just saw this. loves it!
I felt a certain affinity with this passage from an adaptation of part of Vergil's Georgics placed by Abraham Cowley at the end of his essay On solitude.
. . . I see
The monster London laugh at me:
I should at thee too, foolish city,
If it were fit to laugh at misery;
But thy estate I pity.
Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
And all the fools that crowd thee so,
Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost.