III.

Yet on this plain, most goodly to behold, Saw I a temple tow’ring to the sky, The dome where of was made of basest gold, Most false, but yet most lovely to the eye; And rotting pillars reareth it on high, Of ghastly human heads, and clotted gore, With dust, y’mixt the mortar doth supply, While foulest birds still round this temple soar, And filthy serpents hiss, and giant hyenas roar.