Tops of houses, blue with lead, Bend beneath the landlord’s tread. Master and ’prentice, serving-man and lord, Nailor and tailor, Grazier and brazier, Through streets and alleys pour’d— All, all abroad to gaze, And wonder at the blaze. Thick calf, fat foot, and slim knee, Mounted on roof and chimney, {29a} The mighty roast, the mighty stew To see; As if the dismal view Were but to them a Brentford jubilee. Vainly, all-radiant Surya, sire of Phæton (By Greeks call’d Apollo {29b}), Hollow Sounds from thy harp proceed; Combustible as reed, The tongue of Vulcan licks thy wooden legs: From Drury’s top, dissever’d from thy pegs, Thou tumblest, Humblest, Where late thy bright effulgence shone on high; While, by thy somerset excited, fly Ten million Billion Sparks from the pit, to gem the sable sky. Now come the men of fire to quench the fires: To Russell Street see Globe and Atlas run, Hope gallops first, and second Sun; On flying heel, See Hand-in-Hand O’ertake the band! View with what glowing wheel He nicks Phoenix! While Albion scampers from Bridge Street, Blackfriars— Drury Lane! Drury Lane! Drury Lane! Drury Lane! They shout and they bellow again and again. All, all in vain! Water turns steam; Each blazing beam Hisses defiance to the eddying spout: It seems but too plain that nothing can put it out! Drury Lane! Drury Lane! See, Drury Lane expires!