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Rare temples thou hast seen, I know, And rich for in and outward show: Survey this chapel, built alone, Without or lime, or wood, or stone: Then say if one thou'st seen more fine Than this, the fairies' once, now thine.

A way enchased with glass and beads There is, that to the chapel leads: Whose structure, for his holy rest, Is here the halcyon's curious nest: Into the which who looks shall see His temple of idolatry, Where he of godheads has such store, As Rome's pantheon had not more. His house of Rimmon this he calls, Girt with small bones instead of walls. First, in a niche, more black than jet, His idol-cricket there is set: Then in a polished oval by There stands his idol-beetle-fly: Next in an arch, akin to this, His idol-canker seated is: