'If this you 'scape, twenty to one you meet
Some of the drunken scourers[1] of the street,
Flushed with success of warlike deeds performed,
Of constables subdued, and brothels stormed,
These, if a quarrel or a fray be missed,
Are ill at ease a-nights, and want their rest;
For mischief is a lechery to some,
And serves to make them sleep like laudanum.
Yet heated, as they are, with youth and wine,
If they discern a train of flambeaux shine,
If a great man with his gilt coach appear,
And a strong guard of footboys in the rear,
The rascals sneak and shrink their heads for fear.
Poor me, who use no light to walk about,
Save what the parish, or the skies hang out,
They value not; 'tis worth your while to hear
The scuffle, if that be a scuffle, where
Another gives the blows I only bear;
He bids me stand; of force I must give way,
For 'twere a senseless thing to disobey,
And struggle here, where I'd as good oppose
Myself to Preston[2] and his mastiffs loose.
’Who's there?' he cries, and takes you by the throat;
’Dog! are you dumb? Speak quickly, else my foot
Shall march about your buttocks; whence d'ye come?
From what bulk-ridden strumpet reeking home?
Saving your reverend pimpship, where d'ye ply?
How may one have a job of lechery?'
If you say anything, or hold your peace,
And silently go off, 'tis all a case;
Still he lays on; nay well, if you 'scape so;
Perhaps he'll clap an action on you too
Of battery, nor need he fear to meet
A jury to his turn, shall do him right,
And bring him in large damage for a shoe
Worn out, besides the pains in kicking you.
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