- 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.
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- 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.
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- How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
- Every black'ning Church appalls;
- And the hapless Soldier's sigh
- Runs in blood down Palace walls.
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- But most thro' midnight streets I hear
- How the youthful Harlot's curse
- Blasts the new-born Infant's tear,
- And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.