Houses, churches, mixed
together,
Streets unpleasant in all
weather;
Prisons, palaces contiguous
Gates, a bridge, the Thames
irriguous.
Gaudy things enough to tempt
ye,
Showy outsides, insides empty;
Bubbles, trades, mechanic
arts,
Coaches, wheelbarrows and
carts.
Warrants, bailiffs, bills
unpaid,
Lords of laundresses afraid:
Rogues that nightly rob and
shoot men,
Hangmen, aldermen and footmen.
Lawyers, poets, priests,
physicians
Noble, simple, all conditions:
Worth beneath a threadbare
cover,
Villainy bedaubed all over.
Women black, fair, red and
grey,
Prudes and such as never pray,
Handsome, ugly, noisy, still,
Some that will not, some that
will.
Many a beau without a
shilling,
Many a widow not unwilling;
Many a bargain if you strike
it:
This is London! How d’ye like
it?
JOHN BANCKS, ‘A Description of
London’ (1738)
Hasn't got much better since then, has it?
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