London

I wander thro'each charter'd street，

Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.

And 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 blackning 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.