That all in vain we sought to find it,
And, for his comfort, say, "Ne'er mind it ;"
For to Sheerness we now must go :

"No."

To this the ferryman says,
We to another man repair'd:
He too says,
"No-it blows too hard."
But, while we study how to get there,

In spite of this tempestuous weather,

Our landlady a scheme propos'd,
With which we fortunately clos'd,

Was to the shore to go,

and try To hail the ships in ordinary,

So we might get, for no great matter,
A boat to take us o'er the water.

We haste, and soon the shore we tread,
With various kinds of shells bespread,
And in a little time we spy'd
A boat approaching on our side;
The man to take us in agreed,
But that was difficult indeed,
Till, holding in each hand an oar,
He made a sort of bridge to shore,
O'er which on hands and knees we crawl,
And so get safe on board the yawl.

In little time we seated were,
And now to Shepey's coast draw near;
When suddenly, with loud report,
The cannons roar from ships and fort,
And, like tall fellows, we impute
To our approach this grand salute:
But soon, alas! our pride was humbled,
And from this fancy'd height we tumbled,
On recollecting that the day
The nine and twentieth was of May.

The firing had not long been ended,
Before at Sheerness we were landed,
Where on the battery while we walk,
And of the charming prospect talk,
Scott from us in a hurry runs,
And, getting to the new-fir'd guns,
Unto their touch-holes clapp'd his nose;
Hogarth sits down, and trims his toes;
These whims, when we had made our sport,
Our turn we finish round the fort,
And are at one for Queenborough going:
Bleak was the walk, the wind fierce blowing,
And driving o'er our heads the spray;
On loose beach stones, our pebbly way,

But Thornhill only got a fall,
Which hurt him little, if at all:

So merrily along we go,

And reach that famous town by two.
Queenborough consists of one short street,

Broad, and well-pav'd, and very neat ;
Nothing like dirt offends the eye,
Scarce any people could we spy:
The town-house, for the better show,

Is mounted on a portico

Of piers and arches, number four,

And crown'd at top with a clock tower;
But all this did not reach so high
As a flag-staff, that stood just by,
On which a standard huge was flying
(The borough's arms, the king's supplying)

Which on high festivals they display
To do the honours of the day.
As for salutes, excus'd they are,
Because they have no cannon there.

To the church-yard we first repair,
And hunt for choice inscriptions there.
Search stones and rails, till almost weary all,
In hopes to find something material.
When one at last, of pyebald style

(Though grave the subject) made us smile: Telling us first, in humble prose,

"That Henry Knight doth here repose,

A Greenland Trader twice twelve

As master and as harpooner:" Then, in as humble verse, we read (As by himself in person said)

year,

"InGreenland I whales,sea-horse, and bears did slay,
Though now my body is intombed in clay."
The house at which we were to quarter
Is call'd The Swans; this rais'd our laughter,
Because the sign is The Red Lion,
"Fie on !"

So strange a blunder we cry
But, going in, all neat we see
And clean; so was our landlady:
With great civility she told us,
She had not beds enough to hold us,
But a good neighbour had just by,
Where some of us perhaps might lie.
She sends to ask. The merry dame
Away to us directly came,
Quite ready our desires to grant,
And furnish us with what we want.

Back to the church again we go,
Which is but small, ill built, and low,
View'd the inside, but still we see
Nothing of curiosity,

Unless we suffer the grave-digger
In this our work to make a figure,
Whom just beside us now we have,
Employ'd in opening of a grave.

A prating spark indeed he was,
Knew all the scandal of the place,
And often rested from his labours,
To give the history of his neighbours;
Told who was who, and what was what,
Till on him we bestow'd a pot.
(For he forgot not, you may think,
"Masters, I hope you'll make me drink!")
At this his scurrilous tongue run faster,
Till"a sad dog" he call'd his master,
Told us the worshipful the Mayor
Was but a custom-house officer,
Still rattling on till we departed,

Not only with his tales diverted,
But so much wisdom we had got,
We treated him with t'other pot.

Return we now to the town-hall,
That, like the borough, is but small,
Under its portico's a space,
Which you may call the market-place,
Just big enough to hold the stocks,
And one, if not two, butchers' blocks,
Emblems of plenty and excess,

Though you can no where meet with less :

For though 'tis call'd a market-town (As they are not asham'd to own) Yet we saw neither butcher's meat, Nor fish, nor fowl, nor aught to eat.

Once in seven years, they say, there's plenty,
When strangers come to represent ye.

Hard at The Swans had been our fare,
But that some Harwich men were there,
Who lately had some lobsters taken,
With which, and eke some eggs and bacon,
Our bellies we design to fill;

But first will clamber up the hill,
A most delightful spot of ground,
O'erlooking all the country round;
On which there formerly has been
The palace of Philippa, queen
To the third Edward, as they tell,
Now nought remains on't but a well:
But 'tis from hence, says common fame,
The borough gets its royal name.

