Tophet

Thus Etough looked; so grinned the brawling fiend, While frighted prelates bowed and called him friend; I saw them bow, and while they wished him dead, With servile simper nod the mitred head. Our mother-church, with half-averted sight, Blushed as she blessed her grisly proselyte; Hosannas rung through hell’s tremendous borders, And Satan’s self had thoughts of taking orders.