"Great joy to London now!" says some great fool,

When London had a grand illumination,

Which to that bottle-conjuror, John Bull,

Is of all dreams the first hallucination;

So that the streets of coloured lamps are full,

That sage (said John) surrenders at discretion[HO]His purse, his soul, his sense, and even his nonsense,

To gratify, like a huge moth, this one sense.