And the Royal Proclamation against Vice and Immorality was pasted up there;
And behold, while I read it, thinking to put it, excellent as it was, into language still better,
Methought, in my vision, I dreamt—dream within dream intercircled—
And seem’d to be hurried away, by a vehement whirlwind,
To Flames and Sulhphurous Darkness, where certain of my Minor Poems were scorching,
Yet unconsumed, in penal fire; and so was I purified,
For deeds done in the flesh, being, through them, burnt by proxy,
There, too, roasted the Bishop of Osnaburgh’s Doxy,[75]
But the Righteous-one, the Prince-Bishop himself, was in Heaven;
And two boots[76] were there, as a burnt offering for pecadillo,