Come, neighbour, take a walk with me
Through many a London street,
And see the cause of penury
In hundreds we shall meet.

We shall not need to travel far—
Behold that great man's door;
He well discerns that idle crew
From the deserving poor.

He will relieve with liberal hand
The child of honest thrift;
But where long scores at Gin-Shops stand
He will withhold his gift.

Behold that shivering female there,
Who plies her woeful trade!
'Tis ten to one you'll find that Gin
That hopeless wretch has made.

Look down these steps, and view below
Yon cellar under ground;
There every want and every woe,
And every sin is found.

Those little wretches, trembling there
With hunger and with cold,
Were by their parents' love of Gin
To sin and misery sold …

To prison dire misfortune oft
The guiltless debtor brings;
Yet oftener far it will be found
From Gin the misery springs.

See the pale manufacturer there,
How lank and lean he lies!
How haggard is his sickly cheek!
How dim his hollow eyes!

He plied the loom with good success,
His wages still were high;
Twice what the village-labourer gains
His master did supply.

No book-debts kept him from his cash,
All paid as soon as due;
His wages on the Saturday
To fail he never knew.

How amply had his gains sufficed,
On wife and children spent!
But all must for his pleasures go;
All to the Gin-Shop went.

See that apprentice, young in years,
But hackneyed long in sin;
What made him rob his master's till?
Alas! 'twas love of Gin.

That serving-man—I knew him once,
So jaunty, spruce and smart!
Why did he steal, then pawn the plate?
'Twas Gin ensnared his heart.

But hark! what dismal sound is that?
'Tis Saint Sepulchre's bell!
It tolls, alas! for human guilt,
Some malefactor's knell.

O! woeful sound, O! what could cause
Such punishment and sin?
Hark! hear his words, he owns the cause—
Bad Company and Gin.

And when the future lot is fixed
Of darkness, fire and chains,
How can the drunkard hope to 'scape
Those everlasting pains?

For if the murderer's doomed to woe,
As holy writ declares,
The drunkard with Self-murderers
That dreadful portion shares.