And bear oppression’s insolence no more. 
This mournful truth is ev’ry where confess’d,
[cc]slow rises worth, by poverty depress’d: 
But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold,
Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are sold;
Where won by bribes, by flatteries implor’d,
The groom retails the favours of his lord. 
But hark! th’ affrighted crowd’s tumultuous cries
Roll through the streets, and thunder to the skies: 
Rais’d from some pleasing dream of wealth and pow’r,
Some pompous palace, or some blissful bow’r,
Aghast you start, and scarce, with aching sight,
Sustain th’ approaching fire’s tremendous light;
Swift from pursuing horrours take your way,
And leave your little all to flames a prey;
[dd]Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam;
For where can starving merit find a home? 
In vain your mournful narrative disclose,
While all neglect, and most insult your woes.
[ee]Should heav’n’s just bolts Orgilio’s wealth confound,
[J]And spread his flaming palace on the ground,
Swift o’er the land the dismal rumour flies,
And publick mournings pacify the skies;
The laureate tribe in venal verse relate,
How virtue wars with persecuting fate;
[ff]With well-feign’d gratitude the pension’d band
Refund the plunder of the beggar’d land. 
See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come,
And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome;
The price of boroughs and of souls restore;
And raise his treasures higher than before. 
Now bless’d with all the baubles of the great,
The polish’d marble and the shining plate,
[gg]Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire,
And hopes from angry heav’n another fire.
[hh]Could’st thou resign the park and play, content,
For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent;
There might’st thou find some elegant retreat,
Some hireling senator’s deserted seat;
And stretch thy prospects o’er the smiling land,
For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand;
There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flowers,
Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers;
[K] And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford,
Despise the dainties of a venal lord: 
There ev’ry bush with nature’s musick rings;
There ev’ry breeze bears health upon its wings;
On all thy hours security shall smile,
And bless thine evening walk and morning toil.
[ii]Prepare for death, if here at night you roam,
And sign your will, before you sup from home.
[kk] Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,
Who sleeps on brambles, till he kills his man;
Some frolick drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest.
[ll]Yet e’en these heroes, mischievously gay,
Lords of the street, and terrours of the way;
Flush’d, as they are, with folly, youth, and wine;
Their prudent insults to the poor confine;