The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.
Good luck befriend thee, Son; for at thy birth The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth.
That practis'd falsehood under saintly shew, Deep malice to conceal, couch'd with revenge.
First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.
Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow.
Behold now this vast city [London]; a city of refuge, the mansion-house of liberty, encompassed and surrounded with His protection.