Office to the Waterloo Place entrance of the demolished Carlton House. Page 81. — Queen Elinor and the Charing Cross. Peele's lines rest on the tradition that Queen Elinor was buried at Charing Cross. The cross was merely raised to her memory. Page 82. — On the Statue of King Charles I. This statue, the work of Hubert Le Soeur, a sculptor who came to England in 1630, was set up under the supervision of Sir Christopher Wren in 1674. Page 86. — The Downfall of Charing Cross. Charing Cross, Cheapside Cross, and other crosses were ordered by the House of Commons in 1643 to be pulled down. For some reason Charing Cross was allowed to stand until 1647. It was then in a decrepit state. "Tomkins and Chaloner." — These men were hanged in 1643 foi" participation in a royalist plot. Waller, the poet, was implicated, but his life was spared. A lament, similar to this on the fall of Charing Ci'oss, was uttered over the old Golden Cross Tavern, which faced the back of the statue of Charles I. It was a great coaching inn : No more the coaches I shall see Come trundling from the yard, Nor hear the horn blow cheerily By brandy-sipping guard. Oh ! London wont be London long, For 'twill be all pulled down, And I shall sing a funeral song O'er that time-honoured town. These lines have been ascribed to William Maginn. Page 89. — Trafalgar Square. The beautiful passages entitled "Trafalgar Sqitare," "Westminster" (page 183), and "Dawn" (page 190), should be read with their contexts in NOTES 333 Mr. Henley's Lojidoft Voluntaries. The poems in this series must be pronounced the most inspired interpretations of the beauty and significance of London in recent poetry. The Londoi Voluntaries were written in 1892-3 ; but the passages quoted follow Mr. Henley's revised text of 1898. Page 93. — The Farmer in London. This poem first appeared in the Mornijig Post of 21st July 1800, and was unsigned. The poem, which usually bears the title "The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale," was founded on fact, but Miss Fenwick's note upon its origin, quoted by Prof Knight, is not very informing. Page 98. — Holy Thursday. This beautiful poem is in contrast to the verses on London in Blake's Songs of Experi- ence, beginning : I wander through each chartered street, Near where the chartered Thames does flow, A mark in every face I meet, Marks of weariness, marks of woe. In his " prophetical " poem Blake made strange use of London localities. Thus in " Jerusalem " : The fields from Ishngton to Marylebone, To Primrose Hill and Saint John's Wood, Were builded over with pillars of gold ; And there Jerusalem's pillars stood. On this day (Holy Thursday) there is a large gathering of the charity schools at St, Paul's, the beadles of various city parishes being present in their official dress. Page 99. — London Weather. "The bookseller, whose shop's an open square." The " open square " type of book- seller's shop is still seen in London. " How if the festival of Paul be clear." — St. Paul's Day, 25th January, was at one time held to be more critical than even St. Swithin's Day. St. Swithin decided the weather for a few weeks, but on St. Paul's Day prognostications were made for the whole year. The rhyme ran : If St. Paul's be fair and clear It does betide a happy year — etc. " Britain in winter only knows its aid, to guard from chilly 334 LONDON IN SONG show'rs the walking maid." — It was not until many years after the date of " Trivia " that 7nen., led by Jonas Han way, adopted the umbrella. Page 103. — A Description of the Morning. These lines by Jonathan Swift, in common with " A City Shower," have an interesting bearing on John Gay's " Trivia " (see note to "Fair Pall Mall," p. 328). Page 103. — A London Fog. Luttrell describes the London fog as a nuisance. Its beautiful effects are, how- ever, being recognised more and more by poets ; as by Mr. Henley, who writes of its " mellow magic," and by Mrs. Marriott Watson, who, in a little poem called " London in October," exclaims : Thine are our hearts, beloved City of Mist Wrapped in thy veils of opal and amethyst, Set in thy shrine of lapis-lazuli. Dowered with the very language of the sea. Lit with a million gems of living fire — London the goal of many a soul's desire ! Goddess and Sphynx, thou hold'st us safe in thrall Here while the dead leaves fall. " The bill of Michael Angelo," i.e. Michael Angelo Taylor's bill for abating London smoke. Page 108. — The Common Cries of London. Some coarse stanzas are omitted from this ballad, to which it is difficult to put a precise date. John Payne Collier has the following helpful note : The first stanza of the second part shows that the Curtain, Globe, Swan, and Red Bull theatres were then open, but the dates when any of them were permanently closed cannot be stated with certainty ; John Shancke, who is mentioned by name, was a popular actor from 1603 to 1635. . . . The allusion to carrying persons to the play-houses by water is also a curious note of time. There were several old actors of the name of Turner ; and W. Turner may have been upon the stage, and may have composed and sung this production as "a jig" for the amusement of audiences. It was " Printed for F. C. , T. V., and W. G." in 1662, but that was unquestionably not the first impression of it, although we know of no other: the full title runs thus — "The Common Cries of London Town ; Some go up Street, Some go Down, With Turner's Dish of Stuff: or A Gallymauvery. " The tune is the same as "Peg a' Ramsey," mentioned by Shakespeare in Twelfth Night, and is at least as old as 1589. The Cries of London have afforded subjects for many indiffer- ent rhymes. NOTES 335 Page 114. — The Mermaid. The traditions of the Mer- maid Tavern, in Cheapside, used to be set forth with a de- lightful air of certainty, which is no longer considered prudent. Mr. Jacob Henry Burn, in his usually precise Descriptive Catalogue of the London Traders, Taverns, and Coffee-House Tokens Current in the Seventeenth Century, says plumply : Sir Walter Raleigh established a literary club at the Mermaid in 1603, p (^ jv^^ ^ consolidating such a list of names as its members that at this distant ^^'^^ C\cAy^ period excite the liveliest feelings of admiration, reverence, and respect. OaM/' Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Cotton, Carew, Martin, ^ fpftM^ ■■ Doune, Selden, and others — what a galaxy of genius ! that nought has ^^ ' exceeded ! Page 1 1 5. — Verses Placed in the Apollo. The Devil Tavern, the favourite haunt of Ben Jonson, stood in Fleet Street opposite St. Dunstan's Church. Here the wits and poetasters of the age were " sealed of the tribe of Ben." The rules of the Club, Leges Conviviales, drawn in Latin by Jonson, and placed over the chimney, were, it is said, "en- graven in marble." Page 117. — The Coffee-House. This song is from Thomas Jordan's Triumphs of London, 1675, ^.nd is an early and graphic account of coffee-house doings in the time of Charles II. The references to De Ruyter, General Monk, and Lilly the astrologer require no explanation. Booker was a fishing-tackle maker in Tower Street during the reign of Charles I. ; he forsook his tranquil calling to decry King and Popery. Page 119. — The Wits' Coffee-House. From Prior and Montagu's Hind and Pa7ither Tra7isversed to the Story of the Country Mouse and the City Mouse. The lines quoted are interesting as showing the later literary importance of the London coffee-houses. The authors ridicule Dryden's influence at Will's Coffee-House. " The great press," says Macaulay in his History of England, " was to get near the chair where John Dryden sate. ... To bow to the Laureate, and to hear his opinion of Racine's last tragedy, or of Bossu's treatise on epic poetry, was thought a privilege. A pinch from his snuff-box was an honour sufficient to turn the head of a young enthusiast." 336 LONDON IN SONG Page 1 20. — The Farmer's Return from London. Garrick dedicated this "Interlude" to Hogarth. In his Preface he explains that it was written "merely with a view of assisting Mrs. Pritchard at her benefit " ; but its favourable reception, and the fact that Hogarth had made a drawing of " The Farmer and his Family," induced him to publish it. The coronation of George III., and the affair of the Cock Lane Ghost are gently satirised. Hogarth's sketch seizes the moment when his wife exclaims "A Ghost!" In her alarm she is spilling the ale with which she is about to replenish her husband's cup. Page 125. — In the Temple, and The Red Rose and White. Shakespeare could tell of roses in the Temple Gardens ; Mr. Symons has to make the most of " slim trees." But the cjuiet of the old gardens remains to inspire our living poet. Page 126. — HOLBORN. "I saw good strawberries in your garden there." The garden was attached to the town house of the Bishops of Ely. Ely Place — still a private precinct, where the watchman cries the hours by night — occupies the site. Page 127. — Street Companions. " I walk with mighty Verulam." Lord Bacon lived in Gray's Inn, and dated his Essays from his chambers there. " A blind old man with forehead fair," i.e. Milton ; but it may be pointed out that when Milton was " a blind old man with forehead fair" he was more likely to have been met in Aldersgate Street and its neighbourhood than in Fleet Street, where he had lived only as a young man. Page 130. — Clever Tom Clinch. "My honest friend Wild." — Wild, a thief-catcher, and under-keeper of Newgate, who was hanged for receiving stolen goods. (Sir Walter Scott's edition of Swift's IVorl's, vol. xiv. 2 1 2.) Page 131. — A Chamber in Grub Street. In these lines Goldsmith played with the idea of a " heroicomical poem," when he was himself suffering all the woes of Scroggen. NOTES 337 Page 132. — Time Was! " Lisjis the French of Hackney boarding-schools." Hackney was noted for these estabhsh- ments in the eighteenth century. " Harsh guitars." Did the guitar precede the concertina as the musical instrument of Whitechapel ? "And throw by Wtngate for the Ari of Love" i.e. throw by Wingate's Arithmetic for a translation of Ovid's work. " Whether at Arthur's, or the Bowl and Pin," i.e. at Arthur's fashionable club in St. James's Street, or at the humble tavern. " Or play at skittles at St. Giles's pound." The author seems to be inaccurate in referring to St. Giles's pound as existing in 1772, the date of his poem; it had then been removed from its (second) position, the junction of the Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street. See John Thomas Smith's A Book for a Rainy Day (1825 ed.), p. 22. Page 136. — The Midnight Pomp of London's Artil- lery, In these lines, part of a long poem, Richard Nicolls looks back from 1616 to days when, on Midsummer's Eve, the citizen soldiers of London marched with great pomp through the streets under the eyes of royalty and the nobility. Note the fine picture conveyed in the lines : The wanton shine of thy triumphant fires Playing upon the tops of thy tall spires. Page 149. — The Balloon: To Mr. Graham, the Aeronaut. Graham, the aeronaut, made balloon ascents from London in 1825. " The Eagle's left behind," i.e. the " Eagle " tavern in the City Road, formerly a great London landmark. Page 152. — Of Solitude. In his description of social London under Charles II., Macaulay alludes to this poem : " Islington was almost a solitude ; and poets loved to contrast its silence and repose with the din and turmoil of the monster London." {History of England., vol. i. 351). Page 153. — London Renounced. From Dr. Johnson's satire London., written in imitation of the third Satire of Juvenal. The poem was probably suggested to Johnson by the intended departure of Richard Savage to Wales, where his friends proposed to maintain him. Johnson was in his Z 338 LONDON IN SONG twenty-ninth year when he wrote this spirited poem. His later utterances concerning London were very different, and they are perfectly familiar. Page 159. — Sunday in London. '"Tisto the worship of the solemn Horn." — The allusion is to the famous Highgate oath, which was formerly administered to travellers at the Red Lion and other inns in that village. The chief terms of the oath were these : " You must not eat brown bread while you can get white, except you like the brown best ; you must not drink small beer while you can get strong, except you like the small best. You must not kiss the maid while you can kiss the mistress, except you like the maid the best, but sooner than lose a good chance you may kiss them both." LONDON RIVER Page 172, — Thames and Isis. "That was to meet the famous TroynovantP See note to "Hail London !" p. 324. Page 174. — Cooper's Hill. " O could I flow like thee ! " A small volume might be filled with the praises lavished by poets and critics on these four lines. Denham produced no others comparable to them, and even Dr. Johnson, while criticising the passage, allowed that it had not been praised above its merit. Page 175. — Father Thames. "I see a new Whitehall ascend!" In 169S a fire, the fourth which had devastated Whitehall Palace, destroyed nearly the whole of the building except the Banquet-hall. Pope wrote in the belief that the Palace would be rebuilt. Page 182. — On the Report of a Wooden Bridge to BE BUILT AT WESTMINSTER. In 1 738, a year after James Thomson's protest, the construction of the first Westminster Bridge, a solid stone structure, was begun by Charles Labelye. Page 182, — Composed upon Westminster Bridge September 3, 1802. The date included in the title of this great sonnet is declared by Prof. William Knight to be in- NOTES 339 correct. " He [Wordsworth] left London for Dover, on his way to Calais, on the 31st of July 1802. The sonnet was written that morning as he travelled towards Dover. The following record of the journey is preserved in his sister's Journal : July JO. Left London between five and six o'clock of Ihe morning, outside the Dover coach. A beautiful morning. The City, St. faul's, with the river — a multitude of little boats, made a beautiful sight as we crossed IVeslminster Bridge ; the houses not overhung by thin clouds of smoke, and were hung out endlessly ; yet the sun shone so brightly, with such a pure light, that there was something like the purity of one of Nature's own grand spectacles." Page 187. — The Coronation. The Coronation of Anne Boleyn on Whitsun Day, 1533. Page 188. — Somerset House. The present Somerset House has, of course, only a local relation to the building which moved Cowley to verse. That building had been founded and partly built by the Protector Somerset, maternal uncle of Edward VI. Throughout the reigns of that monarch, and of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I., it had a chequered career. There was an idea among the early Quakers of pur- chasing the building for their meetings, but George Fox forbade it, "for I then foresaw the King's coming in again." In November 1660, Queen Henrietta JNIaria, who had occupied the palace during the reign of her unhappy lord, again took up her residence here. Her coming, and the repairs by Inigo Jones which she initiated, are the subject of Cowley's poem. Old Somerset House was a fine castellated structure ; its appearance before Inigo Jones had adapted it to Henrietta Maria's requirements is preserved in a painting at Dulwich College, and is engraved in Wilkinson's Londina Illicstrata. Page 191. — A Spousall. From Prothalnnnon, Spenser's poem in celebration of the marriages of Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine Somerset. Page 194, — Tears to Thamesis. Mr. Alfred Pollard notes, in his edition of Herrick in "The Muse's Library": "The references in this poem seem to refer to Herrick's courtier days, between leaving Cambridge and going to Devonshire." 340 LONDON IN SONG " My beloved Westminster." Herrick was intimate with the organist of Westminster Abbey and his daughters. " Golden Cheapside." Chcapside was the goldsmiths' quarter. Page 195. — The Great Frost. The Great Frost, de- scribed in the ballad, lasted from the beginning of December 1683 to the 5th of February 1684. Evelyn describes the scene on the Thames in his Diary. An engraving after Thomas W'yck, in Wilkinson's Londina Illustrata^ shows the double line of booths and taverns that stretched across the river from Temple Stairs, called " Temple Street." London Bridge fills the distance. Page 196. — The Great Thaw, Although the ice on the river began to break up on 5th February 1684, Evelyn says " it froze again " ; and as late as 4th April he writes in his Diary : " Hardly the least appearance of any spring." Page 199. — Ballade of Cleopatra's Needle. This obelisk was joresented to England by Mehemet Ali in 18 19. Only in 1877 were steps taken for its removal from Alexandria to London. It is 3000 years old, and for 1600 years it stood, with another obelisk, before the Temple of the Sun at Heliopolis. It is said to have been brought to Alexandria by Cleopatra. "Ye giant shades of Ra and Tum." The hieroglyphs on the "needle" show that it was erected by Tothmes III., who is represented as offering gifts to the deities Ra and Atum. Mr. Lang's lines may be associated with Dante Gabriel Rossetti's fine poem, " The Burden of Nineveh " : In our Museum galleries To-day I lingered o'er the prize Dead Greece vouchsafes to living eyes, — Her Art for ever in fresh wise From hour to hour rejoicing mc. Sighing I turned at last to win Once more the London dirt and din ; And as I made the swing-door spin And issued, they were hoisting in A \ving(^d beast from Nineveh. The poet's speculations bring him a vision of: That future of the best or worst When some may question which was first, Of London or of Nineveh. NOTES 341 Page 200. — Song to Celia. " On the sands in Chelsea Fields." According to Norden, Chelsea derives its name from the circumstances that the strand " is like the chesel which the sea casteth up of sand and pebble stones, thereof called Cheselsey, briefly Chelsey, as is Chelsey (now Selsey) in Sussex." Page 202. — Shooting the Bridge. Old London Bridge obstructed the river to such an extent that rapids were formed in its narrow arches. These were always dangerous. It used to be said that " London Bridge was made for wise men to go over, and fools to go under." Page 203. — Farewell to Old London Bridge. Old London Bridge was demolished in 1824 to make way for Rennie's structure. The poet has in no way exaggerated the memories of pomp and gaiety which clung to the older bridge. " On thee the peaceful Pilgrim train." — Many of the Canterbury Pilgrims must have crossed London Bridge to Southwark. "And laurell'd Kings and Conquerors." — Richard IL was magnificently received here in 1392 by the forgiving citizens. Here Henry V., fresh from Agincourt, was met by the Lord Mayor, the bridge being splendidly decorated. "The pomp of tourney and of tilt." — In 1390 Sir David Lindsay of Glenesk challenged Lord Wells, the English ambassador to Scotland, to a joust. This was held on London Bridge, Sir David arriving from Scotland in great state. A modern painting of the scene hangs in the Guildhall. " Thou Moloch of the flood." — The drownings caused by the difficulty of shooting Old London Bridge were a scandal. Thornbury says : "It was rather unfeelingly computed that fifty watermen, bargemen, or seamen, valued at ^20,000, were annually drowned in passing the dangerous bridge." See Note to " Shooting the Bridge," above. Page 205. — A Merry Wherry -Ferry Voyage. The jingles of John Taylor, the water-poet, may have no charm for the critic of poetry, but Taylor was a veritable son of the Thames and lover of London. " No man," says Professor Masson in his Life of John Milton, "knew the town better than he ; and there was not a person of any mark in town or 342 LONDON IN SONG near it, from the King and Privy Councillors down to the Gloucester carrier or the landlord of the inn on Highgate Hill, but had a word for 'The Sculler.' With a fund of rough natural humour, and an acquired knack of writing, he had won his name of ' the water-poet,' and at the same time increased his custom as a boatman, by a series of printed effusions, none of them above a sheet or two in length, and consisting either solely of verse, or of verse and prose intermixed. ... His plan for disposing of these productions seems to have been to hawk them about personally among his patrons and acquaint- ances, or to sell them in parcels to those who retailed ballads and other cheap popular literature." " Or York for My Money." — The voyage was to York, and nearly every knot made is chronicled. Page 207. — Mr. Pope Welcomed to London. "Oh, what a concourse swarms on yonder quay ! " Fourteen stanzas, omitted in this book, are devoted to the names and character- istics of the brilliant throng which the poet supposes to have gathered to welcome Pope back to England and town. These stanzas are fully annotated by Mr. John Underbill in his edition of Gay's Poems in " The Muse's Library." Page 210. — Hogarth's Tour. Thornhill's account of the "tour" {ys\ prose) is preserved in the Print Room of the British Museum. His story was closely versified by the Rev. W. Gostling of Canterbury. Thornhill was Hogarth's brother-in- law ; Tothall was a draper of Tavistock Street, and had been a seaman ; Forrest was an attorney ; and Scott was Samuel Scott the artist, whose pictures of old London and Westminster bridges are in the National Gallery. "And this enabled us by ten at Rochester to drink again." — The lines omitted immediately after these lines number some hundreds, and the effect of this enforced abridgment is to make appear that Hogarth and his party, after breakfasting at Rochester, returned to town. Whereas the tour extended to Stroud, Upnor, Sheppy, and Sheerness. It was at Gravesend, on the return journey, that the travellers called for tobacco and wine. Page 214, — The Jolly Young Waterman. Dibdin's play, The Waterman, or the First of August, in which this NOTES 343 song occurs, was produced at the Haymarket Theatre. Its interest centres in the watermen's race on the Thames for Doggett's badge and coat — a contest which has been held annually since 1722 — and in the love of Tom Tug, the hero, for a gardener's daughter. Page 217. — A Whitebait Dinner. The hotels of Greenwich and Blackwall were famous for their whitebait, and it was the height of fashion to dine there. The ministerial fish dinners and the Lord Mayor's fish dinner lent annual countenance to the custom. " Where Lovegrove's tables," etc. In the Morning Post, loth September 1835, the following report appeared : Yesterday the Cabinet Ministers went down the river in the Ordinnnce barges to Lovegrove's West India Dock Tavern, Blackwall, to partake of their annual fish dinner. Covers were laid for thirty-five gentlemen. LONDON CITY Page 223. — London Praised and Cursed. Dryden's second satire against Shaftesbury, T/ie Mcdal^ derived its title from the cii'cumstance that after Shaftesbury's discharge in 1 68 1 by a packed grand jury his Whig friends struck a medal to celebrate the occasion. The Medal was Dryden's reply to this act ; and his apostrophe to London, of which only a portion is quoted, was the more appropriate because the real medal bore on its reverse side a view of London, with the sun rising above the Tower. Page 224. — A London Prentice. Chaucer's unfinished "Coke's Tale" contains little more than this picture of an idle Cheapside apprentice of the fourteenth century. Other London characters were drawn by Chaucer, notably the host at the Tabard, of whom we read : A large man he was with eyen stepe A fairer burgeys is there noon in Chepe. The " gentle Manciple " of the Temple is sketched to the life in the General Prologue, and there are many slight allusions in the Tales to London life. The following notes are adapted from Professor Skeat's notes to his edition of Chaucer's works : 344 LONDON IN SONG " For whan ther any ryding was in Chepe." — This refers to the jousts and other festivals that were so common in Cheapside. " Al conne he pleye on giterne or ribible." — The ribible was the same instrument as the rebeck. This Hne is opposed to the hne " Al have he no part," etc., and Professor Skeat paraphrases the two thus : " The master pays for the revelling of the apprentice, though he takes no part in such revel ; and con- versely, the apprentice may gain skill in minstrelsy