The short thick sob, loud scream, and shriller squall:
How can ye, mothers, vex your children so?
Some play, some eat, some lean against the wall,
And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
And on the broken pavement, here and there,
Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie:
A brandy and tobacco shop is near,
And hens, and hogs, and dogs are feeding by;
And here a sailor’s jacket hangs to dry.
At every door are sun-burnt matrons seen,