Close-stacked, crazy rookeries, rotting and rank,
Pest-pregnant, plague-foul in each timber and plank,
Rear thick-huddled frontages, row upon row,
The smoke-pall above, and the swamp-ooze below.
Each garret-roof covers its horde—though it leaks,
Each cellar slough hides its pale crowd—though it reeks.
Dumb thralls, voiceless victims, none heeds their mute call;
But Dirt and Disease are the masters of all.
Home, Home, Sweet, Sweet Home!
As ruled by King Bumble, a sweet place is Home!