(with Fear and Trembling) the Combs of their De­votion, which I very much feared yielded more Wax than Honey; and meeting in our way with a down-right Honest sort of a Fellow, I ask’d him what he call’d that Street? He told me Penitent Street. I ask’d him further, if he knew any peculiar Reason why it was so Christen’d? Who answer’d me very roughly, Because it was Built, he supposed, for a parcel of deep Sinners to Live in, and they call’d it by that Name, to put in mind of Repentance. Who does this Meeting belong to? said I. A Wicked Congregation, says the Fel­low. Prithee, said I, who is their Teacher? The De­vil, says he; I mean, said I, who is it that Prea­ches, or Holds forth here? Oh, ho, says my Respondent, now I over-stand ye; why they call him Ca-sa-sa-ca-laman­ca Doctor, I think, says he, or by such a kind of a hard Name, which I can’t remember, tho’ I have seen him and heard him often; but, as for my part, he does so Whine when he Speaks, that I had as live hear a Capon Crow, as hear him Preach,; and as for his Face, on my Conscience, I think he has a Chin to’t as long as the Handle of my Pick-Ax. Honest Friend, said I, I thank ye, we’ll trouble you no farther, for I know the Man well enough by your Description, good by to you. Nay, said I to my Com­panion, since my Old Acquaintance, the Doctor, has fallen luckily in my way, according to my Old Custom, I must give him a Taste of my Kindness.

Gods People sure are once again run Mad, To chuse so Vile a Soul to be their Teacher; No Nation such a Saviour ever had, Or Christian Congregation such a Preacher.
His Doctrine sure can be no more than Farce, What Fools can follow such a Vile Instructer? A Perjur’d V— who Adores an Ass; Which since he does, mine A—s upon the Doctor.

THE
London-Spy.
PART XIV

Reflections on St. Catharines Ale-Houses, and the Tars that frequent them. A Seaman that had Spent his Money Reprehended by an Hostess. The Wheadles of the Wapping Hostess to Gull the Sea-Calves. A Des­cription of a famous Musick-House in Wapping. Reflections on the Danes Church. Rag-Fair Descr­ibed. Remarks upon a Coffee-House in Goodmans-Fields: With a Poem in Praise of Punch. Reflections upon Lotteries in General, and on that at Mercers-Chappel in Particular. With some Verses on Lotteries.

THE merry Christmas Carnival being now come on, when the good Housewife makes her Husband Eat his Dinner upon a Tren­cher, to preserve her New Scower’d Plates in their Shining Beauty, and Pinch’d the Guts of her Servants for the proceeding Week, that her Windows might be splendidly Adorn’d with Superstitious Greens, and that her Mine’d-Pies and Plumb Porridge might be Ri­cher than her Neighbours: We Rambled from the Reverend Doctors Boarded Theatre, who being lately disgusted at the Ingratitude of his Audience, Divested ’em of their Cushion, and Pulpit-Cloth, which he before had Presented them with, and had also left ’em as Lost-Sheep, to run headlong to Destruction without a Guide.

Being