LONDON IMPROVEMENTS.
Improvement, hail! Thy busy hand
To court or alley gives no quarter;
Against thee nothing now can stand:
Thou art too strong for bricks and mortar.
Before the parapets and tiles,
Houses and streets promiscuous fall;
Thou hast so altered old St. Giles,
Few now would know him, by St. Paul.
The gallant captains, Parry, Ross,
Each made the trial once or twice,
To take a desperate cut across
Some awful blocks of thick-ribbed ice.
"No thoroughfare," did nature cry,
So Ross and Parry homewards flew:
London Improvement doth defy
Each cul de sac, and cuts it through.
At parlour, factory, or shop,
At public entrance, private door,
Or window e'en, it does not stop,
But rudely pushes more and more.
Improvement, too, performs a task,
Worthy a scientific hand;
Turns sand into the sugar cask,
Thus into sugar turning sand.