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Therein is space enough, I trow,
For elke comrade to come and goe
And therein eke may both be fed
With shiver of the wheaten bread.
And when, as these mine eyne survey,
They cease to skip, and squeak, and play;
Return they may to different cells,
Auditing one, whilst t'other tells.
Dear Robert, quoth the Saint, whose mind,
In bounteous deed no mean can bind;
Now as I hope to grow devout,
I deem this matter well made out.
Laugh I, whilst thus I serious pray?
Let that be wrought which Mat. doth say:
Yea, quoth the Erle, but not to-day.

IN THE SAME STYLE.

FULL oft doth Mat. with Topaz dine,
Eateth baked meats, drinketh Greek wine;
But Topaz his own werke rehearseth ;
And Mat. mote praise what Topaz verseth.
Now sure as priest did e'er shrive sinner,
Full hardly earneth Mat, his dinner.

IN THE SAME STYLE.

FAIR Susan did her wif-hede well menteine Algates assaulted sore by letchours tweine: Now, and I read aright that auncient song,

Old were the paramours, the dame full yong.
Had thilke same tale in other guise been tolde;
Had they been young (pardie) and she been olde;
That, by St. Kit, had wrought much sorer tryal;
Full merveillous, I wote, were swilk denyal.

A FLOWER PAINTED BY SIMON VERELST.1

WHEN fam'd Verelst this little wonder drew,
Flora vouchsaf’d the growing work to view:
Finding the painter's science at a stand,
The goddess snatch'd the pencil from his hand;
And finishing the piece, she smiling said,
Behold one work of mine, that ne'er shall fade.

1 Simon Verelst, a Flemish painter, born at Antwerp. He settled in England, and became very celebrated for painting fruits and flowers, and received greater sums for his performances than had ever been paid before for the like kind in London. Mr. Pilkington says, “as to his flower and fruit subjects, he handled them in a charming manner, and gave them force and relief by a judicious management of the chiaro scuro. He painted his objects with great truth and resemblance of nature, and his colouring was fresh, but as to his portraits, they were not much to his honour, though he finished them as highly as he did his flowers, which he always took care to introduce in every portrait.” He died 1710, aged 46. See Pilkington's Dictionary of Painters, p. 667.

[graphic]

TO THE LADY ELIZABETH HARLEY, SINCE MARCHION ESS OF CARMARTHEN, ON A COLUMN OF HER DRAWING.

WHEN future ages shall with wonder view
These glorious lines, which Harley's daughter
drew,
They shall confess, that Britain could not raise
A fairer column to the father's praise.

PROTOGENES AND APELLES.

WHEN poets wrote, and painters drew,
As nature pointed out the view ;
Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece,
To spoil the well-proportion'd piece;
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 car'd to pray, nor dar'd to fight;
Protogenes, historians note,
Liv'd 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.
Piqu’d by Protogenes's fame,
From Co to Rhodes Apelles came,
To see a rival and a friend,
Prepar'd 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 of th’ 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 2
Yes, sir, says she, with gracious air,
And court’sy 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.

1 See C. Plinii, Nat. Hist. lib. xxxv, cap. x. vol. iii p. 181. ed. 1669,

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 panel to the maid. Smiling and court’sying, sir, she said, I shall not fail to tell my master: And, sir, for fear of all disaster, I'll keep it my ownself: 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 be found,

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