Weep all ye Mortals who have Tears to spare.

You that have none, continue as you are;

But, if you can’t your usual Temper keep,

You, if you please, may Laugh at those that Weep.

But, Reader, thou may’st justly ask me why,

Or wherefore, I should have you Laugh and Cry;

I’ll tell thee then, if know the Truth you must,

Alas! Alas! White-Hall’s Consumed to Dust;

In Earthly things, Ah! Who would put their Trust?

Tho’I confess, if I may be so bold

To tell to you, what I have oft been told,

’Twas but a wicked Structure whilst it stood,

I always thought ’twould never come to Good!

Most, I believe, will my Opinion hold,

Like some good Wives, ’twas Ugly,and ’twas Old.

Some say it was a Palace of Renown,

But I must say (with Rev’rence to the Crown)

It ne’er looked truly Noble till ’twas down,

As scatter’d Ruins most delightful be,

In whose Disorder we more Beauty see,

Than can be found in Regularity.

Before ’twas burnt, it unregarded stood,

A Shapeless, Homely Pile of Brick and Wood:

But when the Fatal Flames had bore it down,

’Twas Gaz’d at, and Admir’d by all the Town.

Alas ’tis gone! And all that does remain,

Is to Rebuild it finer up again;

Which Politicians say will be the Sequel,

So Laugh or Cry, to me the matter’s equal.