A poem by Alexander Pope (1688-1744) , the greatest English poet of “Augustan” or Georgian period
I.
In ev’ry Town, where Thamis rolls his Tyde,
A narrow pass there is, with Houses low;
Where ever and anon, the Stream is ey’d,
And many a Boat soft sliding to and fro.
There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller Squall:
How can ye, Mothers, vex your Children so?
Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall,
And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
II.
And on the broken pavement, here and there,
Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie;
A brandy and tobacco shop is near,
And hens, and dogs, and hogs are feeding by;
And here a sailor’s jacket hangs to dry.
At ev’ry door are sun-burnt matrons seen,
Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry;
Now singing shrill, and scolding eft between;
Scolds answer foul-mouth’d scolds; bad neighbourhood I ween.
III.
The snappish cur, (the passengers’ annoy)
Close at my heel with yelping treble flies;
The whimp’ring girl, and hoarser-screaming boy,
Join to the yelping treble shrilling cries;
The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise,
And her full pipes those shrilling cries confound;
To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
And curs, girls, boys, and scolds, in the deep bass are drown’d.
IV.
Hard by a Sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
Baskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch,
Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:
There learn’d she speech from tongues that never cease.
Slander beside her, like a Mag-pie, chatters,
With Envy, (spitting Cat) dread foe to peace;
Like a curs’d Cur, Malice before her clatters,
And vexing ev’ry wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.
V.
Her dugs were mark’d by ev’ry Collier’s hand,
Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall:
She scratch’d, bit, and spar’d ne lace ne band,
And bitch and rogue her answer was to all;
Nay, e’en the parts of shame by name would call:
Yea, when she passed by or lane or nook,
Would greet the man who turn’d him to the Wall,
And by his hand obscene the porter took,
Nor ever did askance like modest Virgin look.
VI.
Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town,
Woolwich and Wapping smelling strong of pitch;
Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
And Twick’nam such, which fairer scenes enrich,
Grots, statues, urns, and Johnston’s Dog and Bitch,
Ne village is without, on either side,
All up the silver Thames, or all adown;
Ne Richmond’s self, from whose tall front are ey’d
Vales, spires, meandring streams, and Windsor’s tow’ry pride.
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External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Омар Хайям – Чистый дух, заключенный в нечистый сосуд
- Омар Хайям – Чем пустыми мечтами себя донимать
- Омар Хайям – Чем ниже человек душой, тем выше задирает нос
- Омар Хайям – Чье сердце не горит любовью страстной к милой
- Омар Хайям – Часть людей обольщается жизнью земной
- Омар Хайям – Бытует мнение, что счастье это дар
- Омар Хайям – Был бы я благочестьем прославиться рад
- Омар Хайям – Будут гурии, мед и вино
- Омар Хайям – Будь хмельным и влюбленным всегда
- Омар Хайям – Будь все добро мое кирпич один, в кружало
- Омар Хайям – Будь мягче к людям
- Омар Хайям – Будь камнем твердым я
- Омар Хайям – Бросать не стоит в будущее взгляд
- Омар Хайям – Бокала полного веселый вид мне люб
- Омар Хайям – Бог есть, и всё есть Бог
- Омар Хайям – Благородство страданием, друг, рождено
- Омар Хайям – Благородные люди, друг друга любя
- Омар Хайям – Безгрешными приходим и грешим
- Омар Хайям – Без меня собираясь в застолье хмельном
- Омар Хайям – Ад и рай
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Alexander Pope (1688 – 1744) was a a post-Restoration English poet and satirist. He is a poet of the (British) Augustan period and one of its greatest artistic exponents.