Hundreds of grim Leanders dare confront, For this loved Hero, the loud Hellespont. 'Tis an armado royal doth engage For some new Helen with this equipage; Prepared too, should we their addresses bar, To force their mistress with a ten years' war, But that our mine 's a common good, a joy Made not to ruin but enrich our Troy. 70 Thus went those gallant heroes of old Greece, The Argonauts, in quest o' th' Golden Fleece. But oh! these bring it with 'em and conspire To pawn that idol for our smoke and fire. Silver 's but ballast; this they bring ashore That they may treasure up our better ore. For this they venter rocks and storms, defy All the extremities of sea and sky. For the glad purchase of this precious mould, Cowards dare pirates, misers part with gold. 80 Hence 'tis that when the doubtful ship sets forth The knowing needle still directs it north, And Nature's secret wonder, to attest Our Indies' worth, discards both east and west. For 'tis not only fire commends this spring, A coal-pit is a mine of everything. We sink a jack-of-all-trades shop, and sound An inversed Burse, an Exchange under ground. This Proteus earth converts to what you'd ha' 't: Now you may weave 't to silk, then coin 't to plate, 90 And, what 's a metamorphosis more dear, Dissolve it and 'twill melt to London beer. For whatsoe'er that gaudy city boasts, Each month derives to these attractive coasts. We shall exhaust their chamber and devour Their treasures of Guildhall, the Mint, the Tower. Our staiths their mortgaged streets will soon divide, Blathon owe Cornhill, Stella share Cheapside. Thus will our coal-pits' charity and pity At distance undermine and fire the City. 100 Should we exact, they'd pawn their wives and treat To swap those coolers for our sovereign heat. 'Bove kisses and embraces fire controls; No Venus heightens like a peck of coals. Medea was the drudge of some old sire And Aeson's bath a lusty sea-coal fire. Chimneys are old men's mistresses, their inns, A modern dalliance with their measled shins. To all defects the coal-heap brings a cure, Gives life to age and raiment to the poor. 110 Pride first wore clothes; Nature disdains attire; She made us naked 'cause she gave us fire. Full wharfs are wardrobes, and the tailor's charm Belongs to th' collier; he must keep us warm. The quilted alderman with all 's array Finds but cold comfort on a frosty day; Girt, wrapped, and muffled, yet with all that stir Scarce warm when smoth'red in his drowsy fur; Not proof against keen Winter's batteries Should he himself wear all 's own liveries, 120 But chilblains under silver spurs bewails And in embroid'red buckskins blows his nails. Rich meadows and full crops are elsewhere found: