Can’t bear the smell of meat;
And straight the Butcher’s shops and stalls,[86]
Fly quickly from the street.
Their foolish pride there’s nought can stop,
Improvement’s all the go;
Unseemly’s every thing that’s old,
So all that’s old’s laid low.
Each relique of their sires is gone,
Or got a modern face on:
The poor old Castle,[87]—Gotham’s pride,