Classic Poem

Satire of use in ev'ry Age,
Still points at Vice her moral Rage;
Thus Juvenal and Flaccus writ,
Fools were the Butts, where aim'd their Wit.
Each in their real Lights were seen,
Nor Pow'r could awe, nor Brib'ry screen.

Folly, unfix'd to Roman Climes,
Still haunts Britannia 's modern Times;
Nor Court, nor Temple, Town nor Cell
Can the infectious Guest expel.
For Baja 's long abandon'd Shade,
Bath , now, th' intriguing Scene is made. — —
Useful as those on Latian Ground,
Her Springs medicinal, abound;
By Wizard Bladud first descry'd,
Or Fame our Grandsire has bely'd;
Who, by Art Magic, us'd of yore,
Did these salubrious Streams explore:
Such Conjurers (else learn'd Books are Lyars)
Were our old, wicked, British Sires,
Train'd up by Druid Poetasters:
Thank Heav'n our Youth have better Masters!
Whose Talents differ, all allow;
Our Schools produce no Conj'rers now. — —
— — Here Patients variously diseas'd
Were by repeated Bathing eas'd;
And to the Town resorted, thick,
All kind of Cripples, bruis'd or sick:
Who, to the Wells admitted free,
Were cur'd — — without a Doctor's Fee.
No Cits in costly Lodgings, then,
Kept Mistresses and Waiting-Men;
But, chaste, in Hospitals resided,
Which publick Bounty had provided;
Ne'er went abroad unless to Pray'rs,
Nor warbled soft Italian Airs;
None there cou'd powder, paint or flash,
Nor mortal Creature dreamt of Nash .

But, O sad Alteration strange!
How Time and Custom all things change;
Inverted quite the Scene appears,
In our degenerate modern Years:
Instead of Guests diseas'd and squalid,
(To shew how still the Wells are valued)
The glitt'ring Beau, with healthy Face,
And vapour'd Lady throng the Place.
Instead of Physicking and Diet,
Th' Assembly dance, feast, drink and riot;
Here Flamboys scower the Streets by Night,
Chairs ply, Dice sound, and Bullies fight;
Fops lisp o'er Coffee, Women tattle,
Lords wooe, Rakes swear, and Coaches rattle;
Balls, Equipages, Noise and Pother,
Bath! — — 'tis one London chang'd for t'other.