We fret and fume and have an itch
To strangle folk—ungrateful knaves!
"'No, sir! Be sure that—what 's its style,
Your picture?—shall possess ungrudged
A place among my rank and file
Of Ledas and what not—be judged
Just as a picture! and (because
I fear me much I scarce have bought
A Titian) Master Buti's flaws
Found there, will have the laugh flaws ought!'