Two sailors at this well we meet,
And do each other kindly greet:
"What brings you here, my lads ?" cry we.
"Thirst, please your honours, as you see;
For (adds the spokesman) we are here
Waiting for our young officer,
A midshipman on board The Rose,
(For General S's son he goes)
We and our messmates, six in all,
Yesterday brought him in our yawl,
And when, as we had been commanded,
Quite safe and dry we had him landed,
By running of her fast aground
At tide of ebb, he quickly found
That he might go and see Sheerness,
So here he left us pennyless,

To feast on Queenborough air and water,
Or starve, to him 'tis no great matter;
While he among his friends at ease is,
And will return just when he pleases;
Perhaps he may come back to-day;
If not, he knows that we must stay."
So one of us gave him a tester,

When both cried out, "God bless you, master!"
Then ran to rouse their sleeping fellows,
To share their fortune at the alehouse.
Hence to the creek-side, one and all,

We go to see The Rose's yawl,
And found her bedded in the mud,
Immovable till tide of flood.

The sailors here had cockles got,
Which gratefully to us they brought,
'Twas all with which they could regale us;
This t' other sixpence sent to th' alehouse:
So merrily they went their way,
And we were no less pleas'd than they.

At seven about the town we walk,
And with some pretty damsels talk,
Beautiful nymphs indeed, I ween,
Who came to see, and to be seen.
Then to our Swans returning, there
We borrow'd a great wooden chair,
And plac'd it in the open street,
Where, in much state, did Hogarth sit

To draw the townhouse, church, and steeple, Surrounded by a crowd of people;

Tag, rag, and bobtail, stood quite thick there,
And cry'd, "What a sweet pretty picture!"
This was not finish'd long before
We saw, about the Mayor's fore-door,
Our honest sailors in a throng:
We call'd one of them from among
The rest, to tell us the occasion;
Of which he gave us this relation:
"Our midshipman is just come back,'
And chanc'd to meet or overtake
A sailor walking with a woman
(May be she's honest, may be common):
He thought her handsome, so his honour
Would needs be very sweet upon her:
But this the seaman would not suf-
-fer, and this put him in a huff.
'Lubber, avast,' says sturdy John,
'Avast, I say, let her alone;

You shall not board her, she's my wife.
Sheer off, Sir, if you love your life:
I've a great mind your back to lick ;'
And up he held his oaken stick.

"Our midship hero this did scare:
I'll swear the peace before the Mayor,"
Says he, so to the Mayor's they trudge :
How such a case by such a judge
Determin'd was I cannot say,

We thought it not worth while to stay:

For it strikes nine, "How th' evening spends! "Come, let us drink to all our friends

A chearful glass, and eat a bit."

So to our supper down we sit,
When something merry check'd our mirth:
The Harwich men had got a birth
Closely adjoining to our room,

And were to spend their evening come:
The wall was thin, and they so near,
That all they say, or sing, we hear.
We sung our songs, we crack'd our jokes,
Their emulation this provokes;
And they perform'd so joyously,
As distanc'd hollow all our glee;
So (were it not a bull) I'd say,
This night they fairly won the day.
Now plenteously we drink of flip,
In hopes we shall the better sleep;
Some rest the long day's work requires;
Scott to his lodging first retires;
His landlady is waiting for him,
And to his chamber walks before him;
In her fair hand a light she bears,
And shows him up the garret-stairs;
Away comes he greatly affronted,
And his disgrace to us recounted,
This makes us game, we roast him for it,
"Scott's too high-minded for a garret."
But Tothall more humanely said,
"Come, Scott, be easy, take my
And to your garret I will go."
(This great good-nature sure did show)
There finding nought him to entertain
But a flock-bed without a curtain,

bed,

He too in haste came back, and got
Away to share his bed with Scott,
And at eleven each goes to nest,
Till Tuesday morn to take his rest.

At six comes Hogarth, "Rise, Sirs, rise,"
Says he, with roguery in his eyes,
"Scott's landlady is below stairs;
And roundly the good woman swears,
That for his lodging he shall pay,
(Where his tir'd bones he scorn'd to lay)
Or he should go before the Mayor."
She's in the right on't, we declare,
For this would cut the matter short,
(At least 'twould make us special sport);
But here she balk'd us, and, no doubt,
Had wit enough to find us out.

Our mark thus miss'd, we kindly go
To see how he and Tothall do.
We find the doors all open were,
(It seems that's not unusual here)
They're very well, but Scott last night
Had been in a most dreadful fright:
"When to his room he got," he said,
"And just was stepping into bed,
He thought he saw the bed-cloaths stir,
So back he flew in mortal fear;
But, taking heart of grace, he try'd
To feel what 'twas, when out it cry'd;
Again he starts, but to his joy
It prov'd a little harmless boy,
Who by mistake had thither crept,
And soundly (till he wak'd him) slept.
So from his fears recover'd quite,
He got to sleep, and slept all night."
We laugh at this, and he laughs too,
For, pray, what better could he do?

At ten we leave our Lion-Swans,
And to the higher lands advance,
Call on our laundress by the way,
For the led shirts left yesterday

To wash; "She's sorry, they're not yet

Quite dry!"-" Why then we'll take them wet; They'll dry and iron'd be, we hope,

At Minster, where we next shall stop."

The way was good, the weather fair,

The prospects most delightful were.
To Minster got, with labour hard
We climb'd the hill to the church-yard,
But, when arriv'd there, did not fail
To read some verses on a rail
Well worth transcribing, we agree,
Whether you think so, you may see.
"Here interr'd George Anderson doth lye,
By fallen on an anchor he did dye
In Sheerness yard on Good Friday
The 6th of April, I do say,

All you that read my allegy be alwaies
Ready for to dye-aged 42 years."

Of monuments that here they shew
Within the church, we drew but two;
One an ambassador of Spain's,
T'other Lord Shorland's dust contains,
Of whom they have a wondrous story,
Which (as they tell) I'll lay before ye.

The Lord of Shorland, on a day,
Chancing to take a ride this way,
About a corpse observ'd a crowd,
Against their priest complaining loud,
That he would not the service say,
Till somebody his fees should pay.

On this his lordship too did rave,
And threw the priest into the grave,
"Make haste and fill it up," said he,
"We'll bury both without a fee."
But when got home, and cool, reflecting
On the strange part he had been acting,
He drew a state up of the case,
Humbly petitioning for grace,
And to the sea gallop'd away,
Where, at that time, a frigate lay,
With Queen Elizabeth on board,

When (strange to tell!) this hare-brain'd Lord
On horseback swam to the ship's side,
And there to see the Queen apply'd.
His case she reads; her royal breast
Is mov'd to grant him his request.
His pardon thankfully he takes,
And, swimming still, to land he makes:
But on his riding up the beach,

He an old woman met, a witch:

"This horse, which now your life doth save," Says she, "will bring you to the grave." "You'll prove a liar," says my lord, "You ugly hag!" and with his sword (Acting a most ungrateful part)

His panting steed stabb'd to the heart.

It happen'd, after many a day,

That with some friends he stroll'd that way,
And this strange story, as they walk,
Became the subject of their talk:
When," There the carcase lies," he cry'd,
"Upon the beach by the sea side."
As 'twas not far, he led them to't,
And kick'd the skull up with his foot,
When a sharp bone pierc'd through his shoe,
And wounded grievously his toe,
Which mortify'd; so he was kill'd,
And the hag's prophecy fulfill'd.
See there his cross-legg'd figure laid,
And near his feet the horse's head!

The tomb is of too old a fashion

To tally well with this narration;
But of the truth we would not doubt,
Nor put our Cicerone out:

This story is quoted by Mr. Grose in his Antiqui ties, Vol. II. art. Minster Monastery. "The legend," says Mr. Grose, "has, by a worthy friend of mine, been hitched into doggrel rhyme. It would be paying the reader but a bad compliment to attempt seriously to examine the credibility of the story."

+ A cross legg'd figure in armour, with a shield over his left arm, like that of a Knight Templar, said to represent Sir Robert de Shurland, who by Edward 1. was created a Knight banneret for his gallant beha viour at the siege of Carlaverock in Scotland. He lies under a Gothic arch in the south wall, having an armed page at his feet, and on his right side the head of a horse emerging out of the waves of the sea, as in the action of swimming.-GROSE.

It gives a moral hint at least,'
That gratitude's due to a beast.
So far it's good, whoever made it,
And that it may not fail of credit,
A horsehead vane adorns the steeple,
And it's Horse-church call'd by the people.
Our shirts dry'd at The George we get,
We dine there, and till four we sit;
And now in earnest think of home;
So to Sheerness again we come,
Where for a bum-boat we agree,
And about five put off to sea.
We presently were under sail,

The tide our friend, south-east the gale,
Quite wind enough, and some to spare,
But we to that accustom'd were.

When we had now got past The Nore,
And lost the sight of Shepey's shore,
The ebbing tide of Thames we met,
The wind against it fiercely set;
This made a short and tumbling sea,
And finely toss'd indeed were we.
The porpoises in stormy weather
Are often seen in shoals together :
About us while they roll and play,
One in his gambols miss'd his way,

Costling.

