Lo, from his melon-ground the peasant slave Has rudely rushed, and levelled Merlin's cave; Knocked down the waxen wizard, seized his wand, Transformed to lawn what late was fairy-land; And marred, with impious hand, each sweet design Of Stephen Duck, and good Queen Caroline. Haste, bid yon livelong terrace re-ascend, Replace each vista, straighten every bend; Shut out the Thames; shall that ignoble thing Approach the presence of great Ocean's king? No! let barbaric glories feast his eyes, August pagodas round his palace rise, And finished Richmond open to his view, 'A work to wonder at, perhaps a Kew.' Nor rest we here, but, at our magic call, Monkeys shall climb our trees, and lizards crawl; Huge dogs of Tibet bark in yonder grove, Here parrots prate, there cats make cruel love; In some fair island will we turn to grass (With the queen's leave) her elephant and ass. Giants from Africa shall guard the glades, Where hiss our snakes, where sport our Tartar maids; Or, wanting these, from Charlotte Hayes we bring Damsels, alike adroit to sport and sting. Now to our lawns of dalliance and delight, Join we the groves of horror and affright; This to achieve no foreign aids we try,-- Thy gibbets, Bagshot! shall our wants supply; Hounslow, whose heath sublimer terror fills, Shall with her gibbets lend her powder-mills. Here, too, O king of vengeance, in thy fane, Tremendous Wilkes shall rattle his gold chain; And round that fane, on many a Tyburn tree, Hang fragments dire of Newgate-history; On this shall Holland's dying speech be read, Here Bute's confession, and his wooden head: While all the minor plunderers of the age, (Too numerous far for this contracted page,) The Rigbys, Calcrafts, Dysons, Bradshaws there, In straw-stuffed effigy, shall kick the air. But say, ye powers, who come when fancy calls, Where shall our mimic London rear her walls? That eastern feature, Art must next produce, Though not for present yet for future use, Our sons some slave of greatness may behold, Cast in the genuine Asiatic mould: Who of three realms shall condescend to know No more than he can spy from Windsor's brow; For him, that blessing of a better time, The Muse shall deal a while in brick and lime; Surpass the bold [Greek: ADELPHI] in design, And o'er the Thames fling one stupendous line Of marble arches, in a bridge, that cuts From Richmond Ferry slant to Brentford Butts. Brentford with London's charms will we adorn; Brentford, the bishopric of Parson Horne. There, at one glance, the royal eye shall meet Each varied beauty of St James's Street; Stout Talbot there shall ply with hackney chair, And patriot Betty fix her fruit-shop there. Like distant thunder, now the coach of state Rolls o'er the bridge, that groans beneath its weight. The court hath crossed the stream; the sports begin; Now Noel preaches of rebellion's sin: And as the powers of his strong pathos rise, Lo, brazen tears fall from Sir Fletcher's eyes. While skulking round the pews, that babe of grace,