Scene III.—The Academy at Venice.
Di. A modern daub it was, perchance,
I know not: but the connoisseur
From Titian’s hues, I dare be sure,
Had never turned one kindly glance,
Where Byron, somewhat drest-up, draws
His sword, impatient long, and speaks
Unto a tribe of motley Greeks
His fealty to their good cause.
Not far, assumed to mystic bliss,