See Britain's Algerines, the Lottery fry,
Win annual tribute by the annual lie.
Aided by thee—but whither do I stray?
Court, city, borough, own thy sovereign sway:
An age of puffs the age of gold succeeds,
And windy bubbles are the spawn it breeds.
If such thy power, O hear the Muse's prayer!
Swell thy loud lungs, and wave thy wings of air;
Spread, viewless giant, all thy arms of mist
Like windmill sails to bring the poet grist;