Prince of Baghdad?

You should come along to the sessions. You never know, you might turn out to be a prince. ;-)
I was in this place Baghdad. I was lying on a sort of settee, all embroidered. But I’m in a golden cage. There was perfume, musky perfume, in the air, and golden plates laden with pomegranates and dates and figs and melons. There was funny exotic waily music being played and black slaves waiting on me with big awful swords. I feel sorry for them because I’ve been there myself, I’ve been a slave, but I was frightened too—they looked so fierce! I’m wearing a veil and long beautiful richly embroidered gowns. I’m holding this scroll or something, and I’m reading this incredible story from it, even though I don’t read Egyptian. And the funny thing was, I’m talking non-stop, babbling away for England as though my life’s at stake, but I can’t hear a single word, like in one of those dreams. It was like one of those pre-Raphaelite paintings they have in the gallery in Manchester—have you seen them?