So swore I, and I swear it still—
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill.”
Canto VI.
And in another passage we have the poet-bishop himself:
“Amid that dim and smoky light,
Checkering the silver moonshine bright—
A bishop by the altar stood,
A noble lord of Douglas’ blood.
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.
Yet show’d his meek and thoughtful eye,