That none may rein or ride him.
Men hour by hour he doth devour,
And would they with him grapple,
At one big sup he'll gobble them up,
As schoolboys munch an apple.

All sorts of prey this Dragon doth eat;
But his favourite food's poor people,
But he 'd swallow a city, street by street,
From cottage to church steeple.
Like the Worm of Wear, this Dragon drear,
Hath grown, and grown, and grown, Sir,
And many a lair of dim despair
The Worm hath made its own, Sir.

In Bethnal Green our Laidly Worm
Hath made a loathly den,
And there hath fed for a weary term
On the bodies and souls of men.
There doth it writhe, and ramp, and slower,
Whilst in its coils close prest
Are the things it thrives on--"Landlord Power,"
And "Vested Interest."

Now, who shall tackle this Dragon bold?
Lo! a champion appears.
He seems but small, and he looks not old--
A youth of scarce three years.
But "he hath put on his coat of mail,
Thick set with razors all,"