THE GIN-SHOP;
Or, a Peep into a Priſon.

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LOOK through the land from North
to South,
And look from Eaſt to Weſt ;
And ſee what is to Engliſhmen,
Of Life the deadlieſt Peſt.

It is not Want, tho' that is bad,
Nor War, tho' that is worſe ;
But Britons brave endure, alas !
A ſelf-inflicted Curſe.

Go where you will throughout the Realm
You'll find the reigning Sin,
In Cities, Villages and Towns ;
—The Monſter's name is Gin.

The Prince of darkneſs never ſent
To Man a deadlier foe ;
"My name is Legion," it may ſay,
The ſource of every woe.

Nor does the fiend alone deprive
The labourer of his wealth ;
That is not all, it murders too
His honeſt name and health.

We ſay the times are grievous hard,
And hard they are, 'tis true ;
But, Drunkards, to your wives and babes
They're harder made by you.

The Drunkard's Tax is ſelf-impos'd,
Like every other ſin ;
The taxes all together lay,
No weight ſo great as Gin.

The State compels no man to drink,
Compels no man to game ;
'Tis GIN and gambling ſink him down
To rags, and want, and ſhame.

The kindeſt huſband, chang'd by Gin,
Is for a tyrant known ;
The tendereſt heart that Nature made,
Becomes a heart of ſtone.

In many a houſe the harmleſs babes
Are poorly cloth'd and ſed ;
Becauſe the craving GIN-SHOP takes
The children's daily bread.

Come, neighbour, take a walk with me,
Thro' many a London Street ;
And ſee the cauſe of penury,
In hundreds we ſhall meet.

We ſhall not need to travel far—
Behold that great man's door ;
He well diſcerns that idle crew,
From the deſerving poor.

He will relieve with liberal hand
The child of honeſt Thrift ;
But where long ſcores at GIN-SHOPS ſtand
He will with-hold his gift.

Behold that ſhivering female there,
Who plies her woeful trade !
'Tis ten to one you'll find that Gin,
That hopeleſs wretch has made.

Look down theſe ſteps, and view below
Yon cellar under ground ;
There every want, and every woe,
And every Sin, is found.

Thoſe little wretches trembling there,
With hunger and with cold,
Were by their parents love of GIN,
To Sin and Miſery ſold.

Bleſt be thoſe friends* to human kind,
Who take theſe wretches up,
Ere they have drunk the bitter dregs
Of their ſad parents cup.

Look thro' that priſon's iron bars,
Look thro' that diſmal grate ;
And learn what dire misfortunes brought
So terrible a fate.

The Debtor and the Felon too,
Tho' differing much in fin,
Too oft you'll find were thither brought
By all-deſtroying GIN.

Yet Heaven forbid I ſhou'd confound
Calamity with guilt !
Or name the Debtor's leſser fault,
With blood of Brother ſpilt.

*The Philanthropic Society.

To priſon dire misfortune oft
The guiltleſs debtor brings ;
Yet oft'ner far it will be found
From GIN the miſery ſprings.

See the pale Manufact'rer there,
How lank and lean he lies !
How haggard is his ſickly cheek !
How dim his hollow eyes !

He plied the loom with good ſucceſs,
His wages ſtill were high ;
Twice what the Village lab'rer gains,
His maſter did ſupply.

No book-debts kept him from his caſh,
All paid as ſoon as due ;
His wages on the Saturday
To fail he never knew.

How amply had his gains ſuſfic'd,
On Wife and children ſpent !
But all muſt for his pleaſures go ;
All to the GIN-SHOP went.

See that Apprentice, young in years,
But hackney'd long in ſin ;
What made him rob his maſter's Till ?
Alas ! 'twas love of Gin.

That ſerving Man—I knew him once,
So jaunty, ſpruce, and ſmart !
Why did he ſteal, then pawn the plate ?
'Twas GIN enſnar'd his heart.

But hark ! what diſmal found is that ?
'Tis Saint Sepulchre's Bell !
It tolls, alas ! for human guilt,
Some Malefactor's knell.

O ! woeful found, O ! what cou'd cauſe,
Such puniſhment and Sin ?
Hark! hear his words, he owns the cauſe—
Bad Company and Gin.

And when the future Lot is fix'd,
Of darkneſs, fire and chains,
How can the Drunkard hope to 'ſcape
Thoſe everlaſting pains ?

For if the Murd'rer's doom'd to woe,
As holy writ declares,
The Drunkard with SELF-Murderers
That dreadful Portion ſhares.

z.

[Enter'd at Stationers Hall.]

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