London, thou great emporium of our isle, O thou too bounteous, thou too fruitful Nile! How shall I praise or curse to thy desert? Or separate thy sound from thy corrupted part? 170 I call thee Nile; the parallel will stand; Thy tides of wealth o'erflow the fatten'd land; Yet monsters from thy large increase we find, Engender'd on the slime thou leav'st behind. Sedition has not wholly seized on thee, Thy nobler parts are from infection free. Of Israel's tribes thou hast a numerous band, But still the Canaanite is in the land. Thy military chiefs are brave and true; Nor are thy disenchanted burghers few. 180 The head[84] is loyal which thy heart commands, But what's a head with two such gouty hands? The wise and wealthy love the surest way, And are content to thrive and to obey. But wisdom is to sloth too great a slave; None are so busy as the fool and knave. Those let me curse; what vengeance will they urge, Whose ordures neither plague nor fire can purge? Nor sharp experience can to duty bring, Nor angry Heaven, nor a forgiving king! 190 In gospel-phrase, their chapmen they betray; Their shops are dens, the buyer is their prey. The knack of trades is living on the spoil; They boast even when each other they beguile. Customs to steal is such a trivial thing, That 'tis their charter to defraud their king. All hands unite of every jarring sect; They cheat the country first, and then infect. They for God's cause their monarchs dare dethrone, And they'll be sure to make his cause their own. 200 Whether the plotting Jesuit laid the plan Of murdering kings, or the French Puritan, Our sacrilegious sects their guides outgo, And kings and kingly power would murder too.