I wander thro' each charter'd street,Near where the charter'd Thames does flow,And mark in every face I meetMarks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,In every Infant's cry of fear,In every voice, in every ban,The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper's cryEvery blackning Church appalls;And the hapless Soldier's sighRuns in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro' midnight streets I hearHow the youthful Harlot's curseBlasts the new-born Infant's tear,And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

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