but takes no part in paying for it ; for, in his case, his rioting is con- vertible with theft." "And somtyme lad with revel to Newgate." — Disorderly persons taken to Newgate were preceded by minstrels in order that their disgrace might be pubhshed. Page 2 2 8. — Sir Richard Whittington's Advancement. The mixture of truth and fiction in this famous ballad has been much discussed : but common sense tells us what we may believe and what we should doubt in the story. We may believe that on Highgate Hill Dick heard Bow Bells ringing, and taking new heart came back into London to become Lord Mayor. The ballad has a good deal in common with the Elizabethan ballad, " The Honour of a London 'Prentice," for which space could not be found in this volume. Therein we read : Of a worthy London 'prentice, My purpose is to speak, And tell his brave adventures Done for his country's sake : Seek all the world about. And you shall hardly find A man in valour to exceed A 'prentice gallant mind. He was born in Cheshire, The chief of men was he, From thence brought up to London, A 'prentice for to be. A merchant on the Bridge Did like his service so, That for three years his factor, To Turkey he should go. And in that famous country One year he had not been, Ere he by tilt maintained The honour of his Queen, NOTES 345 Elizfibeth, his Princess, He nobly did make known To be the Phoenix of the world And none but she alone. Page 232 — Pretty Bessee and the London Merchant. This is the first "Fitt" of the old ballad, "The Beggar's Daughter of Bednall Green." In the Whitechapel Road, near Bethnal Green, there is a tavern named " The Blind Beggar." Page 237. — ^London's Seven Images. These quaint lines, quoted by Stow, were inscribed in the porch of the Guildhall, in which the seven statues described in the lines had their place. Stow, writing in 1598, says they were "made some thirty years since by William Elderton, at that time an attorney in the sheriffs' courts." The idea that London possessed seven virtues is old. In a poem describing the welcome of Henry VI. to London, in 143 1, John Lydgate thus exalts London : Of seven thinges I preyse this Citee ; Of trewe menyng, and faithfull obeisauncc, Of rightwysnesse, trouthe, and equytie, Of stabilnesse, ay kept in alegiaunce, And for of vertu, thou hast such suffiraunce In this land here, and othere landes alle. The Kyngcs Chambre, of custom men thee calle. The " King's Chamber" was a title often applied to the City of London. The spirit of the phrase is plain. Shakespeare makes Warwick say : My sovereign, with the loving citizens, — Like to the island, girt in with the ocean, Or modest Dian, circled with her nymphs. Shall rest in London till we come to him. Page 238. — London's Welcoime to Henry V. These stanzas are part of a long poem accompanying" the Harleian MS. of "A Chronicle of London from 1089 to 1483." Sir Nicholas H. Nicholas, editing this manuscript in 1827, wrote: "There can be no doubt of it [the poem] having been a pro- duction of the prolific pen of that ' drivelling monk,' as he has been severely termed, the monk of Bury, John Lydgate." It will be allowed that John Lydgate "drivelled" to some purpose when he told the adventures of a Kent yokel in the London 346 LONDON IN SONG that had nurtured Chaucer (see " London Lycpeny," page 24), and when, as in this piece, he described London's welcome to the " happy few " of Agincourt. Page 244. — The Opening of the New River. These lines are said by Stow to have been spoken during the cere- mony of the 29th of September 161 3, when Sir Hugh Middleton's New River, brought from Amwell in Hertford- shire, was permitted to flow into the reservoir at Clerkenwell. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen attended in state, and Sir Hugh Middleton's workmen paraded. The poet recited his lines, and when the last was uttered, "The flood-gates flew open, the streame ranne gallantly into the cisterne, drummes and trumpets sounding in a triumphall manner, and a brave peale of chambers gave full issue to the intended entertain- ment." The opening of the New River inaugurated London's modern water-supply. Hence one William Garbott was justified in lamenting, in 1750, that the event had not been more worthily sung. Not that he greatly improved matters by rhymes like these : Had I but skill, how sweetly could I play Upon thy pipes. Sir Hugh, a roundelay ! O glorious theme ! equal unto the pen Of Dryden great, or matchless O rare Ben. Page 245. — King James L at St. Paul's. The event which inspired this ballad was this. In 161 9 the condition of Old St. Paul's Cathedral was forlorn. The spire had not been rebuilt since it fell bodily into the building during the great thunderstorm of 14th June 1561. The nave of the patched-up cathedral had become a promenade under the name of Paul's Walk. After many petitions had been made to him King James resolved to visit St. Paul's. He came with his Queen on Sunday, 26th March 1620, and was received by the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Bishops, and the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. A sermon was preached by the Bishop of London. The scene is portrayed in an old painting, engraved in Wilkinson's Londina lUustrata. Both the ballad and the picture contain touches of satire. " Archie came in gold." — Archie was the Court fool. Page 248. — The Great Fire. This calamity began on 2nd September 1666. NOTES 347 " Now day appears, and with the day the King." — Pepys met the King and Duke of York on the river, and accompanied them to Queenhithe, the King giving orders for the stopping of the fire below London Bridge. " The most in fields, like herded beasts, lie down." — Evelyn says : "I went towards Islington and Highgate, where one might have seen 200,000 people of all ranks and degrees, dispers'd and lying along by their heaps of what they could save from the fire. " A city of more precious mould." — The rapidity with which London was rebuilt was remarkable. About ten years after the calamity the poets began putting forth their heroics on the new London. The