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O Raree-Show, O Pretty-Show: OR, THE CITY FEAST.
ON a Day of great Triumph, when Lord of the City,
Does Swear to be Honest and Just, as he's Witty;
And Rides thro' the Town, that the Rable may Shout-him,
For the wonderful Merits he carries about-him;
B'ing an Honester Man I'll be bold for to say,
Than has sat in the Chair this many a day.
Like the rest of the Fools, from the Skirts of the Town,
I Trotted to Gaze at his Chain and his Gown.
With legs in a Kennel, quite up to the middle
In dirt, with a Stomach as sharp as a Needle,
I stood in the Cold, clinging fast to a Stump,
To see the Wisakers march by in their Pomp.
At last heard a Consort of Trumpets and Drums,
And the Mob crying out, Here he comes, here he comes.
I was carr'd by the Crowd, from the place that I stood-in,
And the Devil to do 〈◊〉〈◊〉 was all of a suddain.
The first that appeard was a grear Tom-a-doodle,
With a Cap like a Bushel, to cover his Noddle,
And a Gown that hung dragling thro' every Puddle;
With a Sword and a Mace, and such Pagentry Pride,
And aboundance of Formal old Fopry beside.
A Troop of grave Elders, O then there came by,
In their Blood-Coloured Robes, of a very deep die,
On Jennets the best that the Town cou'd afford,
As Tame all as Lambs, and as Fine as my Lord,
With very rich Saddles, gay Bridles and Cruppers,
Would ne'er have been made but for such City Troopers.
Like Snails o'er a Cabbage, they all crept along,
Admir'd by their Wives, and Huzza'd by the Throng.
The Companys follow'd, each Man in his Station,
Which ev'ry Fool knows is not worth Observation;
All cloathed in Furrs, in an Ancient Decorum,
Like Bears they advanc'd, with their Bag-pipes before-'em;
With Streamers and Drums; and abundance of Fooling,
Not worth the Repeating, or yet Rediculing:
So I'll bid adieu to the Tun-belly'd Sinners,
And leave them to Trudg thro' the Dirt to their Dinners.
At last I consider'd 'twas very foul play,
That a Poet should Fast on a Festival Day;