And threw himself so far on shore,
We thought he would get off no more;
But with great struggling, and some pain,
He did, and went to play again.
On this we moralising say,

"How thoughtless is the love of play!"
When we ourselves with sorrow find
Our pleasures too with pain conjoin'd.
For troubles crowd upon us thick;
Our hero, Scott, grows very sick;
Poor Hogarth makes wry faces too
(Worse faces than he ever drew).
You'll guess what were the consequences,
Not overpleasing to our senses;
And this misfortune was augmented
By Master Tothall's being acquainted
With the commander of a sloop,
At Holy Haven near The Hope.
"There's Captain Robinson," says he,
"A friend, whom I must call and see."
Up the ship's side he nimbly goes,
While we lie overwhelm'd with woes,
Sick, and of winds and waves the sport,
But then he made his visit short,
And when a sup of punch he'd got,
Some lighted match to us he brought,

A sovereign cordial this, no doubt,
To men whose pipes had long been out.
By seven o'clock our sick recover,
And all are glad this trouble's over.
Now jovially we sail along,

Our cockswain giving song for song.

But soon our notes are chang'd; we found
Our boat was on Bly-sand aground,
Just in the middle of the river;

Here Tothall shew'd himself quite clever :
And, knowing we must else abide
Till lifted by the flowing tide,
Work'd without skippers, till the boat
Was once more happily afloat.
We all applaud his care and skill,
So do the boatmen his good-will.

Ere long the tide made upward, so
With that before the wind we go,
And, disembarking about ten,
Our Gravesend quarters reach again.

Here Madam, smiling, comes to tell
How glad she is to see us well:
This kind reception we commended,
And now thought all our troubles ended;
But, when for what we want we call,
Something unlucky did befall.

When we our travels first began Scott (who's a very prudent man) Thought a great coat could do no harm, And in the boat might keep him warm; So far perhaps you think him right, As we took water in the night:

But when from hence we took our way On foot, the latter end of May, He, quite as reasonably, thought "Twould be too heavy or too hot; "I'll leave it here,"ays he," and take "It with me at our coming back." And he most certainly design'd it, But now the thing was, how to find it? We told him he had been mistaken, And did without his hostess reckon. To him it was no jest; he swore, "He left it there three days before, "This Mrs. Bramble can't deny." "Sir, we shall find it by and by:" So out she goes, and rends her throat With "Moll, go find the gem'man's coat." The house Moll searches round and round, At last, with much ado, 'twas found'Twas found, that, to the owner's cost, Or Scott's, the borrow'd coat was lost. "Coat lost!" says he, stamping and staring, Then stood like dumb, then fell to swearing: He curs'd the ill-concluding ramble, He curs'd Gravesend and mother Bramble. But, while his rage he thus express'd, And we his anger made our jest, Till wrath had almost got the upper-hand of his reason, in came supper: To this at once his stomach turn'd, No longer it with fury burn'd, But hunger took the place of rage, And a good meal did both assuage.

He eat and drank, he drank and eat,
The wine commended, and the meat;
So we did all, and sat so late,

That Wednesday morn we lay till eight.
Tobacco then, and wine provide,
Enough to serve us for this tide.
Get breakfast, and our reckoning pay,
And next prepare for London hey;
So, hiring to ourselves a wherry,
We put off, all alive and merry.

The tide was strong, fair was the wind,
Gravesend is soon left far behind,

Under the tilt on straw we lay,

Observing what a charming day,

There stretch'd at ease we smoke and drink,
Londoners like, and now we think
Our cross adventures all are past,
And that at Gravesend was the last:
But cruel Fate to that says no ;
One yet shall Fortune find his foe.

While we (with various prospects cloy'd)
In clouds of smoke ourselves enjoy'd,
More diligent and curious, Scott
Into the forecastle had got,
And took his papers out, to draw
Some ships which right ahead he saw.
There sat he, on his work intent,
When, to increase our merriment,
So luckily we shipp'd a sea,
That he got sous'd, and only he.
This bringing to his mind a thought
How much he wanted his great coat,
Renew'd his anger and his grief;
He curs'd Gravesend, the coat, and thief;
And, still to heighten his regret,
His shirt was in his breeches wet:
He draws it out, and lets it fly,
Like a French ensign, till 'tis dry,
Then, creeping into shelter safe,
Joins with the company and laugh.
Nothing more happen'd worthy note:
At Billingsgate we change our boat,
And in another through bridge get,
By two, to Stairs of Somerset,
Welcome each other to the shore,
To Covent Garden walk once more,
And, as from Bedford Arms we started,
There wet our whistles ere we parted.

With pleasure I observe, none idle
Were in our travels, or employ'd ill.
Tothall, our treasurer, was just,
And worthily discharg'd his trust;
(We all sign'd his accounts as fair ;)
Sam Scott and Hogarth, for their share,
The prospects of the sea and land did;
As Thornhill of our tour the plan did;
And Forrest wrote this true relation
Of our five days peregrination.

This to attest, our names we've wrote all,
Viz. Thornhill, Hogarth, Scott, and Tothall.

THE END.