Lifts the sacred vision of a far-resplendent City, Flashing, like the heart of heaven, its messages afar, Trafficking, as God Himself through all His interchanging worlds, Holding up the scales of law, weighing star by star,
Stern as Justice, in one hand the sword of Truth and Righteousness; Blind as Justice, in one hand the everlasting scales, Lifts the sacred Vision of that City from the darkness, Whence the thoughts of men break out, like blossoms, or like sails!
Ordered and harmonious, a City built to music, Lifting, out of chaos, the shining towers of law,-- Ay, a sacred City, and a City built of merchandise, _Flos Mercatorum_, was the City that he saw.
And by that light," quoth Clopton, "did he keep His promise. He was rich; but in his will He wrote those words which should be blazed with gold In London's _Liber Albus_:--
_The desire And busy intention of a man, devout And wise, should be to fore-cast and secure The state and end of this short life with deeds Of mercy and pity, especially to provide For those whom poverty insulteth, those To whom the power of labouring for the needs Of life, is interdicted._ He became The Father of the City. Felons died Of fever in old Newgate. He rebuilt The prison. London sickened, from the lack Of water, and he made fresh fountains flow. He heard the cry of suffering and disease, And built the stately hospital that still Shines like an angel's lanthorn through the night, The stately halls of St. Bartholomew. He saw men wrapt in ignorance, and he raised Schools, colleges, and libraries. He heard The cry of the old and weary, and he built Houses of refuge. Even so he kept His prentice vows of Duty, Industry, Obedience, words contemned of every fool Who shrinks from law; yet were those ancient vows The adamantine pillars of the State. Let all who play their Samson be well warned That Samsons perish, too! His monument Is London!"
"True," quoth Dekker, "and he deserves Well of the Mermaid Inn for one good law, Rightly enforced. He pilloried that rogue Will Horold, who in Whittington's third year Of office, as Lord Mayor, placed certain gums And spices in great casks, and filled them up With feeble Spanish wine, to have the taste And smell of Romeney,--Malmsey!" "Honest wine, Indeed," replied the Clerk, "concerns the State, That solemn structure touched with light from heaven, Which he, our merchant, helped to build on earth. And, while he laboured for it, all things else Were added unto him, until the bells More than fulfilled their prophecy. One great eve, Fair Alice, leaning from her casement, saw Another Watch, and mightier than the first, Billowing past the newly painted doors Of Whittington Palace--so men called his house In Hart Street, fifteen yards from old Mark Lane,-- thousand burganets and halberdiers; A thousand archers in their white silk coats, A thousand mounted men in ringing mail, A thousand sworded henchmen; then, his Guild, Advancing, on their splendid bannerols The Virgin, glorious in gold; and then, _Flos Mercatorum_, on his great stirring steed Whittington! On that night he made a feast For London and the King. His feasting hall Gleamed like the magic cave that Prester John Wrought out of one huge opal. East and West Lavished their wealth on that great Citizen Who, when the King from Agincourt returned Victorious, but with empty coffers, lent Three times the ransom of an Emperor To fill them--on the royal bond, and said When the King questioned him of how and whence, 'I am the steward of your City, sire! There is a sea, and who shall drain it dry?'