"Wolf," said the dog, "the whilst we rest on, I fain would ask of you a question."
"Wolf," said the dog, "with soul so steady And limbs so strong, I wonder much That you our lambs and ewes should touch. There are the lion and the boar To bathe your jaws with worthier gore; 'Tis cowardly to raid the fold."
"Friend," said the wolf, "I pray thee, hold! Nature framed me a beast of prey, And I must eat when, where I may. Now if your bosom burn with zeal To help and aid the bleating-weal, Hence to your lord and master: say What you have said to me; or, stay, Tell him that I snatch, now and then, One sheep for thousands gorged by men. I am their foe, and called a curse, But a pretended friend is worse."
Lest captious men suspect your story, Speak modestly its history. The traveller, who overleaps the bounds Of probability, confounds; But though men hear your deeds with phlegm, You may with flattery cram them. Hyperboles, though ne'er so great, Will yet come short of self-conceit.
A painter drew his portraits truly, And marked complexion and mien duly;-- Really a fellow knew the picture, There was nor flattery nor delicture. The eyes, and mouth, and faulty nose, Were all showed up in grim repose; He marked the dates of youth and age-- But so he lost his clientage: The which determined to recover, He turned in mind the matter over. He bought a pair of busts--one, Venus, The other was Apollo Phoebus; Above his subject client placed them, And for the faulty features traced them. Chatted the while of Titian's tints, Of Guido--Raphael--neither stints To raise him to the empyrëal, Whilst he is sketching his ideal. He sketches, utters, "That will do: Be pleased, my lord, to come and view." "I thought my mouth a little wider." "My lord, my lord, you me deride, ah!" "Such _was_ my nose when I was young." "My lord, you have a witty tongue." "Ah well, ah well! you artists flatter." "That were, my lord, no easy matter." "Ah well, ah well! you artists see best." "My lord, I only (_aside_) earn my fee best."
So with a lady--he, between us, Borrowed the face and form of Venus. There was no fear of its rejection-- Her lover voted it perfection. So on he went to fame and glory, And raised his price--which ends the story;-- But not the moral,--which, though fainter, Bids one to scorn an honest painter.