Upon the Stately Structure OF Bow-Church and Steeple, Burnt, An. 1666. Rebuilt, 1679. OR A Second PsM upon NOTHING!  

LOok how the Country-Hobbs with wonder flock  
To see the City-crest, turned Weathercock!  
Which with each shifting Gale, veres to and fro;  
London has now got twelve Strings to her Bow!  
The Wind's Southeast, and strait the Dragon russels  
His brazen wings, to court the Breeze from Brussels!  
The Wind's at North! and now his Hissing fork,  
Whirls round, to meet a flattering gale from York!  
Boxing the Compass, with each freshing Gale,  
But still to London turns his threatening Tail.  
But stay! what's there; I spy a stranger thing;  
Our Red-cross brooded by the Dragon's wing!  
The wing is warm; but O! beware the sting!  
Poor English-Cross, exposed to winds, and weathers,  
Forced to seek shelter in the Dragon's feathers!  
ne'er had old Rome so rare a Piece to brag on,  
A Temple built to Great Bell, and the Dragon!  
Whilst yet undaunted Protestants, dare hope,  
They that will worship Bell, shall wear the Rope.  
O how our English Chronicles will shine!  
Burnt, sixty six; Rebuilt, in seventy nine.  
When jacob Hall on his High Rope shows tricks,  
The Dragon flutters; the Lord Mayor's Horse, kicks;  
The Cheapside-crowds, and Pageants scarcely know  
Which most t'admire, Hall, Hobby-horse, or Bow!   

But what mad Frenzy set your Zeal on fire,  
(Grave Citizens!) to Raise Immortal Spire  
On Sea-coal Basis? which will sooner yield  
Matter to Burn a Temple, than to Build!  
What the Coals build, the Ashes bury! no men  
Of wisdom, but would dread the threatening Omen!   

But say (Proud Dragon!) now preferred so High,  
What Marvels from that Prospect dost thou spy?  
Westward thou seest, and seeing hat'st the Walls  
Of, sometimes Reverend, now Regenerate, Paul's,  
Thy envious eyes, such glories cannot brook,  
But as the Devil once o'er Lincoln, look:  
And envys Poison, will thy Bowels Tear  
Sooner than Daniel's Doses, of Pitch, and Hair!   

Then Eastward, to avoid that wounding sight,  
Th' 〈…〉 light  
Adorned with Monstrous forms to clear the scope,  
How much thou art out-dragoned by the Pope.  
Ah fools! to dress a Monument of woe  
In whistling Silks, that should in Sackcloth, go!  
Nay strangely wise, our Senators appear  
To build That, and a Bedlam in a year,  
That if the Mum-glass crack, they may inherit  
An Hospital becoming their great merit!   

To Royal Westminster, next turn thine eye;  
Perhaps a Parliament thou mayst espy,  
Dragons of old gave Oracles at Rome;  
Then Prophecy, their Day, their Date, and Doom's ●   

And if thy Visual Ray can reach the Main;  
Tell's when the Duke, new gone, returns again!  
Facing about; next view our Guildhall well,  
Where Reverend Fox-furrs charmed by potent spell  
Of Elephants, (turned wrong side outward) dare  
Applaud the Plays; and yet hiss out the Player:  
Player! whose wise Zeal for City, Country, King,  
Shall to all points of the wide Compass ring  
Whilst Bow has Bells, or Royal Thames a Spring!   

Thy Roving Eye perhaps from Hague may send's  
How the New League, has made old Foes, new Friends:  
But let substantial witness, Credence give it,  
Or ne'er believe me, if the House believe it!  
If true, I fear too late! France at one sup,  
(Like Pearls dissolved in Cloepatra's Cup)  
Trade, Empire, netherlands has swallowed up!   

But hark! The Dragon speaks from Brazen Mouth,  
Whose words, though wind, are spoken in Good south!  
To you of Rattling fame, and great esteem;  
The higher placed, the less you ought to seem!  
To you of noble souls, and gallant minds,  
Learn to outface (with me) the Huffing winds!  
To timorous feeble spirits, that live beneath;  
Learn not of me to turn with every breath!  
To those who like (Chameleons) live on Air;  
Popular Praise is thin Consumptive fare!  
To you who Steeple upon Steeple set,  
Cut my Coxcomb if e'er to Heaven you get.