A Chamber in the Dark-House at Billingsgate, and its Furniture Described. Of Billingsgate Market. Of Custom-House-Key, with the Character of a Land-waiter, and a Merchants Man. Pig-Hill describ’d. The Monument Survey’d. Observations upon the London-Quest. Wise-Acres-Hall, alias Gresham-Colledge, Described. The Character of a Peripatetick. Of a Member of the Royal Society. A Description of Bedlam. Remarks upon the Royal-Exchange, and the Costermongers at the Entrance. On the Merchants in their several Walks. Of a Graecian that sells Amber Necklaces. Honour and Glory, his Original. Of a Deformed Man, with a handsome Wife. Of the Lord Mayors Court, and the Office of Intelligence. A Description of the Exchange above Stairs; with Chaucers Character of a Sempstress.
WHen we had cool’d the Fever of our Brains with a plentiful Dose of that reviving Cordial, Sleep; and our wakeful Faculties having shaken off Morpheus’s Leaden Plummets from our drowsie Eye-lids (after a few Slug-a-Bed Yawnes and Lazy Stretches) we found, by the advancement of the Day, it was high time to make our Resurrection. Accordingly, with mutual resolutions, we started from Sluggards Paradice, the Bed; and collected our scatter’d Garments in order for Equipping.When
When with abundance of Rubbing, Scrubbing, Washing and Combing, we had made our selves tolerable Figures to appear by Day light, we descended from our Snoaring-Kennel, so finely Perfum’d by the fusty Jackets of their Tarpaulin Guests, that it smelt as Odoriferously grateful, as a Suffolk-Cheese toasting over a Flaming Pitch-barrel. It’s walls being adorn’d with as many unsavory Finger-dabs as an Inns of Court Bog-house. The Ceiling Beautified, like a Soldiers Garrot, or a Counter Chamber, with Smutty Names and Bawdy Shadows, Sketch’d by unskilful hands with Candle-flame and Charcole. The Bed, ’tis true, was Feathers, but most of them large enough to make Pens or Tooth-Pickers. An Earthen Chamber-Pot as big as a three Gallon Steyn, Glaz’d o’er with Green, and looks as fine as any Temple Mug or Country Pudding-Pan.
Having turn’d our Back-sides upon these CubicularCubicular: belonging to the bedchamber. Conveniencies, we crept, being Cold, to a new kindled smoaky Fire, where we fortified our Appetites against the Contagious Breaths of Funking Carmen, with a Penny-worth of burnt Bread soften’d in a Mug of Porters Guzzle, improv’d with a slice of Cheshire. This we gobbled up (being hasty to be gone) with as much Expedition as a Citizens Wife does an Islington Cheesecake, when Treated by her Husband. Then satisfied our Tun-bellied Hostess, and left the Infernal Mansion to the sinful Sons of Darkness, there to practice their Iniquities.
We now turn’d down to the Thames-side, where the frightful roaring of the Bridge Water-falls so astonish’d my Eyes, and terrified my Ears, that, like Roger in his Mill, or the Inhabitants near the Cataracts of Nile, I could hear no Voice softer than a Speaking Trumpet, or the audible Organ of a Scolding Fish-Woman. After I had feasted my Intellects with the surprizing Novelty, we turn’d towards Billingsgate;where