A TRIP to the D— pomell 's Summer-House: OR, A Journey to the WELLS: With the Old Preaching Quaker's, SERMON to the London-Mobb.  

WHen the Spring of the Year had arrived at its Prime;  
When inanimate Bodies had Dressed themselves Fine  
When Nature had put off her Winterly Shroud,  
Took delight in herself, and began to grow Proud;  
When the Lusts of the Flesh, and the heat of the Wether,  
Sends Men into Hospitals, whole Droves together;  
When Satan has so the Poor Females possessed,  
That the Women believe 'tis a Sin to be Chaste;  
When th' Immoderate Season of Summer was come,  
Diseasing Old Men, and Distrcting the Young,  
My Fancy one Morning began to Preamble,  
I found myself rarely disposed for a Ramble;  
I considered for some time which way to Repair,  
And at last I concluded, and Pitched on the Fair;  
That Harbour of Vice for Young Sinners to Steer-in,  
Set apart by the D— pomell for Lying and Swearing.  
In order for Journey I Hurried along,  
As far as St. Gile● in the Fields, whereupon  
I was thinking to shorten my way, and so I crossed  
To an Alley, and there I made shift to be lost;  
I Blundered through- 〈◊〉, but could not tell where,  
But this I can tell through a great deal of Mire,  
As if in the Dirt I would take my Degrees,  
I was first to the Ankles, than up to the Knees:  
Withal such a Poisonous stink did infect-me,  
Add to this my Concern, 'twas enough to destract me:  
But still I continued, and kept on my Course,  
For what need I fear when I could not be worse,  
At last 'twas my Fortune to come to a Lane,  
That brought me direct to the Haven of Sin,   

The First that came by was a Feminine Crowd,  
Indifferent Handsome, but Damnable Proud.  
Great Ladies Attended, and such sort of Creatures,  
Who, like all their Sex, are subdued by their Natures,  
A pack of Inticeing Intemperate Jades,  
Who thinks 'tis a shame to be Twenty and Maids.  
They were Nicely Tucked up, and Bedecked I'll assure-ye,  
Not a Hair on their Heads, but was Framed to allure-ye:  
Perfumed with an Air they designed, I suppose,  
To Trap all the Fools that they met, by the Nose:  
The Scent was so strong, that a Man I'll declare,  
Might have followed the W— s, as the Dog does a Hare,  
They Tripped it with Motion as light as a Feather,  
Their Heads and their Heels went exactly together;  
Not Bending too Forward nor Backwards too much,  
Since either extreme would produce a Reproach.   

Then Followed a sluggish Assembly of Drones,  
A Scurrilous Issue called gentlemen's Sons;  
Who live on the Fat of the Land, and Devour  
Whatsoever is got by the Sweat of the Poor:  
That follows Examples of being profuse,  
And thinks 'tis a Virtue, because 'tis an Use;  
Debauching themselves while their Youth is but Green,  
And Scorns to be Chaste, after Age of Fifteen:  
When grown to be Men they are worse than before,  
Their Sins being hardened, their Crimes are the more,  
They wallow in Wickedness, swim in Excess,  
Drowns the Reason of Man in the Torrent of Vice;  
So given to Dream and to Dote upon Women,  
It makes 'em not only Unchaste, but Inhuman;  
So hot are their Burning Desires so unjust,  
They would Murder a Man to make way for their Lust;  
Defend a wrong Cause to the best of their Power,  
And Martyr themselves for the Name of a Whore.  
Correction to them is like Paint to a Feature,  
'Twill alter the Colour, but never the Nature;  
For though they may seem to approve Reformation.  
'Tis either for Interest, or else for the Fashion:  
They go to the Church to inspect what's a doing,  
To See and be seen, is the end of their going.  
They'll squint at the Parson, and spit at each Sentence  
That does but so much as Conjecture Repentance.  
Thus they spin out the Thread of a Troublesome Life,  
As if they were going to Hell in a strife;  
At Tavern all Day, and to Play House all Night,  
To all sorts of Fairs that can yield 'em Delight;  
Living like Epicurus tell Death proves prevalent,  
And calls 'em to give an Account of their Talon.   

