The Picture

A PORTRAIT , at my Lord's command,
Completed by a curious hand:
For dabblers in the nice Verta
His Lordship set the piece to view,
Bidding their Connoisseurships tell,
Whether the work was finish'd well.
" Why, " says the loudest, " on my word.
'Tis not a Likeness, good my Lord;
Nor, to be plain, for speak I must,
Can I pronounce one feature just. "
Another effort straight was made,
Another portraiture essay'd;
The judges were again besought,
Each to deliver what he thought.
" Worse than the first " — the critics bawl;
" O what a mouth! how monstrous small!
Look at the cheeks, how lank and thin!
See, what a most preposterous chin! "
After remonstrance made in vain,
" I'll, " says the painter, " once again,
(If my good Lord vouchsafes to sit)
Try for a more successful hit:
If you'll to-morrow deign to call,
We'll have a piece to please you all. "
To-morrow comes — a picture's plac'd
Before those spurious sons of Taste — —
In their opinions all agree,
This is the vilest of the three.
" Know — to confute your envious pride,
(His Lordship from the canvass cry'd)
Know — that it is my real face,
Where you could no resemblance trace:
I've try'd you by a lucky trick,
And prov'd your Genius to the quick.
Void of all judgment, justice, sense,
Out — ye pretending varlets — hence. "

The Connoisseurs depart in haste,
Despis'd — detected — and disgrac'd.