most ambitious pa^an was "Troja Rediviva : The Glories of London Surveyed," published in 1674. The author thus exclaims on the speed with which London was restored : Nay, what is more miraculous to tell It rose almost as quickly as it fell. When all the town ran to the fields for fear, You'd think they on purpose did go there Bricks for another building to prepare ; 'Twas not for gain their goods they sav'd you'd say, But that the rubbish might be drawn away ; You'd think they had left their former trade, And now all masons were, and bricklayers made ! Page 255. — A Song for the Lord Mayor's Table. From Thomas Jordan's " Pageant," entitled " The Goldsmith's Jubilee, or London's Triumphs," written in honour of Sir Robert Vyner, Lord Mayor, 1674. Page 258. — The Worshipful Drapers. Lines similar to these occur in most of the City Poets' effusions. These lines by Jordan were in honour of Sir Robert Clayton, Lord Mayor in 1679, S-i^d a Worshipful Draper. Page 260. — The Mercers' Company's Song. This song occurs in the " Pageant " addressed by Thomas Jordan — the most prolific of the City Poets — to Sir John Peakes, mercer, who was elected Lord Mayor in 1686. The Virgin Mary was deemed to be the patroness of the Mercers' Company. The 348 LONDON IN SONG heraldic device of a maiden's head is still seen on the Mercers' Hall, in Long Acre, and in other streets where the Company holds property. Page 261. — The Merchant Taylors' Glory. Originally entitled "A Delightful Song of the Four Famous Feasts of England, one of them ordained by King Henry the Seventh, to the honour of Merchant Tailors : showing how seven kings have been free of that Company, and how lastly it was graced with the renowned Henry of Great Britain." The song is preserved in a collection entitled The Crowti Garland of Roses, Gathered onf of Efigland''s Royal Garden, 1692. Page 266. — Hyde Park Camp. Some of the consequences of the Great Plague are described in this ballad, which was entitled " Hide Park Camp, Limned out to the Life, Truly and Unpartially, for the Information and Satisfaction of such as were not Eye Witnesses of the Souldiers sad Sufferings, in that (never-to-be-forgotten) Year of our Lord God, One thousand six hundred sixty -five. Written by a Fellow- Souldier and Sufferer in the said Camp." This ballad is preserved as a broadside in the King's Library at the British Museum. Page 269. — Lord Mayor's Show. J. P., the writer of these lines, was an industrious city jingler at a period long after City Poets were petted. " Row'd by Nelson's Nobs along." — Nelson was the Under Water Bailiff of the day, and his " Nobs " the City watermen. Page 272. — A Good Lord Mayor. In these lines J. P., the City Poet referred to in the last Note, turns his long definition of a good Lord Mayor into a rich compliment to Sir Peter Laurie. Sir Peter was a saddler, and he was said to be the original of Alderman Cute in Charles Dickens' story. The Chivies. "Let the cat kitten in the kitchen grate!" — There is a tradition that this event once happened at the Mansion House under a parsimonious Lord Mayor. "And wink at fishing in unlawful ways." — The author thought the City's rights had been neglected " particularly with respect to whitebait." "And do five hundred, while confin'd for one." — The reference is to the notorious Carlisle. NOTES 349 Page 274. — The Curtain Theatre. This theatre, the second built in London, was erected in Shoreditch about 1576. The name, which still survives in Curtain Road, had a local, not a stage origin. In this theatre, it is believed, King Henry V. was played by the Burbages and Shakespeare in 1599. The late Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps showed that Shakespeare's '■'•This wooden O " referred in all probability to the Curtain Theatre, and not, as has been commonly assumed, to the later Globe Theatre on Bankside. Page 275. — Bartholomew Fair, This annual fair was suppressed as a nuisance in 1855, when it had shrunk to small proportions. Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Bartholomew Fair was regularly a scene of riot and dissipation. Ben Jonson's play, Bartholomew Fair, records its characteristic features in his day. The literature of the festival has been dealt with by Professor Henry Morley in his Memoirs of Bariholomeiu Fair. Page 277. — Sally in Our Alley. Henry Carey, the author of this charming ballad, stated the source of his inspira- tion as follows : The real occasion was this : A shoemaker's 'prentice, making hohday with his sweetheart, treated her with a sight of Bedlam, the puppet-shows, the flying-chairs, and all the elegancies of Moorfields : from whence, proceeding to the Farthing Pie-House, he gave her a collation of buns, cheesecakes, gammon of bacon, stuffed-beef, and bottled ale ; through all which scenes the author dodged them (charmed with the simplicity of their courtship), from whence he drew this little sketch of nature. Page 279. — The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington. Dr. Percy, Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, and others place the Islington of this ballad in Norfolk. But no lover of London will listen to such a proposition. It is true, as the editor of the Roxburghe Ballads points out, that the distance between Islington and the City hardly accounts for the seven years' separation of the lovers. But they may have been watched and thwarted. A cogent argument against the Norfolk Islington theory is that in the maiden's journey up to London there is no mention of nightfall. Page 281. — A City Shower. See note to "Fair Pall Mall " p. 328. 