Let it suffice to say, that I at length arrived in merry
Eastcheap, that ancient region of wit and wassail, where the very
names of the streets relished of good cheer, as Pudding Lane
bears testimony even at the present day. For Eastcheap, says old
Stow, "was always famous for its convivial doings. The cookes
cried hot ribbes of beef roasted, pies well baked, and other
victuals: there was clattering of pewter pots, harpe, pipe, and
sawtrie." Alas! how sadly is the scene changed since the roaring
days of Falstaff and old Stow! The madcap roisterer has given
place to the plodding tradesman; the clattering of pots and the
sound of "harpe and sawtrie," to the din of carts and the accurst
dinging of the dustman's bell; and no song is heard, save, haply,
the strain of some syren from Billingsgate, chanting the eulogy
of deceased mackerel.
I sought, in vain, for the ancient abode of Dame Quickly. The
only relict of it is a boar's head, carved in relief in stone,
which formerly served as the sign, but at present is built into
the parting line of two houses which stand on the site of the
renowned old tavern.
For the history of this little abode of good fellowship I was
referred to a tallow-chandler's widow opposite, who had been born
and brought up on the spot, and was looked up to as the
indisputable chronicler of the neighborhood.
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