Sweet home’s affections and delights, pass through
The fire of Moloch: Avarice at the shrine
Of greedy Mammon, gluts his eyes with gold:
Some to Renown bend low the obsequious knee,
Praying to be eternized by a blast
From her shrill trumpet: in the glittering halls
Of sensual Pleasure some sing songs, and bind
Their fair young brows with chaplets steeped in wine;
Though soon the chaplets turn to chains, the wines
To gall and wormwood, and the festal song