Page:Essays - Abraham Cowley (1886).djvu/57

 I should at thee too, foolish city, If it were fit to laugh at misery.
 * But thy estate, I pity.

Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
 * And the fools that crowd thee so,-
 * Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,

A village less than Islington wilt grow,
 * A solitude almost.