350 LONDON IN SONG Page 283. — A City Calendar. "The pride of Hockley- hole, the surly bull." Hockley in the Hole, a small area to the south-west of Clerkenwell Green, was famous for its bull and bear-baitings. Page 284. — Marketing. "And Squirts read Garth, till apozems grow cold." Squirts was the name of an apothecary's boy in Garth's poetical work, The Dispensary. Page 286. — Summer's Return. Sir William Davenant's " Long Vacation in London " is a lively catalogue of the humours and amusements of the town, but too long, and some- times too coarse, for quotation. Page 287. — The Little Dancers. The late Miss Mathilde Blind wrote some pleasing lines on the subject of the children's street dances in London. Mr. W. B. Yeats has written some verses on the same subject, but his modest belief that these are "immature" has led him to withhold permission for their inclusion in this volume. Page 288. — White Conduit House. This North London tea-garden was at its zenith when these lines were written. Its proprietor, Robert Bartholomew, understood how to cater for the small tradesmen and 'prentices from the City. He provided tea, and milk from the cow ; and cricket was played in an ad- joining field. Oliver Goldsmith was a frequent visitor. White Conduit House remained merry and fairly rural down to 1849. Many other tea-gardens thrived in North London in the eighteenth century. Sadler's Wells still survives in the theatre of that name. In 1740 it was sung : There pleasant streams of Middletoii In gentle murmurs glide along, In which the sporting fishes play To close each wearied summer's day. And Musick's charm in lulling sounds Of mirth and harmony abounds ; While nymphs and swains, with beaux and belles, All praise the joys of Sadler's Wells. Bagnigge Wells, the site of which is marked by an inscrip- tion in Farringdon Road, also enjoyed long popularity. In the old song, "The 'Prentice to his Mistress," these lines occur: NOTES 351 Come prithee make it up, Miss, and be as lovers be ; We'll go to Bagnigge Wells, Miss, and there we'll have some tea. It's there you'll see the ladybirds perched on the stinging nettles, The crystal water-fountain and the copper shining kettles. It's there you'll see the fishes, more cimous they than whales, And they're made of gold and silver, Miss, and wags their little tails. O ! they wags their little tails, they wags their little tails ; O ! they're made of gold and silver. Miss, and they wags their little tails. O dear ! O la 1 O dear ! O la ! O dear ! O la ! how funny ! The eighteenth century tea-gardens and pleasure resorts of London have been exhaustively described by Mr. Warwick Wroth. See Note to "Farmer Colin at Vauxhall," p. 330. Page 290. — On the University Carrier. "Old Hob- son " was Tobias Hobson, and the Bull Inn, his London resting- place, stood in Bishopsgate Within, on the site now occupied by Palmerston Buildings. Hobson is credited with being the first man to let out hackney horses in England, and with being the hero of " Hobson's Choice." Page 295. — The Poet Baffled. Compare this lament on the northward spread of London with Horace Smith's lines on the building over of St. George's Fields, quoted on page 297. " For him [the bookseller] he reads on Privy-garden wall." The Privy Garden, behind Whitehall, covered 3^- acres ; and was enclosed by a wall, on a part of which the ballad-mongers displayed their wares. The poet, doubtless, studied these " to store with images his vacant mind." Page 297. — The Spread of London. St. George's Fields had for centuries been one of London's playgrounds. " O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the windmill in St. George's Fields ? " asks Shallow of Falstaff. In 1795, nearly twenty years before Horace Smith wrote his lines, a stone on the Goldsmith's Arms tavern was inscribed : Here Herbs did grow And Flowers sweet, But now 'tis called Saint George's Street. Page 298. — Rural Felicity. " I shall be at the old Bell and Crown.'''' This fine old tavern, more familiar as " Ridler's Hotel," is now (in September, 1898) being demolished. 352 LONDON IN SONG Page 300. — John Gilpin. The original of John Gilpin, according to Mr. Thomas Wright's Life of Cowper, was a Mr. Beyer, a linendraper, of No. 3 Cheapside. Mr. Beyer died in 1 79 1, aged 98. In the Morning Post, 6th April 1896, Mr. E. V. Lucas showed that the topography of the ballad is weak. For Gilpin came to the Wash before he came to the Bell at Edmonton, which means that he was approaching the Bell from the north, the Wash being a mile further from London than Edmonton. This could only be the case if Gilpin had made an improbable detour ; and, even then, havoc is made of Cowper's suggestion that Gilpin's runaway horse was making for his stable at Ware (where dwelt the calender), Ware being thirteen miles north of Edmonton. Page 312. — The Reverie of Poor Susan. Prof. William Knight says, in his notes to his edition of Wordsworth's Poems : " I think it probable that the poem was written during the short visit which Wordsworth and his sister paid to their brother Richard in London in 1797, when he tried to get his tragedy, The Borderers, brought on the stage. The title of the poem from 1800 to 1805 was 'Poor Susan.'" It was perhaps the sight of the plane tree which still stands at the corner of Wood Street which inspired the lines. INDEX OF AUTHORS "Arley," 216 G., J., 160, 161 Armour, Margaret, 220 Garrick, David, 120 Arnold, Matthew, 54, 69, 70 ^ Gay, John, 40, 99, 139, 207, Ashby-Sterry, J., 310 Beaumont, Francis, 114, 185 Beaumont and Fletcher, 29 Benington, Wilson, 315 Binyon, Laurence, 134, 135, 287 Blake, William, 98 Blunt, Wilfrid Scawen, 165 Bramston, James, 34 Byron, Lord, 36, 37, 159 283, 284 Goldsmith, Oliver, 131 Gostling, W., 210 Henley, William Ernest, 89, 183, 190 Herrick, Robert, 28, 116, 194- Hood, Thomas, 34, 49, 59, 79, 143, 146, 149, 218, 298, 319 Hudson, W. H., 107 Hunt, Leigh, 162 Canning, George, 202 Carey, Henry, 277 Chaucer, Geoffrey, 224 Clough, Arthur Hugh, 39 Cowley, Abraham, 152, 188 Jenner, Charles, 132, 295 Cowper, William, 3, 300 Johnson, Lionel, 9 Image, Selwyn, 12 Davenant, Sir William, 286 Davidson, John, 8, 157 Denham, Sir John, 174 Dibdin, Charles, 214, 215 Dobson, Austin, 21, 56 Drayton, Michael, 179 Dryden, John, 223, 248 Dunbar, William, 4 Johnson, Samuel, 153 Jonson, Ben, 115, 193, 200 Jordan, Thomas, 117, 255, 258 Keats, John, 1 14 Lamb, Charles, 165 Lang, Andrew, 90, 199 2 A 354 LONDON IN SONG Leigh, Henry S., 309, 316 Levy, Amy, 18, 91, 287 Lloyd, Robert, 291 Locker - Lampson, Frederick, 41, 45, 64 