rhymes,
Have been assured that Phoebe Green was fair,
And Peter Jackson took his supper there;
You reach a chilling chamber, where you dread
Damps, hot or cold, from a tremendous bed;
Late comes your sleep, and you are waken’d soon
By rustling tatters of the old festoon. 
   O’er this large building, thus by time defaced,
A servile couple has its owner placed,
Who not unmindful that its style is large,
To lost magnificence adapt their charge: 
Thus an old beauty, who has long declined,
Keeps former dues and dignity in mind;
And wills that all attention should be paid
For graces vanish’d and for charms decay’d. 
   Few years have pass’d, since brightly ’cross the way,
Lights from each window shot the lengthen’d ray,
And busy looks in every face were seen,
Through the warm precincts of the reigning Queen;
There fires inviting blazed, and all around
Was heard the tinkling bells’ seducing sound;
The nimble waiters to that sound from far
Sprang to the call, then hasteri’d to the bar,
Where a glad priestess of the temple sway’d,
The most obedient, and the most obey’d;
Rosy and round, adorn’d in crimson vest,
And flaming ribands at her ample breast: 
She, skill’d like Circe, tried her guests to move,
With looks of welcome and with words of love;
And such her potent charms, that men unwise
Were soon transform’d and fitted for the sties. 
   Her port in bottles stood, a well-stain’d row,
Drawn for the evening from the pipe below;
Three powerful spirits filled a parted case,
Some cordial bottles stood in secret place;
Fair acid-fruits in nets above were seen,
Her plate was splendid, and her glasses clean;
Basins and bowls were ready on the stand,
And measures clatter’d in her powerful hand. 
   Inferior Houses now our notice claim,
But who shall deal them their appropriate fame? 
Who shall the nice, yet known distinction, tell,
Between the peal complete and single Bell? 
   Determine ye, who on your shining nags
Wear oil-skin beavers, and bear seal-skin bags;
Or ye, grave topers, who with coy delight
Snugly enjoy the sweetness of the night;
Ye travellers all, superior Inns denied
By moderate purse, the low by decent pride;
Come and determine,—­will you take your place
At the full Orb, or half the lunar Face? 
With the Black-Boy or Angel will ye dine? 
Will ye approve the Fountain or the Vine? 
Horses the white or black will ye prefer? 
The Silver-Swan or Swan opposed to her —
Rare bird! whose form the raven-plumage decks,
And graceful curve her three alluring necks? 
All these a decent entertainment give,
And by their comforts comfortably live. 
   Shall I pass by the Boar?—­there are who cry,
“Beware the Boar,” and pass determined by: 
Those dreadful tusks, those little peering eyes
And churning chaps, are tokens to the wise.