Towns and cities abroad and at home I have seen,
But ne'er 'midst such filth as at Portsmouth have been.
If the blush you'd call up in sweet modesty's face,
Parade but her streets, to a hair 'tis the place;
If swearing and balderdash, tickle your ear,
Your pleasure will still be increasing if here.
If the eyes and the mind of the delicate fair
'Tis your pride to offend…to Portsmouth repair,
For vice walks unmask'd, and exultingly there.
If dusty roads charm you, and still the same way,
Without any change 'tis your fancy to stray,
You're at home to a peg; and no place can be better,
Than its shadeless parade to give you a sweater.
To visit, indeed, 'tis of pleasure a source,
But to live at, no mortal can suit himself worse,
For his head, for his heart, his body, or purse.