Thick clouds of incense, till she see
All that is excellent in me!
Who knows, but, mighty and ador’d,
I may become Right Reverend Lord;[10]
And spite of all his vast pretences,
My rival great Wigorniensis?
A mitre,—yea, perhaps the best,
May crown my toil and make me blest.
If I can get a mitre—now
I care not where I go or how.