London

by
 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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