DOLOURS OF ST. DUNSTAN'S IN THE WEST.
Ye citizens of London, who some filial pity feel
For all her noble monuments, give ear to our appeal:
Leave meaner things, the strife of kings, of Sultan and of Czar,
And think of perils nearer home—the fate of Temple Bar.
Mad lev'llers shake their axes o'er our venerable gate—
The City's porch, where monarchs proud are told that they must wait:
To make more space for dingy dray, for omnibus and car,
The revolutionary cry is "Down with Temple Bar!"