As soon as this Lewd Congregation was past,  
I plucked up my Heels, and I followed Post haste,  
Arrived at the Fair, where the first thing I 'spy'd,  
Was a Hole like a Hogsty that stood on one side;  
I was given to know, by an Implicit Notion,  
'Twas a Temple that Fortune had Built for Devotion.  
The Gaming Proficients was busy as Bees  
A purging the Pockets of Fools by degrees;  
The Sots that was into their Company led,  
Sat laying of Wagers and Scratching their heads:  
Some Wishing for Luck, some Lamenting their Case;  
Some Swearing the D— pomell had Conjoured the Dice:  
Some Winners a Health to Dame Fortune was Drinking,  
And some that had Lost all, was D—ing and Sinking.   

I left 'em designing to pass further on.  
And as I was making my way through the Throng;  
Sir, says one here's an Ape that will please you I'm certain,  
He Dances so rarely, so nice, so diverting;  
That all that has seen him his Praises redoubles,  
He's the common Discourse of the Mob and the Nobles.  
He Cuts you a Caper three Foot from the Ground,  
And Dances expertly the whole Cheshire round.  
I stood all the while like a Man that admired,  
And seemed to be taken with what I had hear  
But troth I could hardly from Laughing es●ap  
To hear how the Monkey commended the Ape:  
However to plessure the Coxcomb I entered,  
And into Kennel my Carcase I ventured:  
Where a noise Society Crowded the Room,  
Be●●s, Bl●● heads and all came to see a Babo  
I Glutted my Eyes with a narrow Inspection,  
And out again went to behold a Transaction,  
Befallen in the Rabble. The sum of which Saint  
Is here in its order inserted before ye.   

A Reverend Quaker that had been out of Tow,  
And came through the Fair in his Journey towards Home.  
In a Sanctifved posture he sat on his Steed,  
And looked like the Picture of Ven'rable Bede:  
His Hat was so broad it would keep I'll maintain,  
Not only his Head but his Horse from the Rain.  
The days of Years had so enfeebled his strength,  
His Beard and his Neckcloth was both of a length.  
No more was he moved at the Tumult and Noise,  
Then a Statue of Stone, at the shouting of Boys.  
He came to a Place which the Mob did Protect,  
And made all the Passengers show 'em Respect;  
They called to the Quaker to pull of his Hat,  
In Token of Love to the Queen and the State.  
Not he (Absolutely) he sat like a Man  
That was going to Die, or like one in a Dream;  
The Vulgar begun by the Garments to shake him,  
And swore by the L— d if he would not they'd make him.  
The Hubbub created a great deal of Laughter,  
But still he remained like a Sheep for the Slaughter;  
His Horse seemed concerned at the Fatal Disaster,  
As if he had borrowed his Looks from his Master:  
So Serious a Frame was his Countenance set in;  
I'm apt to believe he was Foaled at the Meeting.  
But to turn to the Story, the Mob grew so Rude,  
So jumbled my Friend in the midst of the Crowd;  
Continuing still to deny their Desire,  
They tumbled both him and the Colt in the Mire;  
I wonder that People should be so uncivil,  
They made him as Dirty and Black as the D— l.  
His Horse was as bad, as I hope to be Blest,  
One could hardly distinguish the Man from the Beast;  
Then Rises the Quaker, Inspired with a Rapture,  
And throws at his Foes a whole Mouthful of Scripture.  
Oh when shall the Wicked their Punishment find,  
And when shall their Wickedness come to an end.  
He spoke much of who should the Kingdom inherit,  
'Twas thought the Old Rogue was possessed with a Spirit.  
He railed against Churchmen, but highly extolled,  
His Friends whom he there called the sheep of his Fold:  
He placed them in Heaven, and yet could not spare,  
One Inch of the Place for the Goats in the Fair.  
But seeing his Gospel found no Acceptation,  
He gins with his Horse to remove from that station.  
Creps out of the Crowd from the midst of his Foes,  
Then presently shakes off the Dust from his Shoes.  
This, says he, is to Witness your being absurd,  
Your Stoning the Prophet, and Scorning the Word.  
It Vexed me to see an Old Loggerhead Dote,  
He'd more need have shaken the Dirt off his Coat,  
●…ft him and came where a Man and his Bride,  
●…th Lazarus' Poorness, and Lucisers' Pride,  
●…s going along with strong Eiquor well loaded,  
〈◊〉 Huffing, the Tumult because they were Crowded.  
●…r had they go far till they met in their way,  
●ouple as Proud and as Ragged as they:  
●riving for th' Wall with a bend Resolution,  
●…re hap 〈◊〉 amongst 'em a horrid Confusion.  
Women a void of good manners as Riches,  
place themselves under the Title of Bitch's,  
the Men who was Drunk, and as Dirty as Hogs,  
be even with their Wives called one another Dogs.   

Oh what a Noise and a Rout was between 'em,  
A Man at Death's Door would have Laughed to've seen 'em.  
They scolded and talk of the Law and Enditing,  
The Bitch's Barked on, but the Dogs went to Fight;  
And they Answered the Name of a Dog in the close.  
For the Weapons they used was their Teeth and their Paws.  
As soon as the Women had wearied their Tongues,  
Then Blows were Elected to reconcile Wrongs;  
They called themselves Bitch's and such sort of Brats,  
But truly they Fought like a couple of Cats;  
For never such scratching did Mortal behold,  
No Tigers more fiercer, nor Dragon more bold;  
However at last they began to Dissent,  
But seemed to be rather Fatigued than Content.   

I entered the Village, and came to a Room,  
That was all in a Sweat with a smoky Perfume,  
Where Robin and Easter was always Embracing;  
For my part I thought they would ne'er have done Kissing  
He hung by her Neck his dear Darling he Vowed her,  
There he slavered and sucked like a Calf, at ad Udder  
When the Women with had gluttered the Fools,  
They all fell a Roaring like so many Bulls,  
Here bieng us some Meat, or we'll tarry no longer;  
What a Plague we are ready to Famish with Hunger:  
'Tis ready ere this, or some Witchcraft is in it;  
The Drawer replies Sirs 'twill come in a minute:  
Then each draws a Cutlash twelve Inches at least,  
A Weapon more fit for a Fight than a Feast;  
And up comes poor Jack in a moment of time,  
And brought a whole dishful of Pork for the Swine,  
'Twas scarcely well placed on the Table with Care,  
But every Man was Contending for share:  
Confound you, says one, ye Great Cur you'll provoke me,  
Will you never have done with your Cutting, Plague Choak●ye?  
You be Hanged, says the other, What is there not Room?  
So then the Complainer gins to fall on,  
With a decent Deportment as Man could well wish,  
One Hand at the Mouth, and th' other at Dish;  
They grumbled as long as there was aught to share on,  
Like my Lord-Mayors Dogs o'er a Morsel of Carrion.  
Here's one was a Bawling,  taken my Piece,  
Another was up to the Knuckles in Grease:  
A third had but just Cut a bit of the Lean,  
The rest was all go; what a Pox did they mean?  
With Chawing and Talking, Foaming and Frothing,  
They gave me a Dinner, and yet I Eat nothing:  
But this was the heft, when they'd swallowed their Food;  
They snuffed up their Noses, and than 'twas not good.  
No, Rot it, says one it was troublesome tough;  
Another cries out that it was not enough;  
However they ceased to reflect in that sort,  
and sent for a Fiddler to make 'em some sport;  
●hen presently up came a poor ragged Fellow,  
Who reckoned himself to be Son of Atollo;  
He struck up his Notes like a courageous Man,  
So now was the time that Diversion began:  
The first of this Country Breed that came on,  
In order for Dancing was Roger and Joan  
The latter of which I must needs Paraphrase  
A little upon her, by way of her Praise.  
Kind Nature so nicely the Artist had played,  
The Hair of her Eyebrows, and that of her Head,  
Had drawn up their growths to so little a distance,  
As if they were mindful to scrape an Acquaintance:  
Her Nostrils I found was not troubled with stopping,  
A jucy Elixir was always a dropping;  
Her Mouth always open, as if it was willing  
To be a Galley-pot for her Nose to distil in:  
Her Tongue was so short, one could scarcely distinguish,  
By her Speech, what she was, when her Grecian or English  
Her Chin was in length about four Inches long,  
I suppose to supply the defects of her Tongue;  
Her Breasts was as white as the Sole of my Shoe.  
Without all Dispute she was cleanly below;  
Her Visage was large, and her Stature was tall;  
And yet notwithstanding her Waste was so small,  
To speak the plain Truth; 'tis below me to Flout her,  
A string of three yards would a go ' twice about her:  
However this Beauty was brought to the Floor,  
In order to Dance as I toll ye before:  
And had Heraclitus been living and there,  
I am 〈…〉 could not Laughing forbear,  
She took not the Dancing-School method, not she,  
To Skip, and to Frisk, and to bend with the Knee.  
Oh she was more steadfast, she hated to shame,  
Her Skipping and Motions was one and the same;  
She minded not how the Musician did strike,  
Change Notes, or change Tunes, she was always a like.  
The Fiddler struck up the Conclusion, but Joan  
Had not done with her dance, though he'd done with his tune  
Her Skill was so good (one would scarcely believe it)  
She danced full as well without Music as with it;  
Till quite fatiguated with Skipping about,  
They paid the poor Scraper, and bid him turn out.  
So when they began to be seemingly dull,  
And silent like Hogs, when their Bellies are full:  
But Silence made way for another Discourse;  
The Substance of which I will briesly rehearse.   

Two Critical Sophisters fat at a Table;  
Directly opposing this rustical Rabble:  
Whose Aspects (and Habits so much out of Fashion)  
Bespoke 'em the Converts of Calvin's Persuasion:  
They were mighty Devout, at the Government railing,  
That here was a Fault in't, and there was a Failing.  
Reflecting on Heroes promoted to Honour,  
And lashing Eccles●● after this manner.  
The Church is a going to swallow down popery  
T've Bells at her Altars, and such sort of Fop'ry,  
Here's Good-Friday's, Birth-Days, and such things kept holy,  
At first introduced by a Heathenish Folly,  
Here's Oxford and Cambridge are National Sluices,  
Let's into Divinity Popish Abuses.  
In Churches they Pictures and Images raise,  
There was none of th●se do in oliver's Days.   

Then up starts a Ploughman as Bold as a Lion,  
And stretches his Throat in Defence of our Zion,  
Says he You're a couple of pittisul Fellows,  
And deserves not so Noble a Death as the Gallows.  
You're Sons of Ingratitude, Children of Spleen.  
You ●●●●…ure our Churches, you rail at my Queen.  
You banter the Nation?— Ad Rat ye come out.  
I'll make you to swallow these Words down your Throat,  
Bath you and your Sect are the Governments Lees,  
You'd Ruin the Realm for a Two Penny Piece.  
Discontent has been ever your Father's Corruption,  
So th' Venom remains in the Sons by Adoption:  
Who still are Subjected to Envious Railing,  
And as for Old Oliver, be was a Villain;  
For all he Usurped such a Petulant Power.  
I say the Old Knave was a Son of W—  
The Rogues in those Days did a Brewer Exalt.  
He fit for a Monarch!— He fit to Drain Malt!  
A delicate Fellow to bear such Command,  
He fit for a Sceptre!— He fit to be Hanged!  
A Tyrant, and all that Assisted to Raise him,  
Were Traitors, and your are no better that Praise him.  
Pray who was it brought the Distress on this Nation;  
Who made the Attempt on that Royal Invasion?  
Who banished the Issue, and Murdered the Father?  
'Twas him and the Pope and the Devil together.   

Then, says the Dissenter, I wish you'd be easy.  
I'm sorry that what I have said should displease ye,  
But as for my Branding the Church with Delusion,  
I tell you again 'tis a Mass of Confusion.  
Ill show you Verbatim, where it is Faulty,  
The dangerous Errors whereof it is Guilty.  
Your Bowing to th' Altar, is rank Superstition,  
A Cantinuation of Popish Tradition.  
Your Crosses in Baptism, God Father binding  
Is all insignificant, not worth your minding.  
The Organs instead of Devotion advancing,  
Sarves only to set People's Humours a Dancing.  
The Surplice Corrupts the poor Maids at their Hearts,  
It makes them to think upon Men in their Shirts.  
And as for the Converts your blessed Prayers makes,  
The best of your Church are a parcel of Rakes.  
As I hope to be saved they are so Profane,  
So given to swear, by my Soul 'tis a Shame.   

Well, this is a Man, says the Ploughman, worth hearing,  
He swears a great Oath we are given to Swearing:  
But now you have ended, I hope, as 'tis fitting,  
You'll cease till I draw ye a Draught of the Meeting.  
I scorn to reflect, or reproach you with Lies;  
I'll only repeat what I saw with my Eyes  
For being in London, that Harbour of Vermin,  
One Sunday I went in quest of a Sermon.  
Designing the Church for my Refuge that Day,  
But dropped in a Puritans Cell by the way,  
Where a canting Concourse of irreverent Sinners,  
Were sitting without either Motion or Manners.  
Here one in a Corner was placed very close,  
A pulling his Hat o'er his Eyes and his Nose;  
Another lewd Hypocrite seated apart,  
With a Saint in his Looks, and a Satan in's Heart.  
By and by came a Man with a Cloak on his Back,  
A Book in his Hand, and a Band round his Neck,  
Went creeping along like a poor helpless Creature●,  
Arrested by all the Diseases in Nature.  
He Hops to the Pulpit as fast as he could,  
And scarce had he got to that Hovel of Wood,  
Before Master Clericus cleared up his Throat,  
And presently set 'em a Psalm to Chant out.  
They all fell a Singing some Treble some Base,  
As if they were Humming of Old Chivy-Chafe.  
Their Concording Voices so Harmonious were,  
'Twas enough to have Ravished a Hedgehog I'll swear.  
As soon as the Choristers made a Conclussion,  
The Preacher starts up with a Calvin's Commission.  
He wrinkled his Forehead, ●e leaned on his Book,  
And showed us how much like an Ass he could look.  
Transforming his Aspect with I deots Frenzies,  
As if God Almighty was Pleasured with Whimsies ',  
As if the Eternal Creator of Man,  
Took Pleasure in seing Men alter his Frame:  
He seemed to make Apish Behaviour a Rule,  
He appeared in his Prayer so much of a Fool;  
So much of a Mimic, (to speak without Jeering.  
He'd make a rare Barth'lomew-Fair Pickle-Herridge▪  
His Prologue was tedious, and yet the I—,  
Concluded invoking without Paternoster.  
Being past one good Duty he went to the next,  
(Having Grumbled a Prayer) to Grope out a Text.  
In the Fourth of Malachi, the first of those Verses,  
And there a long Cat'logue of Judgement Rehearses,  
Fr●m the Words and their Meaning, he took an Occasion  
To Preach to his Auditor's Death and Damnation's  
He began the Inevitable Doom to Denounce,  
And sent a whole Heap to the Devil at once.  
The Hypocrite Men with a fair out side shell,  
He bid 'em go take up their Lodging in Hell.  
The next that he threw into Lucifer's Scopes,  
Was a Bundle of Whores, and a Mouthful of Popes.  
I laughed in myself till it tickled my sides,  
To see the Old Women a shaking their Heads.  
To see the Old Sinners Confusedly stand,  
When the Preacher avoucht that the Whores would be Damned,  
The Heart of the Prophet was so set in ire,  
His Lips spoke of nothing but Brimstone and Fire:  
I turned myself round and began to march out,  
For I never loved Doctrine so Sulphcrous hot.  
Well, says the Dissenter, I take no Regard,  
You may certainly one Day expect your Reward;  
I leave it to him that can Censure you best,  
 railed at the Prophet and People of Christ.  
Upbraiding the Church with the Name of a Cell,  
And speaking those things that become re not well.  
Yet this I will say in Defience of our Church,  
It is not your Steeple, it is not your Porch,  
That makes yours a Temple, nor looking so comely,  
A Church is a Church, though 'tis never so homely.  
And then to Attest it, and thou his self Learned,  
He fetches Quotations from Austin and Bernard.  
Then on went the Ploughman as fierce as Achilles,  
And Buffets him out of Sententia Plurillis,  
(Poor Ploughman) his Brains, by the Heat of the Wether,  
Were apt to make Latin and Nonsense together.  
To the Fathers for Proof he would willingly fly,  
But Grammarian Wings could not bear him so high.  
The other Battalion for motion prepares,  
Yet give him sharp words as he went down the Stairs.  
The Ploughman could hardly from Fight desist,  
He would needs make his Arguments good with his Fist;  
By many persuasions the Blows were Diverted,  
The Clamour Concluded, the Company Parted.   

