You'll sometimes meet a fop, of nicest tread, Jostle the feeble steps of trembling age Īnd when the porter bends beneath his load,Īnd pants for breath, clear thou the crowded road.īut, above all, the groping blind direct,Īnd from the pressing throng the lame protect. With tallow spots thy coat resign the way,īutcher's, whose hands are dy'd with blood's foul stain,Īnd always foremost in the hangman's train. The chandler's basket, on his shoulder borne, When through the street a cloud of ashes flies īut whether black or lighter dyes are worn, The dust-man's cart offends thy clothes and eyes, When small-coal murmurs in the hoarser throat,įrom smutty dangers guard thy threaten'd coat: Three sullying trades avoid with equal care Īnd marks with sooty stains the heedless throng Ye walkers too that youthful colours wear, Nor let the baker's step advance too nigh Shun the perfumer's touch with cautious eye, The barber's apron soils the sable dress Three trades avoid oft in the mingling press,
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Or if distinguish'd by the rev'rend gown, If cloth'd in black, you tread the busy town Shops open, coaches roll, carts shake the ground,Īnd all the streets with passing cries resound. Are sounds like theseįull charg'd with news the breathless hawker runs: Here rows of drummers stand in martial file,Īnd with their vellum thunder shake the pile, The love-sick maid and dwindling beau repair These grave physicians with their milky cheer, On doors the sallow milk-maid chalks her gains Īh! how unlike the milk-maid of the plains! You'll see a draggled damsel, here and there,įrom Billingsgate her fishy traffic bear No tides of passengers the street molest. Now venture, Muse, from home to range the town,įor ease and for dispatch, the morning's best To read the various warnings of the skies. Has taught the walker, with judicious eyes, Thus far the Muse has trac'd in useful lays Trivia or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London ♪ Rufus Wainwright -Walking Song (Athens) ♫Īnd amazes me to compare the confort of this days to the old days when this poem was written:
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Even though we were so tired and torn out in our business trip we manage to get out of our comfort zone (hotel) and walk for those beautiful streets of the old Chicago. That's my best friend and brother Jorge (he's for real my sibling).