London! the needy villain’s general home,
	The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome!
	With eager thirst, by folly or by fate,
	Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state.

Dr. Johnson.    

	Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire,
	And now a rabble rages, now a fire;
	Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay
	And here the fell attorney prowls for prey;
	Here falling houses thunder on your head,
	And here a female atheist talks you dead.

Dr. Johnson.    

	A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
	Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
	Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
	In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
	Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
	On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy,
	A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
	On a fool’s head—and there is London Town.

Byron.