I wander through each chartered street, Near where the chartered thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks 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-forged manacles I hear.
How the chimney-sweeper's cry Every blackening church appalls, And the hapless soldier's sigh Runs in blood down palace walls
But most, through midnight streets I hear How the youthful harlot's curse Blasts the new-born infant's tear And blights with plagues the marriage hearse
I wander through each chartered street, Near where the chartered thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe
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