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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=507427" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Fairy Temple; Or, Oberon's Chapel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE FAIRY TEMPLE; OR, OBERON'S CHAPEL</div><div style="margin:10px 0">DEDICATED TO MR JOHN MERRIFIELD,<br>COUNSELLOR AT LAW</div><div style="margin:10px 0">RARE TEMPLES THOU HAST SEEN, I KNOW,<br>AND RICH FOR IN AND OUTWARD SHOW;<br>SURVEY THIS CHAPEL BUILT, ALONE,<br>WITHOUT OR LIME, OR WOOD, OR STONE.<br>THEN SAY, IF ONE THOU'ST SEEN MORE FINE<br>THAN THIS, THE FAIRIES' ONCE, NOW THINE.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE TEMPLE</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A way enchaced with glass and beads<br>There is, that to the Chapel leads;<br>Whose structure, for his holy rest,<br>Is here the Halcyon's curious nest;<br>Into the which who looks, shall see<br>His Temple of Idolatry;<br>Where he of god-heads has such store,<br>As Rome's Pantheon had not more.<br>His house of Rimmon this he calls,<br>Girt with small bones, instead of walls.<br>First in a niche, more black than jet,<br>His idol-cricket there is set;<br>Then in a polish'd oval by<br>There stands his idol-beetle-fly;<br>Next, in an arch, akin to this,<br>His idol-canker seated is.<br>Then in a round, is placed by these<br>His golden god, Cantharides.<br>So that where'er ye look, ye see<br>No capital, no cornice free,<br>Or frieze, from this fine frippery.<br>Now this the Fairies would have known,<br>Theirs is a mixt religion:<br>And some have heard the elves it call<br>Part Pagan, part Papistical.<br>If unto me all tongues were granted,<br>I could not speak the saints here painted.<br>Saint Tit, Saint Nit, Saint Is, Saint Itis,<br>Who 'gainst Mab's state placed here right is.<br>Saint Will o' th' Wisp, of no great bigness,<br>But, alias, call'd here FATUUS IGNIS.<br>Saint Frip, Saint Trip, Saint Fill, Saint Filly;--<br>Neither those other saint-ships will I<br>Here go about for to recite<br>Their number, almost infinite;<br>Which, one by one, here set down are<br>In this most curious calendar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First, at the entrance of the gate,<br>A little puppet-priest doth wait,<br>Who squeaks to all the comers there,<br>'Favour your tongues, who enter here.<br>'Pure hands bring hither, without stain.'<br>A second pules, 'Hence, hence, profane!'<br>Hard by, i' th' shell of half a nut,<br>The holy-water there is put;<br>A little brush of squirrels' hairs,<br>Composed of odd, not even pairs,<br>Stands in the platter, or close by,<br>To purge the fairy family.<br>Near to the altar stands the priest,<br>There offering up the holy-grist;<br>Ducking in mood and perfect tense,<br>With (much good do't him) reverence.<br>The altar is not here four-square,<br>Nor in a form triangular;<br>Nor made of glass, or wood, or stone,<br>But of a little transverse bone;<br>Which boys and bruckel'd children call<br>(Playing for points and pins) cockall.<br>Whose linen-drapery is a thin,<br>Sub|ile, and ductile codling's skin;<br>Which o'er the board is smoothly spread<br>With little seal-work damasked.<br>The fringe that circumbinds it, too,<br>Is spangle-work of trembling dew,<br>Which, gently gleaming, makes a show,<br>Like frost-work glitt'ring on the snow.<br>Upon this fetuous board doth stand<br>Something for shew-bread, and at hand<br>(Just in the middle of the altar)<br>Upon an end, the Fairy-psalter,<br>Graced with the trout-flies' curious wings,<br>Which serve for watchet ribbonings.<br>Now, we must know, the elves are led<br>Right by the Rubric, which they read:<br>And if report of them be true,<br>They have their text for what they do;<br>Ay, and their book of canons too.<br>And, as Sir Thomas Parson tells,<br>They have their book of articles;<br>And if that Fairy knight not lies<br>They have their book of homilies;<br>And other Scriptures, that design<br>A short, but righteous discipline.<br>The bason stands the board upon<br>To take the free-oblation;<br>A little pin-dust, which they hold<br>More precious than we prize our gold;<br>Which charity they give to many<br>Poor of the parish, if there's any.<br>Upon the ends of these neat rails,<br>Hatch'd with the silver-light of snails,<br>The elves, in formal manner, fix<br>Two pure and holy candlesticks,<br>In either which a tall small bent<br>Burns for the altar's ornament.<br>For sanctity, they have, to these,<br>Their curious copes and surplices<br>Of cleanest cobweb, hanging by<br>In their religious vestery.<br>They have their ash-pans and their brooms,<br>To purge the chapel and the rooms;<br>Their many mumbling mass-priests here,<br>And many a dapper chorister.<br>Their ush'ring vergers here likewise,<br>Their canons and their chaunteries;<br>Of cloister-monks they have enow,<br>Ay, and their abbey-lubbers too:--<br>And if their legend do not lie,<br>They much affect the papacy;<br>And since the last is dead, there's hope<br>Elve Boniface shall next be Pope.<br>They have their cups and chalices,<br>Their pardons and indulgences,<br>Their beads of nits, bells, books, and wax-<br>Candles, forsooth, and other knacks;<br>Their holy oil, their fasting-spittle,<br>Their sacred salt here, not a little.<br>Dry chips, old shoes, rags, grease, and bones,<br>Beside their fumigations.<br>Many a trifle, too, and trinket,<br>And for what use, scarce man would think it.<br>Next then, upon the chanter's side<br>An apple's-core is hung up dried,<br>With rattling kernels, which is rung<br>To call to morn and even-song.<br>The saint, to which the most he prays<br>And offers incense nights and days,<br>The lady of the lobster is,<br>Whose foot-pace he doth stroke and kiss,<br>And, humbly, chives of saffron brings<br>For his most cheerful offerings.<br>When, after these, he's paid his vows,<br>He lowly to the altar bows;<br>And then he dons the silk-worm's shed,<br>Like a Turk's turban on his head,<br>And reverently departeth thence,<br>Hid in a cloud of frankincense;<br>And by the glow-worm's light well guided,<br>Goes to the Feast that's now provided.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Herrick">Robert Herrick</a><div class=q>
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DEDICATED TO MR JOHN MERRIFIELD,
COUNSELLOR AT LAW

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..."></div>
</div>
</div>