HE Towns of Seftus and Abidus stood
As near to one another as they cou'd;
For spightefull Hellefpont still 'tween them ran,
Of whose outragiousness you'l hear anon:
Yet that they ftill communicated, note,
By floating Bridge, now call'd a Ferry-boat,
Which if this Year lay on Abidus's fide,
The next to Seftian Dock was to be ty'd:
For Senates fage of both Towns cou'd agree
By turns, to be the Masters of the Sea:
But always when Abidus had the Boat,
The State, and It, had but the fame Pylot;
A fhrewd old Swabber with a Neck atight,
And evermore inclined to the right;
His fellow Burgers fage remark, and cause
Why he was chosen fisher of the Laws
Befides the fcituation of his Ears
They faw was such, no trayt'rous Whisperers
Could easily approach them, one was still
Prickt up to Heaven to receive her Will,
T'other did Earthward lop, good Man, with pain
To hear the needy, and opprefs'd complain.
But when you know his Education, you'l
Allow the Man in all points fit to rule.
He was brought up to danger, and to rapin,
Dabbled i'th'fea, and with a line, and a pin,
Which the young Urchin cunningly would crook,
With fly, or worm disguise it then, and rook
The Ocean of her fish; for e're a Swabber,
He was a Sprat-catcher, or good Eele-bobber.
Alcides, when a whuleing pifs-abed,
By Poets (if you'l truft 'em) hath been fed
Over a thumping Adder to prevail;
This little Rogue cou'd hold an Eele by th'tail:
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And when with strength his art increas'd, was able
Soon well to steer a Skiff, and grasp a Cable,
Cou'd Tack about, shift Sails, wheadle the Wind,
And make it come before him, or behind:
Knew where the Rocks did lie, & fneaking Shelves,
And places where bold Men might drown themselves;
Kenn'd Storms far off, knew whether they had more
A mind to come to Sea, or stay afhore:
But to be short, and plain, he knew as well
The Sea, as Beggar doth his Dish, cou'd tell
What the least Cockle did in's Shell, and guess
How many Arms length where 'twas bottomlefs;
Such was the Man for fway, you'l think him now
Worthy, as Roman newly ta'ne from Plow:
Yet know his Praises I have not begun,
Fine Gentleman Leander was his Son,
With whose most gen'rous inclination he
To's coft (few Fathers doe fo) did agree,
And bound him, Prentice to a worthy Barber,
The best, not such another in the Harbour.
He was fo handy, nimble, tight, so neat
In's Perfon, and his Implements compleat:
His Towels, like his Skin, were white and fine,
Nought but his Face his Bafon could out-fhine:
So pickt, so washt his Combes of Ivory,
Unless his Teeth their whiteness nought came nigh;
With others that were made of Horn, or Box,
He often wou'd compare his golden Locks;
With whom (if none had too much Beard) he'd play,
And innocently sport out half the Day;
But when you did fit down, with fuch a grace
Handled your Throat, your Ears, your Nofe, your Face. Tickled where others pain; Maids who did eye him Wish'd themselves Satyrs to be trimmed by him:
He'd dive into the Channels of your Brain,
And with a feat dexterity make plain
The Paffage, though before 'twas nere fo rough,
Yet with less pain to you, than taking Snuff;
For he wore Nails as long as Bill of Bittern,
For what? to scrape Teeth, and to play on Cittern;
Nay, he had all good qualities; cou'd tye
A Cuff-ftring, or Crevat fo jantyly:
With all, had Confcience, and for copper Spanker
Would make Sea-faring Beard look like an Anchor. For mettle, and agility, with which
Writers are bound their Heroes to inrich;
I must confefs I can't fay much, but know
For certain he could crindge, and bow full low.
For throwing of the Bar he never car'd,
Cudgels, not wrestling, that I ever heard,
Or any brutish Sports, which make Men wrangle;
On Holy-days he went alone to angle;
Lov'd fwimming well, and fwam like any Duck,
But where most Skill there ever is least Luck;
And Arts, like Women, after a long wooing,
Oft fhame our Industry, and prove undoing.
Now towe me, Mufe! o'er to the other fide,
Where most egregious Hero did abide;
You, facred Dame! I mean, who once did steer
The profp'rous Praise of great Magnanos dear;
If you have any time, help me afhore
With Heros commendation, and though poor,
I am, in Socket trimm'd with Bayes, I fwear,
I'll tall Rushcandle to thy Glory rear;
Which likewise may as Pharo ferve to light
Your groaping Orators, when it is night,
Throughout Parnaffus; come 'tis as folks fay,
Who'd have his business done, must bribe, not pray.
