Chapter XVII: Part III

“Floating, floating, down the Thames,
Upon our backward way,
All sorts of foul and nasty things
Did seek our course to stay.

“At every window in they look’d
Upon the deck they leapt,
They crawl’d upon our visages,
And on our plates they crept.

“To tell you of their hideous forms
I have nor power nor hope――
Look on a water drop shown in
The gaseous microscope.

“They were the Vermin of the stream
That now is London’s sink;
The filthy stream that is at once
Her sewer, her bath, her drink.

“And as they crawl’d, and crept, and writhed,
We heard this awful ditty――
‘The Vermin of the Thames salute
The Fathers of the City!’”