He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colours laid,
To bloom restored the faded maid:
He
gave
each muscle all its strength;
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length;
His honest pencil touched with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.

He lost his friends, his practice fail'd:
Truth should not always be reveal'd.
In dusty piles his pictures lay,

For no one sent the second pay.

Two bustos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He placed in view; resolved to please,
Whoever sat, he drew from these,
From these corrected every feature,

And spirited each awkward creature.

All things were set; the hour was come,

His pallet ready o'er his thumb:

My Lord appear'd; and seated right,
In proper attitude and light,

The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece,
Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air:

66 Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there
Might well a Raphael's hand require,
To give them all the native fire;
The features, fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant are very hard to hit ;

But yet with patience you shall view
As much as paint and art can do.”

Observe the work. My Lord replied,
"Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Besides my nose is somewhat long;

Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young."

"Oh! pardon me," the artist cried;
"In this we painters must decide.
The piece e'en common eyes must strike,
I warrant it extremely like."

My Lord examined it anew;
No looking-glass seem'd half so true.
A lady came; with borrow'd grace
He from his Venus form'd her face.
Her lover praised the Painter's art ;
So like the picture in his heart!
To every age some charm he lent;
E'en beauties were almost content.

Through all the town his art they praised;
His custom grew, his price was raised.
Had he the real likeness shown,

Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.

THE LION AND THE CUB.

How fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the mean and base!
These cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from superior merit fly.

They love the cellar's vulgar joke,

And lose their hours in ale and smoke;

There o'er some petty club preside,

So poor, so paltry is their pride!

Nay, e'en with fools whole nights will sit,

In hopes to be supreme in wit.

If these can read, to these I write,
To set their worth in truest light.

A Lion-cub, of sordid mind,
Avoided all the lion kind;

Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts;

With asses all his time he spent,
Their club's perpetual president.

He caught their manners, looks, and airs;
An ass in everything but ears!
If e'er his Highness meant a joke,
They grinn'd applause before he spoke :
But at each word what shouts of praise!
"Good gods! how natural he brays!"
Elate with flattery and conceit,

He seeks his royal sire's retreat;
Forward, and fond to show his parts,
His Highness brays; the Lion starts.
"Puppy! that cursed vociferation
Betrays thy life and conversation:
Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,
Are trumpets of their own disgrace."
"Why so severe ?" the Cub replies;
"Our senate always held me wise.”

"How weak is pride!" returns the sire; "All fools are vain when fools admire! But know, what stupid asses prize, Lions and noble beasts despise."

RESTRAIN your child; you'll soon believe
The text which says we sprung from Eve.
As an old hen led forth her train,

And seem'd to peck to show the grain,

She raked the chaff, she scratch'd the ground, And glean'd the spacious yard around:

A giddy chick, to try her wings,

On the well's narrow margin springs,

And prone she drops. The mother's breast

All day with sorrow was possest.

A Cock she met; her son she knew, And in her heart affection grew.

66

My Son," says she, "I grant your years Have reach'd beyond a mother's cares.