Upon the rebuilding the city [t]he right honourable the lord mayor, and the [n]oble company of batchelors dining with him, May 5th, 1669.

NOr could Prometheus, when he would have stole From jealous Iupiter a living cole To animate his well dissembled clay, Either prevail, or go unplagu'd away. Nor when proud Nature to recruit the earth And brave Heaven, brought forth Giants at each birth, (Those stalking Mountains, sons of slime and mud The Reliques of the universal Floud) Setting them all to work, as soon as born Then when their Highnesses, did not think scorn To tread the Mortar, and were Masons made And Brick layers—the only thriving Trade, Though they design'd, with high & pointed Towers To pierce & stab those clouds, whose mighty showers Had drown'd their Fathers, and to climb so high, Till they pickt Stars (like Cowslips) from the sky, Could they prevent their foolish Babels fall, But were turn'd canting, wandring Gypsies all. Nor shalt thou better speed (proud Rome) not thou, Though thou hast carried Empire on thy brow, And with thy Cannons made all Monarchs quake As thunder doth the trembling Mountains shake: No, though thy head, thy lofty head thou raise To try thy horned strength with Cynthia's. No, though thy Father be the Prince of th'Air And with thee doth his vast Dominion share; No, though thy Eagles wings thou stretch as wide As Sol his beams, or Neptnne doth his Tyde; No, though thy greedy cruel breed be nurst With the same milk thy Founder suckt at first; And though thy zeal (Ah, cursed zeal!) aspire To raise thy Pope▪ great Pyramids of fire, From burned Cities; yet thy self (proud Dame) Who burnt with Sodoms lust, shalt with her flame. Where are thy Fauxes in their dark disguise, Incendiary Priests, and subtile spies, Who when our Londons fiery tryal came, Like Salamanders feasted in the flame, And curst the hands that first should lay a Brick Tow'rds the rebuilding that grand Heretick; Who when great Greshams spicy nest consum'd (Though the immortal founder stood perfum'd In the rich Incense) hug'd themselves to see Our Monarchs martyr'd in Effigie. Now let them stare and startle at the fight, And bark as Curs do at the Moons fair light: Let them not boast their Charles la grand, la Boon Great Brittain can outshine them both in One, A Prince of far more gracious intents Than all thy Urbans, Clements, Innocents, Upon whose head shall stand a Triple Crown, When thy grand Tyrants shall be tumbled down. Still on our Thames shall noble Barges ride, When Tyber to a Ditch shall shrink her pride. Our Lions still are Rampant, and our Rose Yields her friends sweetness, prickles to our foes: Our Citizens shall feast in their Guild-hall, And eat Geese—Patrons of thy Capital. Justice and Mercy now shall guard her store, And her Mock-Giants she shall need no more, Th' Exchange that Royal Infant, shortly will Her own and forreign Language speak with skill; And on that Acre the Noon Sun shall see 〈1 line〉 We have our Newgate and old Tyburn too, Ready to serve their Turns who turn to you. Kind heaven and all the Elements conspire (And such conspiracy's we may desire) To make our City fairer, stronger, higher, The Sun gets up each morn at peep of day To oversee the Work, and late doth stay Before he lets the Labourers retreat, As if he undertook the work by th'Great. The earth gives clay, the water moistens it; The gentle Air tempers and makes it fit, And then the fire, as if it meant to make Full satisfaction, and revenges take Upon it self, (though in a smother'd way As modest Thieves their injuries repay) VVorks in the Brick kilne, works till it grow sick, And fainting dyes, leaving on every Brick And every tyle a lasting blush—as who VVould say, for former Mischiefs this I do. Nor doth the Sun alone the VVork o're see, But there is One as vigilant as he, A Pious, Loyal, Wise, Iust M • y'r, a Lord VVho like Zerubbabel with awful sword Defends the trowel, whose sweet voice hath powers (As Orpheus had to raise his Theban Towers) To make the teeming bowels of the earth Shoot up new