Lucas, E. v., 314 Luttrell, Henry, 14, 103 Lydgate, John, 24, 238 Lytton, Lord, 19, 43 Macaulay, Lord, 138 Mackay, Charles, 127, 148 Milton, John, 290 Moore, Thomas, 166 Morris, Captain Charles, 2 i Nashe, Thomas, 102 Nicolls, Richard, 136 Nursery Rhymes, 159, 226 P., J., 203, 269, 272 " Pasquil," 32 Peacock, Thomas Love, 169, 217 Peele, George, 81 Pennell, H. Cholmondeley, 317 Pope, Alexander, 77, 175 Praed, VVinthrop Mackworth, 72 Prior and Montagu, 119 Reynolds, John Hamilton, 88 Rhodes, William Barnes, 126 Rhys, Ernest, 97 Rogers, Samuel, 180 Savage, Richard, 209 Scott, Sir Walter, 186 Shakespeare, 125, 126, 187, 243> 274, 320 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 3 Shenstone, William, 63 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 52 Smith, Ada, 313 Smith, Horace and James, 47, 297 Smith, James, 71, 80 Southey, Thomas, 166 Spenser, Edmund, 172, 191 Stevens, George Alexander, 275 Suckling, Sir John, 83 Swift, Jonathan, 103, 130, 281 Symons, Arthur, 56, 125, 135 Taylor, John, 205 Thomson, James, 177, 182 Thomson, James (Author of 77/6' City of Dreadful Night), 163 Tickell, Thomas, 51, 184, 186 Unknown Authors, 6, 44, 57, 62, 76, 86, 92, 108, 1 10, 160, 195, 196, 201, 223, 226, 228, 232, 237, 244, 245, 260, 261, 266, 279, 285 Waller, Edmund, 65, 82 Watson, Rosamund Marriott, 35, 105 Watson, William, 179 Wordsworth, William, 93, 169, 182, 312 Woty, W., 288 A CKNO WLEDGMENTS It will be seen that many copyright poems are included in this book. For permission to print these — tnost kindly given in every case — / have to return my thanks to the following writers :- — Aliss Margaret Armour. Mr. Selwyn Image. Mr. J, Ashby-Steny. Mr. Lionel JolnisotJ. Mr. Laurence Binyon. Mr. Andreiv Lang. Mr. Wilson Benington. Mr. E. V. Lucas. Mr. Wilfrid S. Blunt. Mr. Ernest Rhys. Mr. John Davidson. Miss Ada Smith. Mr. Austin Dobson. Mr, Arthur Symons. Mr. William Ernest Hcn/ey. Mrs. Rosamund Marriott Watson. Mr. W. H. Hudson. Mr. William Watson. Several poems by Matthew Arnold and Arthur H. Clough are included by kind permission of Messrs, Macmillan j and a poem by James Thomson., the author of " The City of Dreadful Night" is allowed to appear by Messrs. Reeves and Turner. For permission to include several pieces by the late Miss Amy Levy I have to thank Miss Clementina Black and Mr. T Fisher Unwinj and for si7nilar permission in respect of three poems by the late Mr. Frederick Locker-Lampson I am indebted to Mrs. Locker-Lampson., and Messrs. Kegan Patil, Trench, Triibner. The verses by Mr. Cholmondeley Pennell and the late Mr. Henry S. Leigh are kindly permitted by Messrs. Chatto and Windus. For certain poems my thanks are due to the Editor 2,^6 LONDON IN SONG of the Spectator, the Editor of Le Quartier Latin, and to Mr. Wilfrid AleyncH, formerly Editor of Merry England. Among books which I have consulted with profit I cantiot omit to navie Mr. William Ernest Heyiley's anthology, A London Garland, and Mr. Henry B. Wheatley's invaluable London Past and Present. I am grateful., for assistance in prooj-reading., to ?ny friend Mr. Edward Salkeld Burrow ; and to my friend Mr. Edward Verrall Lucas for sotne useful suggestions. It will tiot escape the notice of atty reader that this book owes its outward beauty to Air. William Hyde, whose interpre- tations of the life and streets of London, are recognised as possessing poetic and artistic qualities of a very high order. THE END Prijitcd hy R. & R. Clark", Limited, Edinburgh. A CHILD'S ANTHOLOGY A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN COMPILED BY EDWARD VERRALL LUCAS With Cover, Title Page, and End Paper designed in colours by F. D. Bedford. Thud Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth Gilt. 6s. The Globe. — "Is, we think, the best of its kind — partly because it is so comprehensive and so catholic, partly because it consists so largely of matter not too hackneyed, partly because that matter is so pleasantly arranged. The verse here brought together is full of agreeable variety, it is from many sources, some hitherto not drawn upon ; and it has been grouped in sections with a happy sense of congruity and freshness." GRANT RICHARDS: 9 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C. AN ANTHOLOGY OF ENGLISH VERSE The Flower of the Mind A CHOICE AMONG THE BEST POEMS MADE BY ALICE MEYNELL Crown 8vo. Buckram, 6s. "Partial collections of English Poems, decided by a common subject or bounded by the dates and periods of literary history, are made more than once in every year, and the makers are safe from the reproach of proposing their own personal taste as a guide for the reading of others. But a general Anthology gathered from the whole of English literature — the whole from Chaucer to Wordsworth — by a gatherer intent upon nothing except the Quality of poetry, is a more rare attempt."— K.xf?-act from hitroduction. "A beautiful volume, rendered still more beauti- ful by all the delights of clear type and excellent papers." — Westminster Gazette. " The cream of the cream ot our poetry has been skimmed by Mrs. Meynell . . . Mrs. Meynell's taste is fastidious, but it is also catholic, and the volume is a veritable ' Paradise of dainty de- lights.'" — Literary World. 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By Arabella and Louisa Shore. POEMS BY A. AND L. Crown 8vo, Cloth, 5s. net. By Louisa Shore. HANNIBAL: A Drama in Two Parts. WITH PHOTOGRAVURE PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. Crown 8vo, Cloth, 5 s. net. By Eugene Lee-Hamilton. THE INFERNO OF DANTE TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE. Fcap. 8vo, Half Parchment, 5 s. net. By Maurice Maeterlinck. AGLAYAINE AND SELYSETTE: A Drama in Five Acts. Translated by Alfred Sutro, with an Introduction by J. W. Mackail, and Title-page designed by W. H. Margetson. Globe 8vo, Half Buckram, 2s. 6d. net. GRANT RICHARDS : 9 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C. ^^ eh) THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. r t-^irrr" 2^^.- JflW '>-n Series 9482 3 1205 00232 1915 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY