I would now make a safe retreat, but that methinks I am stopped by one of your heroic games called foot-ball; which I conceive (under your favour) not very conveniently civil in the streets, especially in such irregular and narrow roads as Crooked-lane. Yet it argues your courage, much like your military pastime of throwing at cocks; but your metal would be much magnified (since you have long allowed those two valiant exercises in the streets) were you to draw your archers from Finsbury, and, during high market, let them shoot at butts in Cheapside. I have now no more to say, but what refers to a few private notes, which I shall give you in a whisper, when we meet in Moorfields, from whence (because the place was meant for public pleasure, and to show the munificence of your city) I shall desire you to banish your laundresses and bleachers, whose acres of old linen make a show like the fields of Carthagena, when the five months’ shifts of the whole fleet are washed and spread.[46] [45] If a disagreement of neighbours were to be inferred from such a circumstance, what but an unfavourable inference would be drawn from our modern style of architecture, as exemplified in Regent-street, where the houses are, as the leopard’s spots are described to be, “no two alike, and every one different.” [46] Sir W. Davenant. * * * * * A FATHER’S HOME. _For the Table Book._ When oppress’d by the world, or fatigu’d with its charms, My weary steps homeward I tread-- ’Tis there, midst the prattlers that fly to my arms, I enjoy purer pleasures instead. Hark! the rap at the door is known as their dad’s, And rushing at once to the lock, Wide open it flies, while the lasses and lads Bid me welcome as chief of the flock. Little _baby_ himself leaves the breast for a gaze Glad to join in th’ general joy, While with outstretched arms and looks of amaze He seizes the new purchas’d toy. Then _Harry_, the next, climbs the knee to engage His father’s attention again; But _Bob_, springing forward almost in a rage, Resolves his own rights to maintain. Oh, ye vot’ries of pleasure and folly’s sad crew, From your midnight carousals depart! Look here for true joys, ever blooming and new, When I press _both_ these boys to my heart. Poor grimalkin purs softly--the tea-kettle sings, Midst glad faces and innocent hearts, Encircling my table as happy as kings, Right merrily playing their parts. And _Bill_ (the sly rogue) takes a lump, when he’s able, Of sugar, so temptingly sweet, And, archly observing, hides under the table The spoil, till he’s ready to eat. While _George_, the big boy, talks of terrible “sums” He perform’d so correctly at school; _Bill_ leeringly tells, with his chin on his thumbs, “He was whipt there for playing the fool!”