The London Poor’s Lament.
’Mid gin-shops or “palaces” though I may roam,
’Tis better than starving and freezing at home!
No food, fire, or candle is ever found there,
Such comforts, alas! must be sought for elsewhere.
Home, home, bleak, bleak home!
For sorrow and want there’s no place like home!
As exiles from home I and mine would be fain,
We pine for a log-hut or cottage in vain.