by the  winding Streams,
Beneath the Hills, a peopled Island seems;
An antient  in its Center stands,
The labour'd Work of superstitious Hands.
When  supreme did guide the Helm,
And  overspread the Realm;
The  amaz'd the gaping Croud,
And  was veil'd in  Cloud;
When  for  bled;
And  were offer'd to the ;
When  Devotion drew,
And  were worshipp'd as the ;
Witness yon ; how impiously design'd
In  to represent th' !
Witness the  and  on the !
to their Vot'ries , and  to their .
Welcome, fair , and  !
Yet  spread your Wings, and brighter shine;
Dart  Beams on ev'ry  Soul,
And scatter  to the Pole.
Now for  is the  design'd;
O that the Muse cou'd say to  confin'd!
Ev'n there, by , and ,
The  her  knows!
Fly hence, , nor taint this Sacred Place;
Mock not thy GOD, to flatter  Face.
This Sacred Pile incloses honour'd Dust,
And pompous  secure the Trust:
There , the Noble Prelate, lies,
With pious Hands up-lifted to the Skies:
A  here enjoys eternal Fame,
Join'd on the Marble with Great  Name.