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hose good taste he could depend.
The friend was honest, spoke his thought,
And fairly pointed out the fault,
"That overwork'd in every part,
It show'd too much laborious art."
The painter argued for his rules,
And cited maxims from the schools;
Still the judicious critic held
The labor should be more conceal'd.
While they disputed on his stricture,
A coxcomb came to see the picture:
Entering, he cries, "Good heavens, how fine!
The piece, I swear, is quite divine!
The sword, the knot, the belt, the leather,
The steel, the gold, the silk, the feather,
Are perfect nature, all together!"
The painter, reddening with despite,
Whispers, "My friend, by Jove, you're right.
'Tis not enough our art to know,
Till less of it we learn to show;
My picture must be done again
I see, to please discerning men."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE COBBLER AND THE NABOB.
A cobbler, who had fix'd his stall
Against a nabob's palace wall,
Work'd merrily as others play,
And sung and whistled all the day.
A prey to many an anxious care,
Less merry was the lord, by far;
And often in the night he thought
It hard, sleep was not to be bought:
And if tow'rds morn he got a doze,
The cobbler troubled his repose.
One day he bid the man attend--
And, "Well," says he, "my honest friend,
How is it that so well you thrive?
You seem the happiest man alive.
Pray, what may be the profit clear,
That you can earn within the year?"
"What in a twelvemonth I can earn,
My lord, was never my concern;
'Tis quite enough," the cobbler said,
"If I can gain my daily bread."
"Take then this note"--'twas twenty pound;
"But sing not with so shrill a sound,
Good man," the generous nabob cries,
"When early to your work you rise;
For then I want to close my eyes."
Delighted to his stall he went:
But now he first felt discontent;
All day he