ANTISTROPHE.

Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread, Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity, combined To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread, And forge vile shackles for the freeborn mind; While Insolence his wrinkled front uprears, And all the flowers of spurious Fancy blow; And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears, Full often wreath'd around the miscreant's brow; Where ever-dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain, Presents her cup of stale Profession's froth; And pale Disease, with all his bloated train, Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth.