On this occasion was published an octavo pamphlet, entitled, "_The Rake's Progress, or the Humours of Drury Lane_, a Poem in eight Cantos, in Hudibrastic verse; being the Rambles of a modern Oxonian: which is a complete Key to the eight Prints lately published by the celebrated Mr. Hogarth. Printed for John Chetwood, and sold at Inigo Jones' Head, against Exeter Change, Strand, 1735." This is a most contemptible and indecent performance. In some of the copies are inserted eight prints; but they are only the designs of Hogarth mutilated, and perhaps were originally engraved for the decoration of some other work. There is reason to believe that the artist once intended to have introduced the ceremony of a marriage contract, instead of the levee, as an unfinished painting of the scene is still preserved. In this sketch he appears to have thought of taking the same ground with Mr. Pope: "What brought Sir Visto's ill-got wealth to waste? Some demon whisper'd, 'Visto, have a taste.'" For our Rake is there turned connoisseur; and among a number of articles which prove him a man of _virtu_, is a canvas containing the representation of a human foot.[96] In the year 1745 the eight pictures were sold by auction, at Mr. Hogarth's in Leicester Fields, and produced twenty-two guineas each; total, one hundred and eighty-four pounds, sixteen shillings. They are now, I believe, in the possession of Mr. Beckford of Fonthill, in Wiltshire. SOUTHWARK FAIR. "The crowded scene will please us then, And the busy hum of men; The Thespian throng, and champions bold, Their jubilee of triumph hold: With store of wenches, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of hat or shirt,--while all contend To catch her glance whom all commend. Come, Sport, that wrinkled Care derides; And Laughter, holding both his sides; And puppet-show, and quaint device, And Troy in flames, and rattling dice: And Comedy, with wreathed smiles; And Music, that dull care beguiles; Here let the droning bagpipe be, And there the cheerful fiddle see. Nor be our joys to earth confin'd,-- But, light as air, swift as the wind, Let Cadman cut the liquid sky, And on the rope Violante fly. Our trumpet's loud clangour Excites not to arms; No shrill notes of anger, No horrid alarms, The double, double, double beat Of the thundering drum, Tells--the actors are come; Let us follow, nor think of retreat. I'll to the well-trod stage anon, If Settle's[97] 'cumber'd sock be on; Or heavy Howard,[98] Folly's child, In native nonsense soareth wild. These joys if Southwark Fair can give, In Southwark Fair a week I'll live." [Illustration: SOUTHWARK FAIR.]