"Oh, yes, it's like; yes, very; it will do.
Extremely like me—every feature—but
That plain pug-nose; now mine's the Grecian cut!"
Her Grace surveys her face with drooping lid;
Prefers the portrait which Sir Thomas did;
Owns that o'er this some traits of truth are sprinkled;
But views the brow with anger—"Why, it's wrinkled!"
"Like me!" cries Sir Turtle; "I'll lay two to one
It would only be guess'd by my foes;
No, no, it is plain there are spots in the sun,