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| THROUGH winter streets to steer your course aright, | |
| How to walk clean by day and safe by night; | |
| How jostling crowds with prudence to decline, | |
| When to assert the wall and when resign, | |
| I sing: thou, Trivia, goddess, aid my song, | 5 |
| Through spacious streets conduct thy bard along; | |
| By thee transported, I securely stray | |
| Where winding alleys lead the doubtful way; | |
| The silent court and opening square explore, | |
| And long perplexing lanes untrod before. | 10 |
| To pave thy realm, and smooth the broken ways, | |
| Earth from her womb a flinty tribute pays: | |
| For thee the sturdy pavior thumps the ground, | |
| Whilst every stroke his laboring lungs resound; | |
| For thee the scavenger bids kennels glide | 15 |
| Within their bounds, and heaps of dirt subside. | |
| My youthful bosom burns with thirst of fame, | |
| From the great theme to build a glorious name; | |
| To tread in paths to ancient bards unknown, | |
| And bind my temples with a civic crown: | 20 |
| But more my country’s love demands my lays; | |
| My country’s be the profit, mine the praise! | |
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| When the black youth at chosen stands rejoice, | |
| And “Clean your shoes!” resounds from every voice; | |
| When late their miry sides stage-coaches show, | 25 |
| And their stiff horses through the town move slow; | |
| When all the Mall in leafy ruin lies, | |
| And damsels first renew their oyster-cries,— | |
| Then let the prudent walker shoes provide, | |
| Not of the Spanish or Morocco hide: | 30 |
| The wooden heel may raise the dancer’s bound, | |
| And with the scalloped top his step be crowned; | |
| Let firm, well-hammered soles protect thy feet | |
| Through freezing snows and rains and soaking sleet. | |
| Should the big last extend the shoe too wide, | 35 |
| Each stone will wrench the unwary step aside; | |
| The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein, | |
| Thy cracking joint unhinge or ankle sprain; | |
| And, when too short the modish shoes are worn, | |
| You ’ll judge the seasons by your shooting corn. | 40 |
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| Nor should it prove thy less important care, | |
| To choose a proper coat for winter’s wear. | |
| Now in thy trunk thy D’Oily habit fold, | |
| The silken drugget ill can fence the cold; | |
| The frieze’s spongy nap is soaked with rain, | 45 |
| And showers soon drench the camblet’s cockled grain; | |
| True Witney broadcloth, with its shag unshorn, | |
| Unpierced is in the lasting tempest worn: | |
| Be this the horseman’s fence, for who would wear | |
| Amid the town the spoils of Russia’s bear? | 50 |
| Within the roquelaure’s clasp thy hands are pent, | |
| Hands that, stretched forth, invading harms prevent. | |
| Let the looped bavaroy the fop embrace, | |
| Or his deep cloak bespattered o’er with lace. | |
| That garment best the winter’s rage defends, | 55 |
| Whose ample form without one plait depends; | |
| By various names in various counties known, | |
| Yet held in all the true surtout alone; | |
| Be thine of kersey firm, though small the cost, | |
| Then brave unwet the rain, unchilled the frost. | 60 |
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| If the strong cane support thy walking hand, | |
| Chairmen no longer shall the wall command; | |
| Even sturdy carmen shall thy nod obey, | |
| And rattling coaches stop to make thee way: | |
| This shall direct thy cautious tread aright, | 65 |
| Though not one glaring lamp enliven night. | |
| Let beaux their canes, with amber tipt, produce; | |
| Be theirs for empty show, but thine for use. | |
| In gilded chariots while they loll at ease, | |
| And lazily insure a life’s disease; | 70 |
| While softer chairs the tawdry load convey | |
| To court, to White’s, assemblies, or the play,— | |
| Rosy-complexioned Health thy steps attends, | |
| And exercise thy lasting youth defends. | |
| Imprudent men Heaven’s choicest gifts profane; | 75 |
| Thus some beneath their arm support the cane; | |
| The dirty point oft checks the careless pace, | |
| And miry spots the clean cravat disgrace. | |
| O, may I never such misfortune meet! | |
| May no such vicious walkers crowd the street! | 80 |
| May Providence o’ershade me with her wings, | |
| While the bold Muse experienced danger sings! * * * * * | |
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