The seventh day this—the Jubilee of man!

London! right well thou know'st the day of prayer:

Then thy spruce citizen, washed artisan,

And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air:

Thy coach of hackney, whiskey,[87] one-horse chair,

And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl,[da]

To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair;

Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl,

Provoking envious gibe from each pedestrian churl.[db]