PLATO'S REPUBLIC PERFECT.
The City's the Model Republic of Plato,
As like as potato can be to potato,
Save in one point alone; and it would be a pity
If that difference did not distinguish the City.
In Plato's Republic, all good things combining,
That serve to the great ends of drinking and dining,
No Poet was suffered his metres to mingle
With the clatter of plates, and the wine glasses' jingle.
But London's good City a poet possesses
Who sings its high deeds and its glory expresses,
And graces its banquets, his brows bound with myrtle,
Sucking up inspiration together with turtle.
That Poet—whose aim is existence to sweeten—
Next day sings the praises of what he has eaten,
Which by wholesale are bought by the rich Corporation
As the fairest account of the jollification.
At eighty-five, Fleet Street, this son of Apollo
Indites, each November, the Song of the Swallow;
His muse every bookseller's counter encumbers,
But his friends in the City buy up all his numbers.