A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER. October, 1710. Jonathan Swift Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T39454 Swift, Jonathan, 1667-1745. Miscellanies in PROSE and VERSE [poems only]. London printed for John Morphew, near Stationers Hall 1711 pp. 406-410. [14],416p.; 8⁰.

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A DESCRIPTION OF A CITY SHOWER . October , 1710. Careful Observers may fortel the Hour ( By sure Prognostics ) when to dread a Show'r : While Rain depends , the pensive Cat gives o'er Her Frolicks , and pursues her Tail no more . Returning Home at Night , you'll find the Sink Strike your offended Sense with double stink . If you be wide , then gto not far to Dine , You'll spend in Coach-hire more than save in Wine . A coming Show'r your shooting Corns presage , Old Aches throb , your hollow Tooth will rage . Sauntring in Coffee-house is Dulman seen ; He damns the Climate , and complains of Spleen . MEAN while the South rising with dabbled Wings , A Sable Cloud a-thwart the Welkin flings , That swill'd more Liquor than it could contain , And like a Drunkard gives it up again . Brisk Susan whips her Linen from the Rope , While the first drizzling show'r is born aslope , Such is that Sprinkling which some careless Quean Flirts on you from her Mop , but not so clean . You fly , invoke the Gods ; then turning , stop To rail ; she singing , still whirls on her Mop . Not yet , the Dust had shun'd th' unequal Strife , But aided by the Wind , fought still for Life ; And wafted with its Foe by violent Gust , 'Twas doubtful which was Rain , and which was Dust . Ah ! where must nedy Poet seek for Aid , When Dust and Rain at once his Coat invade ; His only Coat , where Dust confus'd with Rain , Roughen the Nap , and leave a mingled Stain . NOW in contiguous Drops the Flood comes down , Threat'ning with Deluge this Devoted Town . To Shops in Crouds the dagged Females fly , Pretend to cheapen Goods , but nothing buy . The Templer spruce , while ev'ry Spout's a-broach , Stays till 'tis fair , yet seems to call a Coach . The tuck'd-up Sempstress walks with hasty Strides , While Streams run down her oil'd Umbrella's Sides . Here various Kinds by various Fortunes led , Commence Acquaintance underneath a Shed . Triumphant Tories , and desponding Whigs , Forget their Fewds , and join to save their Wigs . Box'd in a Chair the Beau impatient sits , While Spouts run clatt'ring o'er the Roof by Fits ; And ever and anon with frightful Din The Leather sounds , he trembles from within . So when Troy Chair-men bore the Wooden Steed , Pregnant with Greeks , impatient to be freed , ( Those Bully Greeks who , as the Moderns do , Instead of paying Chair-men , run them thro' . ) Laoco'n struck the Outside with his Spear , And each imprison'd Hero quak'd for Fear . NOW from all Parts thw swelling Kennels flow , And bear their Trophies with them as they go : Filth of all Hues and Odours seem to tell What Street they sail'd from , by their Sight and Smell . They , as each Torrent drives , with rapid Force From Smithfield , or St. Pulchre's shape their Course , And in huge Confluent join at Snow-Hill Ridge , Fall from the Conduit prone to Holborn-Bridge . Sweepings from Butchers Stalls , Dung , Guts , and Blood , Drown'd Puppies , stinking Sprats , all drench'd in Mud , Dead Cats and Turnip-Tops come tumbling down the Flood .