Two shillings to Vauxhall's their usual fare,
Or Eighteen-pence the Crescent or the Square;[1]
But those who visit Handsworth[2] or Soho,
Had better make a bargain, ere they go.
Of Banks we've Four,[3]—than which none in the land
Upon a steadier, former basis stand.
When Stocks were low, and discount's rapid force,
Had almost drain'd Old Abr'Am's grand resource,
The Credit of our Bankers firmly stood,
As sterling Gold, their Notes were full as good,
Nor e'er were question'd-all throughout the land.
The Reason's plain-They pay 'upon demand'.
Old Vulcan said, 'Of one thing he was sure,
'The atmosphere we breathe is clear and pure;
'The num'rous Fires around,' he said, 'bid fair,
'T' expel all Vapours, purify the Air:
'And though, in some things, Doctors differ still,
'To controvert that truth, there's none that will.'
Our Streets are spacious, Buildings neat and clean,
As in a Trading Town were ever seen,
And Fifteen Thousand Houses here you'll find,
With thrice Ten Thousand Shops arrang'd behind.
- ↑ St. Paul's Square.—N.B. Since corn has been so very high, the Author finds the Fares have been advanced to 2s.
- ↑ A very handsome village about half a mile beyond Soho, surrounded by Gentlemens' seats.
- ↑ Three of the Banks have honored the Author with their Firms for his Magnificent Directory. See plate A.
