v'Nought loves another as itself,
 Nor venerates another so,
 Nor is it possible to thought
 A greater than itself to know.
 
 'And, father, how can I love you 
 Or any of my brothers more?
 I love you like the little bird
 That picks up crumbs around the door.'
 
 The Priest sat by and heard the child;
 In trembling zeal he seized his hair,
 He led him by his little coat,
 And all admired the priestly care. 
 
 And standing on the altar high,
 'Lo, what a fiend is here! said he:
 'One who sets reason up for judge
 Of our most holy mystery.'
 
 The weeping child could not be heard,
 The weeping parents wept in vain:
 They stripped him to his little shirt,
 And bound him in an iron chain,
 
 And burned him in a holy place
 Where many had been burned before;
 The weeping parents wept in vain.
 Are such thing done on Albion's shore?