He climbs a rotten and rickety stair,
Foul filth its cracked walls smearing.
“Why, chaos,” says he, “had a pleasanter air,
And needed less careful steering.”
He sees commingling of Labour and Vice
In joint contamination.
Quoth he, “This, indeed, were a spectacle nice
For Belial’s contemplation.”
Sees Childhood, broken with ill-paid toil,
’Midst sin’s contagious venom.