Is the land's epitome, or you may call it the lesser isle of Great
Britain. It is more than this, the whole world's map, which you may here
discern in its perfectest motion, justling and turning. It is a heap of
stones and men, with a vast confusion of languages; and were the steeple
not sanctified, nothing liker Babel. The noise in it is like that of
bees, a strange humming or buzz mixed of walking tongues and feet: it is
a kind of still roar or loud whisper. It is the great exchange of all
discourse, and no business whatsoever but is here stirring and a-foot.
It is the synod of all pates politick, jointed and laid together in most
serious posture, and they are not half so busy at the parliament. It is
the antic of tails to tails, and backs to backs, and for vizards you
need go no farther than faces. It is the market of young lecturers, whom
you may cheapen here at all rates and sizes. It is the general mint of
all famous lies, which are here like the legends of popery, first coined
and stamped in the church. All inventions are emptied here, and not few
pockets. The best sign of a temple in it is, that it is the thieves'
sanctuary, which rob more safely in the crowd than a wilderness, whilst
every searcher is a bush to hide them. It is the other expence of the
day, after plays and tavern; and men have still some oaths left to swear
here. The visitants are all men without exceptions, but the principal
inhabitants and possessors are stale knights and captains[65] out of
service; men of long rapiers and breeches, which after all turn
merchants here and traffic for news. Some make it a preface to their
dinner, and travel for a stomach: but thriftier men make it their
ordinary, and board here very cheap[66]. Of all such places it is least
haunted with hobgoblins, for if a ghost would walk more, he could not.