The fairest capital of all the world, By riot and incontinence the worst. There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees All her reflected features. Bacon there Gives more than female beauty to a stone, 701 The pow'rs of Sculpture, but the style as much; Each province of her art her equal care. With nice incision of her guided steel She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil So steril with what charms soe'er she will, The richest scen'ry and the loveliest forms." 710 In London: where her implements exact, Measures an atom, and now girds a world? In London. Where has commerce such a mart, Increasing, London? Babylon of old 721 She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, That so much beauty would do well to purge; And show this queen of cities, that so fair May yet be foul; so witty, yet not wise. It is not seemly, nor of good report, That she is slack in discipline; more prompt 730 Tavenge than to prevent the breach of law: That she is rigid in denouncing death On petty robbers, and indulges life, And liberty, and ofttimes honour too, To peculators of the public gold: That thieves at home must hang; but he that puts Into his overgorg'd and bloated purse And customs of her own, till sabbath rites 740 God made the country, and man made the town. What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts, That can alone make sweet the bitter draught, 751 That life holds out to all, should most abound And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves? Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue But that of idleness, and taste no scenes But such as art contrives, possess ye still 760 Our more harmonious notes: the thrush departs Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, A mutilated structure, soon to fall. 774 1 |