[Picture: The Scavenger]
I am glad to see this man, whose business it is to sweep up the mud and
dirt from the streets, and collect it in a cart. Surely, no part of
London needs this work more than Thames Street and Billingsgate; for,
even in a dry season, the narrowness of the streets, and great traffic of
men and women, with fish in wet baskets, &c. keep the pavement constantly
dirty. When the cart is well laden, he empties it into some waste place
in the outskirts of the town, or delivers it at some wharf by the
water-side; and as it proves a very rich manure, he finds it a profitable
and useful occupation.
“I’m very glad ’tis not my luck
To get my bread by carting muck;
I’m sure I never could be made
To work at such a dirty trade.”
“Hold, little master, not so fast,
Some proud folks get a fall at last;
And you, young gentleman, I say,
May be a scavenger, one day.
All sober folks, who seldom play,
But get their bread some honest way,
Though not to wealth or honours born,
Deserve respect instead of scorn.
Such rude contempt they merit less,
Than those who live in idleness;
Who are less useful, I’m afraid,
Than this black mud that’s in my spade.”