Let all the Nine Muses lay by their abuses,
Their railing and drolling on tricks of the Strand,
To pen us a ditty in praise of the City,
Their treasure, and pleasure, their pow'r and command.

Their feast, and guest, so temptingly drest,
Their kitchens all kingdoms replenish;
In bountiful bowls they do succour their souls,
With claret, Canary and Rhenish:

Their lives and wives in plenitude thrives,
They want not for meat nor money;
The Promised Land's in a Londoner's hand,
They wallow in milk and honey.

Let all the Nine Muses lay by their abuses,
Their railing and drolling on tricks of the Strand
To pen us a ditty in praise of the City,
Their treasure, and pleasure, their pow'r and command.