EPSOM-WELLS: A Satyr by way of Dialogue, between Critick and Fame.

I.

Crit.

FAME, that dost o'er the Universe scatter
Satyrs and Libels, and Politicks tell
Say who's in the Country drinking the Water;
And first begin with Epsom Well. 

II.

Crit.

Who is that Lad there puffing and sweating?
And who those Rake hells that buz in his Ears?

Fame.

'Tis the mad Lord that loves the Bul-baiting,
With all his Brethren Dogs and Bears.

III.

Crit.

Who are those two lank Tallow fac'd Doxies,
That look as just they from sweating did crawl?

Fame.

Two London Whores would wash off their Poxes,
Dreading their Dooms when Leaves do fall.

IV.

Cr.

What City Wife's there on the Downs rowling,
Who with young Bully to Box-Hill repairs,

Fa.

One, who whilst Husband loses at Bowling,
Takes the right way to get him Heirs.

V.

Cr.

But amongst all these, prithee dear Rumour
What Iack i'th' Box is that with Coach & four?

Fa.

A Pox upon him, 'tis a Perfumer,
That makes a stink all Fleet-street o'er.

VI.

Cr.

What Lady bright comes yonder a Tuning,
To whom the Wits and the Wittals so throng?

Fa.

One that for all the Rooks is too cunning,
And Plays and Sings all Summer long.

VII.

Cr.

What bonny Blade sits there above fifty,
Chewing the Cud amongst Elmor's Calves?

Fa.

'Tis an old Bachelor, that to be thrifty,
Purchases Land by fulls and halfs.

VIII.

Cr.

The Vicar here loves Wine above Water,
Chearing his Heart against wofuller Times;

Fa.

Then coaks the Justice, and kiss his Daughter,
There no more subject left for Rhime.