How many dogs, and sheep, and pigs, and cattle,
How many trays of hot-cross buns and tarts,
How many soldiers ready armed for battle,
How many cabs, and coaches, drags, and carts,
Bearing the produce of a thousand marts,
How many monarchs poor, and beggars proud,
Bishops too humble to be contumacious;
How many a patriot--many a watchman loud--
Lawyers too honest, ay, and thieves too gracious:
In short, how great a number
Of busy men--
As well as thousand loads of human lumber
Have past, old fabric, o'er thee!
How can I then
But heartily deplore thee!

Milton himself thy path has walked along,
That noble, bold, and glorious politician,
That mighty prince of everlasting song!
That bard of heaven, earth, chaos, and perdition!
Poor hapless Spenser, too, that sweet musician
Of faery land,
Has crossed thee, mourning o'er his sad condition,
And leaning upon sorrow's outstretched hand.
Oft, haply, has great Newton o'er thee stalked
So much entranced,
He knew not haply if he ran or walked,
Hopped, waddled, leaped, or danced.

Along thee, too, Johnson has sideways staggered,