After London

London Bridge is broken down;         Green is the grass on Ludgate Hill;     I know a farmer in Camden Town         Killed a brock by Pentonville.     I have heard my grandam tell         How some thousand years ago     Houses stretched from Camberwell         Right to Highbury and Bow.     Down by Shadwell's golden meads         Tall ships' masts would stand as thick     As the pretty tufted reeds         That the Wapping children pick.     All the kings from end to end         Of all the world paid tribute then,     And meekly on their knees would bend         To the King of the Englishmen.     Thinks I while I dig my plot,         What if your grandam's tales be true?     Thinks I, be they true or not,         What's the odds to a fool like you?     Thinks I, while I smoke my pipe         Here beside the tumbling Fleet,     Apples drop when they are ripe,         And when they drop are they most sweet.