On equal terms assemble here—
The race is not for rank—but gold!
And whilst the whirling ball flies round,
In dread suspense the gamester stands—
It drops—and quick each shining mound
Dissolves—and shifts to other hands.
Shall Albion’s sons and daughters roam
To Baden’s fonts for “change of air,”
And bring these foreign vices home—
Abhorr’d—endured—but practis’d there![28]