To the breeding and the speeding
Of the Smells, Smells, Smells,
Of the Smells, Smells, Smells, Smells,
Smells, Smells, Smells--
To the festering and the pestering of the Smells!

III.

See the Spectre of the Smells--
London Smells!
What a world of retrospect his tyranny compels!
In the silence of the night
How we muse on the old plight
Of Kensington,--a Dismal Swamp, and lone!
Still the old Swamp-Demon floats
O'er the City, as our throats
Have long known.
And the people--ah, the people--
Though as high as a church steeple
They have gone
For fresh air, that Demon's tolling
In a muffled monotone
Their doom, and rolling, rolling
O'er the City overgrown.
He is neither man nor woman,
He is neither brute nor human,
He's a Ghoul;
Spectre King of Smells, he tolls,
And he rolls, rolls, rolls.
Rolls,