But what most wonderful did seem, Of all he had heard told, Was how the streets of that great town Were paved with solid gold.
Heyday! thought he, if only I Could get to that fine place! ’Twould not be long ere I would change My miserable case.
Now started off for London town Before the break of day, He fared beside a waggoner Who drove his team that way.
All day they trudged until the sun Had sunk behind the hill; And when he rose again next morn He saw them trudging still.
[Sidenote: His joy to behold that land of plenty.]
At length a multitudinous smoke Hid half th’ horizon round: And such a sight of chimney-pots! Dick gaped with joy and stound.
He thought how often he had lain Beneath the cold damp air; While here was house-room sure for all, And fires i’faith to spare.
’Twere hard indeed if one should need A chimney-corner here: And from the drays that block’d the ways Small lack could be of beer.
’Twas thus thought Dick, and so full quick The waggoner he left; And was not long, ere thro’ the throng His nimble way he cleft.
[Sidenote: His subsequent disappointment;]
Thro’ street, thro’ lane, full fast he ran; But marvell’d to behold The ways all strown with dirt and stone, And not with solid gold.
And folks were not all lords he thought, Nor ladies of degree: For here were rags, and here were tags, As in his own countrie.
Yet, where such plenty seem’d of all A hungry lad mote need, Tho’ rags were there he did not care: He could not fail to speed.
[Sidenote: he is neither fed by the victualler;]
So at a shop he made a stop: Before his well-spread board The vict’ller stood, in jolly mood; Dick thought he was a lord.
In cap ydight and waistcoat white He beckon’d folks within; While fumes arose to tell the nose Of all that savoury bin.
Dick’s joy was great to see the meat; So in he ran with haste: Alas! roast beef is nought but grief To such as may not taste.
The vict’ller’s eye right scornfully Scann’d Dick from foot to head; Who begg’d, for love of God above, A bit of meat and bread.
“For one small groat it may be bought; “I’faith it is not dear: “But no sirloin withouten coin, “Nor room for beggars here.”
Thereat a pamper’d cur rush’d forth And bit Dick’s naked feet: Who by the wrathful victualler Was shoved into the street.