What do you pause at now? I know as Muse
To fcorn good wages was your fimple use;
With me hang not an Arfe: Hero then was
A bonny, buxom, bounfing Seftian Lass,
Of all the Grecian Girls the very Flower,
Liv'd at the Townsend at the Sign of Tower,
With her own Mother, a largehearted Woman,
Whose House to merry Greeks was alway common;
A comely Widow, and had long been fo;
The oldeft in the Town did never know
The Father of fine Hero; whence Difputes,
That fome Sea-god, difguis'd in Fishing-boots,
Did catch her on the Shore, & there did strand her,
And fo contriv'd a Mistress for Leander.
But whether fo, or no, or how it was,
She grew too great for Mortal to embrace,
And haughtily did ftave off many proffers,
Refolv'd to keep the Keys of her own Coffers,
And scorn'd to be with any a Yokefellow,
Or to admit Competitor of Pillow:
But kept the Empire of her Bed to cough,
Snore, belch, break wind, and no one shou'd
So howf'ere Love and Lover did contrive it,
The cunning willful Widow did not wive it,
Unless she practis'd fecret Matrimony,
For Licence but for Wine she had not any.
But what of that? I warrant fhe was wife
Enough to keep her felf from Church Excife.
Was Hero not, in fpight of all the Clerg'in
Seftus, and what they all cou'd do, a Virgin?
And to her Mother was but young, yet cou'd
Some fay as much as fhe, nay much more did
Within-doors, and long of her complaifance
It was, her mothers liquor had good utterance.
For she was still in motion, now i'th'Garret,
And strait down in the Cellar drawing Claret;
Hafty as Lightning she wou'd shoot the Stairs,
If no one did oppose her unawares;
Wou'd bolt into the Room like startled Cunny,
But still dropt at the Door due Ceremony;
Then mumpt out, Gentlemen, what do you
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When ftrait she's anfwer'd with a bob, or fmack:
But fome one rising, in her Ear doth tell her,
She answers him aloud, the best i'th'Cellar:
He follows down, and broaches where he will,
But with a gentle caution, not to spill.
She made, and unmade beds most nimblely,
Not like her Dammes, hers was a flim-belly:
And now and then, with her sweet Company
Cou'd fatisfy gay Gueft for lodging high;
His rageing Bowels Supper should not miss,
For the cou'd stay a Stomack with a Kifs:
At coming in and out cou'd complement
The Guests, and give 'um marvellous content.
For truly fhe well-fpoken Damfel was,
Like fav'rite Advocate brought all to pass,
And not as foolish Maids with Nature nice,
But boldly us'd her own good qualities
Not only for her felf, but other foke,
Cou'd break mad ranting Girls to th'marriage-yoke.
To bashful, or dumb Lovers she was common,
And publick mouth, or as we fay Spokes-woman:
In other terms a Maidenhead-enfurer,
A Wife, or as it were a Wife-procurer:
For in old Grecian Writ it manifeft is,
Hero had Orders, and was Venus Priestess.
At once she drew, and answer'd Lovers pleas,
"Tween them she made, and carry'd meffages,
Hagler of chere entier, and did fupply,
For modest Gain, human Neceffity;
But needy Folks for nothing wou'd relieve,
And ftill of her own store was free to give.
She was, I vow and fwear, as good a Creature
As ever wore bright Symptome of good Nature,
Loves Cobweb, or his Net, or golden Fleece,
As Poets fay, who can choose Mistresses,
And they their meanest Heroe will not bed,
With any thing whofe Hair is not Fox-red.
Her Brows foft Fur was of a paler Dye,
Conformable to that which prettily
Peep'd on her Upper Lip, and cowardly
Made fhew of Heroine Virility,
Day in her large Cow-Eyes was broad awake,
No heavy fleepy Morn' there feem'd to break.
Sir Phæbus, given as you know, to flatter
With his own Luftre did her Face befpatter:
Her Lips-but ftay, was not Pigmalion won
With a senseless Description of his own?
Let it fuffice then all who are concern'd,
That in her Face 'twas openly difcern'd
How near she was to Venus in her place;
And by her Stature feen her heavenly Race:
For the not only ftreight, but tall as Maft;
Beauty's whole World, in all Perfection vaft.
Yearly at Seftus Town for Venus fake,
Mother of Wakes, was kept a jolly Wake:
But Greeks fay 'twas a cuftomary howling
For her Adonis, or Annual Condoling.
Their Goddeffes and Countries active Drudge,
Who keenly carry'd on their mortal Grudge
Against a certain Outlaw, who i'th' Woods
Reign'd Lord, and King, and liv'd on true mens Goods:
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