Careful Observers may fortel the Hour

(By sure Prognosticks) when to dread a Shower:

While Rain depends, the pensive Cat gives o'er

Her Frolicks, and pursues her Tail no more.

Returning Home at Night, you'll find the Sink

Strike your offended Sense with double Stink;

If you be wise, then go not far to dine,

You'll spend in Coach-Hire more than save in Wine.

A coming Shower your shooting Corns presage,

Old Aches throb, your hollow Tooth will rage.

Sauntring in Coffee-house is Dulman seen;

He damns the Climate, and complains of Spleen.

Mean while the South rising with dabbled Wings,

A sable Cloud athwart the Welkin flings,

That swill'd more Liquor than it could contain,

And, like a Drunkard, gives it up again.

Brisk Susan whips her Linen from the Rope,

While the first drizz'ling Shower is born aslope:

Such is that sprinkling which some careless Quean

Flirts on you from her Mop, but not so clean:

You fly, invoke the Gods, then turning, stop

To rail; she singing, still whirls on her Mop.

Not yet the Dust had shun'd th'unequal Strife,

But, aided by the Wind, fought still for Life;

And wafted with its Foe, by violent Gust,

'Twas doubtful which was Rain, and which was Dust.

Ah! where must needy Poet seek for Aid,

When Dust and Rain at once his Coat invade;

His only Coat, where Dust confused with Rain,

Roughen the Nap, and leave a mingled Stain.

Now in contiguous Drops the Flood comes down,

Threat'ning with Deluge this Devoted Town:

To Shops in Crowds the daggled Females fly,

Pretend to cheapen Goods, but nothing buy.

The Templer spruce, while every Spout's a-broach,

Stays till 'tis fair, yet seems to call a Coach:

The tuck'd-up Sempstress walks with hasty Strides,

While Streams run down her oil'd Umbrella's Sides.

Here various Kinds, by various Fortunes led,

Commence Acquaintance underneath a Shed,

Triumphant Tories, and desponding Whigs,

Forget their Feuds, and join to save their Wigs:

Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient sits,

While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Roof by Fits,

And ever and anon with frightful Din

The Leather sounds, he trembles from within.

So when Troy Chair-men bore the Wooden Steed,

Pregnant with Greeks, impatient to be freed,

(Those Bully Greeks, who, as the Moderns do,

Instead of paying Chair-men, run them thro')

Laoco'n struck the Outside with his Spear,

And each imprison'd Hero quak'd for Fear.

Now from all Parts the swelling Kennels flow,

And bear their Trophies with them as they go:

Filth of all Hues and Odors seem to tell

What Street they sail'd from, by their Sight and Smell.

They, as each Torrent drives, with rapid Force

From Smithfield, or St. 'Pulchre's shape their Course,

And in huge Confluent join'd at Snow-Hill Ridge,

Fall from the Conduit prone to Holborn-Bridge.

Sweepings from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts and Blood,

Drown'd Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench'd in Mud,

Dead Cats and Turnep-Tops come tumbling down the Flood.