And in our verse ere monkish rhymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes;
Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes
Those knights had fix'd their dull abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor cared to pray, nor dared to fight;
Protogenes, historians note,

Lived there, a burgess, scot and lot;
And, as old Pliny's writings show,
Apelles did the same at Co.

Agreed these points of time and place,
Proceed we in the present case.
Piqued by Protogenes's fame,
From Co to Rhodes Apelles came,
To see a rival and a friend,
Prepared to censure, or commend ;
Here to absolve, and there object,
As art with candour might direct.
He sails, he lands, he comes, he rings;
His servants follow with the things:
Appears the governante o' the' house,
For such in Greece were much in use;
If
young or handsome, yea or no,
Concerns not me or thee to know.
Does Squire Protogenes live here?'-
Yes, sir, (says she, with gracious air,
And courtesy low) but just call'd out
By lords peculiarly devout,

Who came on purpose, sir, to borrow
Our Venus, for the feast to-morrow,
To grace the church: 'tis Venus' day:
I hope, sir, you intend to stay
To see our Venus: 'tis the piece

The most renown'd throughout all Greece ;

So like the' original, they say:
But I have no great skill that way.
But, sir, at six, ('tis now past three)
Dromo must make my master's tea:
At six, sir, if you please to come,
You'll find my master, sir, at home.'

Tea, says a critic, big with laughter,
Was found some twenty ages after:
Authors, before they write, should read.
"Tis very true; but we'll proceed.

And, sir, at present would you please To leave your name’—‹ Fair maiden, yes: Reach me that board.' No sooner spoke But done. With one judicious stroke On the plain ground Apelles drew A circle regularly true.

And will you please, sweetheart, (said he) To show your master this from me?

By it he presently will know

How painters write their names at Co.'
He gave the pannel to the maid:
Smiling, and courtesying, 'Sir, (she said)
I shall not fail to tell my master:
And, sir, for fear of all disaster,
I'll keep it my own self: Safe bind,
Says the old proverb, and safe find.
So, sir, as sure as key or lock-
Your servant, sir-at six o'clock.'
Again at six Apelles came,
Found the same prating civil dame :
'Sir, that my master has been here,
Will by the board itself
appear:

If from the perfect line he found,
He has presumed to swell the round,

Or colours on the draught to lay,
"Tis thus, (he ordered me to say)
Thus write the painters of this isle ;
Let those of Co remark the style.'

She said; and to his hand restored
The rival pledge, the missive board.
Upon the happy line were laid
Such obvious light, and easy shade,
That Paris' apple stood confess'd,
Or Leda's egg, or Chloe's breast.
Apelles view'd the finish'd piece;
And live, (said he) the arts of Greece!
Howe'er Protogenes and I

May in our rival talents vie;

Howe'er our works may

have express'd Who truest drew, or colour'd best; When he beheld my flowing line, He found, at least, I could design; And from his artful round, I grant, That he with perfect skill can paint.' The dullest genius cannot fail To find the moral of my Tale; That the distinguish'd part of men, With compass, pencil, sword, or pen, Should in life's visit leave their name In characters, which may proclaim That they with ardour strove to raise At once their art's and country's praise; And in their working took great care That all was full, and round, and fair.

HANS CARVEL.

HANS CARVEL, impotent and old,
Married a lass of London mould:
Handsome enough; extremely gay;
Loved music, company, and play:
High flights she had, and wit at will,
And so her tongue lay seldom still;
For in all visits who but she
To argue or to repartee?

She made it plain that human passion
Was order'd by predestination;
That if weak women went astray,
Their stars were more in fault than they.
Whole tragedies she had by heart;
Enter'd into Roxana's part;

To triumph in her rival's blood,
The action certainly was good.
How like a vine young Ammon curl'd!
Oh, that dear conqueror of the world!
She pitied Betterton in age,

That ridiculed the godlike rage.

She, first of all the Town, was told
Where newest India things were sold;
So in a morning, without bodice,
Slipp'd sometimes out to Mrs. Thody's
To cheapen tea, to buy a screen;
What else could so much virtue mean?
For, to prevent the least reproach,
Betty went with her in the coach.

But when no very great affair
Excited her peculiar care,

183

She without fail was waked at ten,
Drank chocolate, then slept again :
At twelve she rose; with much ado
Her clothes were huddled on by two:
Then, Does my lady dine at home?'
'Yes, sure; but is the Colonel come?'
Next, how to spend the afternoon,
And not come home again too soon;
The 'Change, the city, or the play,
As each was proper for the day;
A turn in summer to Hyde Park,
When it grew tolerably dark.

Wife's pleasure causes husband's pain;
Strange fancies come in Hans's brain:
He thought of what he did not name,
And would reform, but durst not blame.
At first he, therefore, preach'd his wife
The comforts of a pious life;

Told her how transient beauty was;
That all must die, and flesh was grass:

He bought her sermons, psalms, and graces,
And doubled down the useful places:

But still the weight of worldly care
Allow'd her little time for prayer;

And Cleopatra1 was read o'er,

While Scot, and Wake3, and twenty more,
That teach one to deny one's self,
Stood unmolested on the shelf.
An untouch'd Bible graced her toilet,
No fear that thumb of her's should spoil it.
In short, the trade was still the same;
The Dame went out, the Colonel came.

1 A novel, much read by the ladies at that time.
2 Dr. John Scot, author of the Christian Life.
3 Dr. William Wake, Archbishop of Canterbury.