Sweeping from butchers’ stalls, dung, guts, and blood; / Drown’d puppies, stinking sprats, all drench’d in mud, / Dead cats, and turnip-tops, come tumbling down the flood.
Nay, I know Sir John will go, though he was sure it would rain Cats and Dogs. But, pray stay, Sir John, you'll be Time enough to go to Bed by candle-light.