A pig on a dung-hill, or crow on a tree.
In London if folks ill together are put,
A bow may be dropt, and a quiz may be cut;
We change without end; and if lazy or ill,
All wants are at hand, and all wishes at will.
In the country you’re nail’d, like a pale in the park,
To some stick of a neighbour that’s cramm’d in the ark;
And ’tis odds, if you’re hurt, or in fits tumble down,
You reach death ere the doctor can reach you from town.
In London how easy we visit and meet,