Methinks already from this chymic flame,
I see a city of more precious mold,
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver pav’d, and all divine with gold.
Already, labouring with a mighty fate,
She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow,
And seems to have renewed her charter’s date,
Which heaven will till the death of time allow.
Dryden, Annus Mirabilis, ccxciii.