Brings out from pouch, where squalid farthings rest. And boldly claims his ballad with the best. An old Dame only lingers. To her purse The penny sticks. At length, with harmless curse, "Give me," she cries. "I'll paste it on my wall, While the wall lasts, to show what ills befal Fond hearts seduced from Innocency's way; How Maidens fall, and Mariners betray." [Footnote 8: Seven Dials.] V. TO DAVID COOK, _Of the Parish of Saint Margaret's, Westminster, Watchman_ For much good-natured verse received from thee, A loving verse take in return from me. "Good morrow to my masters," is your cry; And to our David "twice as good," say I. Not Peter's monitor, shrill chanticleer, Crows the approach of dawn in notes more clear, Or tells the hours more faithfully. While night Fills half the world with shadows of affright, You with your lantern, partner of your round, Traverse the paths of Margaret's hallow'd bound. The tales of ghosts which old wives' ears drink up, The drunkard reeling home from tavern cup, Nor prowling robber, your firm soul appal; Arm'd with thy faithful staff thou slight'st them all. But if the market gard'ner chance to pass, Bringing to town his fruit, or early grass, The gentle salesman you with candour greet, And with reit'rated "good mornings" meet. Announcing your approach by formal bell, Of nightly weather you the changes tell; Whether the Moon shines, or her head doth steep In rain-portending clouds. When mortals sleep In downy rest, you brave the snows and sleet Of winter; and in alley, or in street, Relieve your midnight progress with a verse. What though fastidious Phoebus frown averse On your didactic strain--indulgent Night With caution hath seal'd up both ears of Spite, And critics sleep while you in staves do sound The praise of long-dead Saints, whose Days abound In wintry months; but Crispen chief proclaim: Who stirs not at that Prince of Coblers' name? Profuse in loyalty some couplets shine, And wish long days to all the Brunswick line! To youths and virgins they chaste lessons read; Teach wives and husbands how their lives to lead; Maids to be cleanly, footmen free from vice; How death at last all ranks doth equalise; And, in conclusion, pray good years befal, With store of wealth, your "worthy masters all." For this and other tokens of good will, On boxing day may store of shillings fill Your Christmas purse; no householder give less, When at each door your blameless suit you press: And what you wish to us (it is but reason)