Its chance i' the gutter? This a daub, indeed?

Why, 't is a Rafael that you kicked to rags!"

Perhaps so: some prefer the pure design:

Give me my gorge of color, glut of gold

In a glory round the Virgin made for me!

Titian 's the man, not Monk Angelico

Who traces you some timid chalky ghost

That turns the church into a charnel: ay,

Just such a pencil might depict my wife!

She,—since she, also, would not change herself,—