buildings by an easie birth. He guards the Sabbaths with an holy care, And blesseth all the week by that days pray'r His Magistracy lies not in his Train, His stately Steed, his Scarlet, or his Chain; He and his sword in Velvet fast asleep▪ But watchful, God's peace and the Kings to keep; VVith a strict hand the Ballance he doth hold, Trying the Cause how weighty, not the Gold: As he with virtue meets, or with offence, So do his looks, or smiles, or frowns dispence; His smoother Chin carrying as grave a grace, As the Diocesans well bearded face. Boast on (old Beldame Rome) and brag—Thou hast Thousands of Sons and Daughters pure and chast, Yet thou shalt find for all their single Lives, But little Virgin Honey in their Hives: Those thievish Drones thy Fryars without wings, Creep to thy Nuns, and leave behind their stings. Thou hast thy Ioan's as well as Popes—Fame says, Thy Innocents have their Olympia's. But London which the Nuptial Band allows, And hates to lock her Virgins up in Vows, Can glory in her Batchelor Lord May'r, Chast as the Dove, though of the Ravens Hair: The Widow City is his Spouse—and He Cares for her Children and great Family; Not doth he stand (although he lyes) alone (He were a Phenix if he were but One) But as the Moon, when she her progress goes, The Court of Stars, as her Attendants shows: So when Beloved Turner please to call, Great troops of Batchelors adorn his Hall; None male content, and yet male Virgins all) On May's fifth day (Oh, 'twas a wondrous sight!) Three hundred Virgins, Virgins day and night; Virgins in Breeches, Virgins all as true, As she for whom Saint George the Dragon slew; Some hoary old, some young, but all were chast Either above, or underneath the wast; None of them had they been in Scottish School, Had grunted in the Penitential stool; None, had they liv'd in times of Commutation, Had pay'd a stone to Pauls for Fornication. None from an Ordeal Tryal need to fly That Purgatory fire, of Chastity; None free of Creswel Colledge, not a Man Need fear to meet a Nurse or some Trappan; None of them all, (for ought the Poet knows) Wears (though anothers Hair) anothers Nose. My Lord himself, and all his Guests, I think In the same Cup, might without danger drink▪ Yet none (if called lawfully) but can Beget a Son, may prove an Alderman. These Sons of Peace, and Sons of Mars, if Charls Please to take notice of his Neighbours snarls Came not to shew their Valour in his Hall, To combate Custard, batter Pasty Wall: To try the Issue of an equal Bet, Whether their Teeth, or Knives were sharper set, To take the Red-coat Lobsters by the back And with bold hands, their clattering Armour crack But their chief errand was, to pray he would Command their persons, and accept their Gold. And if their Votes and mine were current, He Should their Perpetual Dictator be. But if the scarlet Sphere must turn about 〈◊〉 turning round makes giddy heads I doubt 〈◊〉 his Exemplar Government shall stand, And teach Successors how they should command. A Virgin Queen, and Batchelor Lord Mayor, To England are as prosperous as rare, She made the City love the Court, and He The Court the city by his Loyalty. He a wise Imitator of his King, Finds Moderation is a healing thing. Oh, if our churches Overseers would yield▪ And let poor Labourers come forth and build, Such as untempered Mortar dare not use, Nor for Foundations, straw and stubble chuse; Though every stone across they do not lay, But some work one, and some another way, Our New Ierusalem should soon behold Sion in glory, though it wanted Gold. Hard upon Hard, no lasting work will make, Nor can one Flint another kindly break: But Moderation is a cement sure, 'Tis that which makes the universe endure That makes our climate prove a temperate Zone Betwixt the Torrid, and the Frigid One. If we all build up Pater-noster-Row, We may let Ave Maria corner go; Black and White Fryar did together stand, And may again, if Wisdom might command, If not, I'le say no more, but this will swear, Bedlam and Bishopsgate neer Neighbours are. FINIS.