 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
115. Of the Thames.
Some gallant Rivers do neglected run,And have no viewers but the constant Sun,
The solitary Moon, and Beasts that by
Their hollow banks do feed themselves to die:
Whil'st upon Thames, the Glory of our Isle,
Fair Towns, and Palaces, and Castles smile:
But above all London (that doth embrace
Those sprightly streams) affords the chiefest grace.
192
(Would in the Beer that's drunk) soon quaff it down.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |