GAY'S "TRIVIA" (1716).

Triviawas one of the earliest productions of John Gay, and although its poetical merit is by no means conspicuous, it is one of the poet's most notable productions, as a vivid description of the streets of London two hundred years ago. The piece is too long to print in full, but the extracts which are given are typical and representative of the general style and matter of the poem.

But when the swinging signs your ears offendWith creaking noise, then rainy floods impend;Soon shall the kennels swell with rapid streams,And rush in muddy torrents to the Thames.The bookseller, whose shop's an open square,Forsees the tempest, and with early careOf learning strips the rails; the rowing crew,To tempt a fare, clothe all their tilts in blue;On hosier's poles depending stockings ty'd,Flag with the slacken'd gale from side to side;Church-monuments foretell the changing air,Then Niobe dissolves into a tear,And sweats with sacred grief; you'll hear the soundsOf whistling winds, ere kennels break their bounds;Ungrateful odours common-shores diffuse,And dropping vaults distil unwholesome dews,Ere the tiles rattle with the smoking shower,And spouts on heedless men their torrents pour.If cloth'd in black you tread the busy town,Or if distinguish'd by the reverend gown,Three trades avoid: oft in the mingling pressThe barber's apron soils the sable dress;Shun the perfumer's touch with cautious eye,Nor let the baker's step advance too nigh.Ye walkers too, that youthful colours wear,Three sullying trades avoid with equal care:The little chimney-sweeper skulks along,And marks with sooty stains the heedless throng;When small-coal murmurs in the hoarser throat,From smutty dangers guard thy threaten'd coat;The dustman's cart offends thy clothes and eyes,When through the street a cloud of ashes flies;But, whether black or lighter dyes are worn,The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne,With tallow spots thy coat; resign the way,To shun the surly butcher's greasy tray.If drawn by business to a street unknown,Let the sworn porter point thee through the town;Be sure observe the signs, for signs remain,Like faithful landmarks, to the walking train.Seek not from 'prentices to learn the way,Those fabling boys will turn thy steps astray;Ask the grave tradesmen to direct thee right,He ne'er deceives—but when he profits by't.O bear me to the paths of fair Pall-mall!Safe are thy pavements, grateful is thy smell!At distance rolls along the gilded coach,Nor sturdy carmen on thy walks encroach;No lets would bar thy ways were chairs deny'd,The soft supports of laziness and pride:Shops breathe perfumes, through sashes ribbons glow,The mutual arms of ladies and the beau.Yet still e'en here, when rains the passage hide,Oft the loose stone spirts up a muddy tideBeneath thy careless foot; and from on high,Where masons mount the ladder, fragments fly,Mortar and crumbled lime in showers descend,And o'er thy head destructive tiles impend.Where Covent-garden's famous temple stands,That boasts the work of Jones' immortal hands;Columns with plain magnificence appear,And graceful porches lead along the square:Here oft my course I bend; when, lo! from farI spy the furies of the foot-ball war:The 'prentice quits his shop, to join the crew,Increasing crowds the flying game pursue.Thus, as you roll the ball o'er snowy ground,The gathering globe augments with every round.But whither shall I run? the throng draws nigh,The ball now skims the street, now soars on high:The dext'rous glazier strong returns the bound,And jingling sashes on the pent-house sound.Where Lincoln's-inn, wide space, is rail'd around,Cross not with venturous step; there oft is foundThe lurking thief, who, while the daylight shone,Made the walls echo with his begging tone:That crutch, which late compassion mov'd, shall woundThy bleeding head, and fell thee to the ground.Though thou art tempted by the link-man's call,Yet trust him not along the lonely wall;In the mid-way he'll quench the flaming brand,And share the booty with the pilfering band.Still keep the public streets, where oily rays,Shot from the crystal lamp, o'erspread the ways.

But when the swinging signs your ears offend

With creaking noise, then rainy floods impend;

Soon shall the kennels swell with rapid streams,

And rush in muddy torrents to the Thames.

The bookseller, whose shop's an open square,

Forsees the tempest, and with early care

Of learning strips the rails; the rowing crew,

To tempt a fare, clothe all their tilts in blue;

On hosier's poles depending stockings ty'd,

Flag with the slacken'd gale from side to side;

Church-monuments foretell the changing air,

Then Niobe dissolves into a tear,

And sweats with sacred grief; you'll hear the sounds

Of whistling winds, ere kennels break their bounds;

Ungrateful odours common-shores diffuse,

And dropping vaults distil unwholesome dews,

Ere the tiles rattle with the smoking shower,

And spouts on heedless men their torrents pour.

If cloth'd in black you tread the busy town,Or if distinguish'd by the reverend gown,Three trades avoid: oft in the mingling pressThe barber's apron soils the sable dress;Shun the perfumer's touch with cautious eye,Nor let the baker's step advance too nigh.Ye walkers too, that youthful colours wear,Three sullying trades avoid with equal care:The little chimney-sweeper skulks along,And marks with sooty stains the heedless throng;When small-coal murmurs in the hoarser throat,From smutty dangers guard thy threaten'd coat;The dustman's cart offends thy clothes and eyes,When through the street a cloud of ashes flies;But, whether black or lighter dyes are worn,The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne,With tallow spots thy coat; resign the way,To shun the surly butcher's greasy tray.

If cloth'd in black you tread the busy town,

Or if distinguish'd by the reverend gown,

Three trades avoid: oft in the mingling press

The barber's apron soils the sable dress;

Shun the perfumer's touch with cautious eye,

Nor let the baker's step advance too nigh.

Ye walkers too, that youthful colours wear,

Three sullying trades avoid with equal care:

The little chimney-sweeper skulks along,

And marks with sooty stains the heedless throng;

When small-coal murmurs in the hoarser throat,

From smutty dangers guard thy threaten'd coat;

The dustman's cart offends thy clothes and eyes,

When through the street a cloud of ashes flies;

But, whether black or lighter dyes are worn,

The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne,

With tallow spots thy coat; resign the way,

To shun the surly butcher's greasy tray.

If drawn by business to a street unknown,Let the sworn porter point thee through the town;Be sure observe the signs, for signs remain,Like faithful landmarks, to the walking train.Seek not from 'prentices to learn the way,Those fabling boys will turn thy steps astray;Ask the grave tradesmen to direct thee right,He ne'er deceives—but when he profits by't.

If drawn by business to a street unknown,

Let the sworn porter point thee through the town;

Be sure observe the signs, for signs remain,

Like faithful landmarks, to the walking train.

Seek not from 'prentices to learn the way,

Those fabling boys will turn thy steps astray;

Ask the grave tradesmen to direct thee right,

He ne'er deceives—but when he profits by't.

O bear me to the paths of fair Pall-mall!Safe are thy pavements, grateful is thy smell!At distance rolls along the gilded coach,Nor sturdy carmen on thy walks encroach;No lets would bar thy ways were chairs deny'd,The soft supports of laziness and pride:Shops breathe perfumes, through sashes ribbons glow,The mutual arms of ladies and the beau.Yet still e'en here, when rains the passage hide,Oft the loose stone spirts up a muddy tideBeneath thy careless foot; and from on high,Where masons mount the ladder, fragments fly,Mortar and crumbled lime in showers descend,And o'er thy head destructive tiles impend.

O bear me to the paths of fair Pall-mall!

Safe are thy pavements, grateful is thy smell!

At distance rolls along the gilded coach,

Nor sturdy carmen on thy walks encroach;

No lets would bar thy ways were chairs deny'd,

The soft supports of laziness and pride:

Shops breathe perfumes, through sashes ribbons glow,

The mutual arms of ladies and the beau.

Yet still e'en here, when rains the passage hide,

Oft the loose stone spirts up a muddy tide

Beneath thy careless foot; and from on high,

Where masons mount the ladder, fragments fly,

Mortar and crumbled lime in showers descend,

And o'er thy head destructive tiles impend.

Where Covent-garden's famous temple stands,That boasts the work of Jones' immortal hands;Columns with plain magnificence appear,And graceful porches lead along the square:Here oft my course I bend; when, lo! from farI spy the furies of the foot-ball war:The 'prentice quits his shop, to join the crew,Increasing crowds the flying game pursue.Thus, as you roll the ball o'er snowy ground,The gathering globe augments with every round.But whither shall I run? the throng draws nigh,The ball now skims the street, now soars on high:The dext'rous glazier strong returns the bound,And jingling sashes on the pent-house sound.

Where Covent-garden's famous temple stands,

That boasts the work of Jones' immortal hands;

Columns with plain magnificence appear,

And graceful porches lead along the square:

Here oft my course I bend; when, lo! from far

I spy the furies of the foot-ball war:

The 'prentice quits his shop, to join the crew,

Increasing crowds the flying game pursue.

Thus, as you roll the ball o'er snowy ground,

The gathering globe augments with every round.

But whither shall I run? the throng draws nigh,

The ball now skims the street, now soars on high:

The dext'rous glazier strong returns the bound,

And jingling sashes on the pent-house sound.

Where Lincoln's-inn, wide space, is rail'd around,Cross not with venturous step; there oft is foundThe lurking thief, who, while the daylight shone,Made the walls echo with his begging tone:That crutch, which late compassion mov'd, shall woundThy bleeding head, and fell thee to the ground.Though thou art tempted by the link-man's call,Yet trust him not along the lonely wall;In the mid-way he'll quench the flaming brand,And share the booty with the pilfering band.Still keep the public streets, where oily rays,Shot from the crystal lamp, o'erspread the ways.

Where Lincoln's-inn, wide space, is rail'd around,

Cross not with venturous step; there oft is found

The lurking thief, who, while the daylight shone,

Made the walls echo with his begging tone:

That crutch, which late compassion mov'd, shall wound

Thy bleeding head, and fell thee to the ground.

Though thou art tempted by the link-man's call,

Yet trust him not along the lonely wall;

In the mid-way he'll quench the flaming brand,

And share the booty with the pilfering band.

Still keep the public streets, where oily rays,

Shot from the crystal lamp, o'erspread the ways.

Back to Index Next