The dens whence they drew the rack-rents that they loved.
Sad outcasts of Babylon! How shall ye rest
While the vampires are sucking the blood from your breast?
Or how shall the storms that beat over you cease,
While your hearts, like your quarters, are strangers to peace?
T. A. Wilson.
Highly commended:
There is not in the wide world a city so great
As the Babylon mistress of Britain’s proud State,