I.
A palace, and a king within;-
Hail, potent monarch! Hail, King Gin!
Open stands his palace door;
Ready access have the poor;
He is praised, through all the town,
By torn coat, and nigged gown;
Weazen face, and shrivelled limb.
Each can hob and nob with him;
He extends a cordial hand
To the meanest in the land.
Sad heart in sinking bosom,-
Beauty blighted in thy blossom,-
Poverty, with thy gaunt stride,
And Theft running by thy side,-
Ignorance, untaught by any,-
Hunger, with thy only penny,-
Come, in any garments suited,-
Come, though you should come barefooted,-
Come in squalor,-come in sin,-
Doors are open;-enter in.
Come from the heat; come from the cold;
Young men, come; and come, the old;
Bring your wives, in all their charms;
Bring the babe that’s held in arms;
Bring your sisters; bring your brothers;
Bring your fathers; bring your mothers;
Bring your daughter in her beauty;
Bring the son you’ve reared to duty:
Bring your friend; and bring your neighbour;
Bring the workman from his labour;
Bring the stranger from the street;
Bring the very next you meet.
II.
A palace, and a crowd within:-
Wilt hob and nob with this King Gin?
Soh-you see He ie a King-
For he does the royal thing:-
He maintains his regal station,
By the process of taxation.
Who this palace enters in,
May learn this lesson from King Gin:-
Kings are not ashamed to tax
Shoeless feet and shirtless backs.
There, the artisan in tetters
Stands beside his well-dressed betters,-
But he wore, in former years,
Coat and hat as good as theirs;
Ere three summers, they will be
Habited as ill as he-
Sunk as deep in misery.
Yonder is a desperate woman,-
Hardly can yon call her human;
Once she was a maiden fair,
And she had rich golden hair;
Once her mother rocked her sweetly;-
Now, she’s lost, ay, lost completely.
The Magdalen asks for the poisonous drop,
Madly pledging her only hope;
She had yet a stake-but the taste of gin
Deepens disgrace, and strengthens sin;
The brand on her brow will be deepened to-morrow;
She will know less shame, and will feel less sorrow
She will fall-Oh, God, how deep!
Ere they thrust her aside to her harlot sleep.
Frenzy, with the staring hair,
Stands at the elbow of Despair,
And a step behind is Care.
Воуs approach, and girls and children-
O, their presence is bewildering-
Boys, that should be taught on stools,
And the girls in daily schools,
Dragging the streets and lanes together
In the dry and sloppy weather,
Pausing not, but plunging in,
Like grown drunkards, to drink gin.
Ah, she is not ten years old,
But her face is very bold;
She was born a drunkard’s daughter,
And a father’s hands have brought her
To this haunt of Death and Sin;-
And she leads her infant brother ;
And she curses like her mother ;
And she takes her glass of gin;
God ! she bids the infant sip ;
And the babe smiles with wet lip.
On his throne behold King Gin!
A palace, and a King within !
Open stands his palace door;-
Ready access have the poor ;-
But-alas, together dwell
With him, Sin, and Death, and Hell.
(Edward Youl)
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