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 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;