Having seen all this Tumult, I called to the Drawer,  
To give me a faithful Account of my Score:  
He told me, and when I had paid him his due,  
I left the House (just as I found it) a Stew,  
I ventured my Carcase once more in the Crowd,  
And was horridly squeezed with a Reprobate Brood  
Of Soldiers, whose Motto, it 'tis not mistaken,  
Is Semper Eadem, the Servants of Satan.  
I durst not look up at the Andrews and Blockheads,  
My Eyes was to busily fixed on my Pockets.  
Yet heard 'em Bawl unto the People that Sinning,  
Deluding and Cheating was just a beginning;  
There was Whore to be le● Cheap enough in all reason,  
A Man ●ight have hired 'em for Six pence a dozen;  
Or have bought for a Noble a Score on a heap,  
The Bitch's might well be accounted Dog cheap.   

When I got from the Mob, it began to grow dark,  
So I came with all speed to St. James' Park;  
Being Hungry (and hasty to get a Remedy)  
I walked till I over took a Beau and his Lady.  
Excuse me, and take it to be no Abruption,  
If here I present you his Beauships' Description.  
He looked at a distance a terrible Hero,  
I took high 〈…〉 first 〈…〉 Country 〈◊〉 Crow;  
And when I came nigh I protest he was like one,  
His Wig was so monstrous, I vow it would fright one  
It was made like a Swaddling Cloth for a Horse,  
Not only to cover his Neck but his Arse;  
It reached from his Head very nigh to his Garter;  
'Twas a good handsome Load for an ordinary Porter:  
The Powder on his Garment was harboured so thick,  
That if it should Rain, 'twould make Dough on his Back.  
He plucked up his Pedestals quick as a Rappet,  
And struted along like a Barth'lomew Poppet.  
His Delight was to Dance, you might tell by his tread  
That he carried more Wit in his Heels than his Head.  
His Stature was large, yet his Sword was so short,  
He resolves when he Fights he'll do no Body hurt:  
I perceived by the Hilt 'twas not prone to Abuse;  
For 'twas Rusty,— a sign 'twas seldom in use.  
His Legs was as thick (if I censure not wtong)  
As a Constable's Staff, and almost quite as long.  
His Tongue never ceased, for his Humours is such,  
He thinks he talks well, if he does but talk much.  
Still Chawing of something to Sweeten his Breath;  
And always a Grinning and showing his Teeth,  
With such sort of Freazies, which served to explain  
That the Coxcomb was more of a Monkey than Man.  
A fine Painted Snuff-Box his Idol was made;  
Deprive him of that, you'd as good take his Head.  
'Tis Snuff, he supposes, his Briskness maintains,  
Some thinks that it causes Defects in the Veins;  
And I'm of Opinion it eat up his Brains.   
FINIS.