London

 I wander thro' each charter'd street.

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow
A mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.


In every cry of every Man.

In every Infants cry of fear.

In every voice; in every ban.

The mind-forg'd manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackening Church appalls.

And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

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