Belfast maid's lamentation for the loss of her sweetheart/The Humours of Rosemary Lane

The HUMOURS of ROSEMARY LANE.

YE bloods and ye bucks that rove thro' the city,
Step into Rag-fair, you'll ſee humours pretty,
There's Dolly and Fanny, and amorous Kitty,
⁠Each pleaſant evening a bart'ring their were;
There you'll ſee ſaleſmen & double-band dealers,
The doors are adorn'd with parrots and taylors,
Beer-houſes in plenty to call jolly ſailors,
⁠I mean the Weſt ens, Sir, of Roſemary Lane.

Some Billingſgate faggots their fiſh are a crying,
With ſtrong beer and gin their goblets are plying,
Every corner adorn'd with women a plying,
⁠Breeches for weavers and dreſſers of hair,
Confectioners, chandlers, and pye-ſhops in plenty,
Supplying each perſon with bits that are dainty,
Mouutebank doctors to cure all that are tainty,
⁠That ſmack of the ſweets of Roſemary Lane.

In midſt of the throng, hear old clothes a bauling,
Old hat folks, old ſhoe folks,old wig folks, are calling,
The barkers the paſſengers pulling and hauling,
⁠Do you want clothes, Sir? yes, this is their game;
Meazley pork; rotten bacon, and ſauſages frying,
Stinking beef,veal & mutton, greazy fellows a crying,
The ſcent almoſt Rifles you as you paſs by them,
⁠So delicious the food, Sir, in Roſemary Lane.

Some picking of pockets, and uſurers cheating,
Pawnbrokers and Jews are a filching and ſtealing,
Some whores in their cellars their fates bewailing,
⁠By means of the fire they carry in their tail;
From Wapping, Denmark ſtreet, the Banks of Saltpetre
Each flaſh doth repair to ſcreen from the weather,
Where knave, thief, & whore do all cling together,
⁠Seronading the humours of Roſemary Lane.