FABLE XXXVIII.
THE MACAW AND THE MARMOT.
A brilliantly-colored Macaw,
A wandering clown, near the spot
Where she hung in a balcony, saw—
A Savoyard, more likely than not.
He was showing—a penny to gain—
An animal ugly and squat;
Which he lauded in high-sounding strain
The creature, it was a Marmot.
The absurd little beast, at his word,
Came out of his box into sight;
When unto him said our gay bird:
"This matter amazes me quite,
That men give their money, to see
Such a comical creature as you,
When they freely may look upon me,
Clad in plumage of exquisite hue.
You may be, for aught that I know,
Some creature of value untold;
But for me, 'tis enough that you show
Yourself to all comers, for gold."
A scribbler, who heard the remark,
Hung his head, and went sneaking away
Because, for his low, dirty work,
He was kept by a printer in pay.
FABLE XXXIX.
THE PORTRAIT.
A spreading contagion, defacing our tongue
With phrases outlandish, our critics bemoan.
But some fools have their notions of purity hung
Upon obsolete terms superseding our own.
Living words they despise as a vulgar intrusion,
And forgotten ones rake from oblivion's gloom.
For a word of advice on such stupid conclusion,
In phrase like their own, we here must find room;
In two dialects, jostling in motley confusion.
Of our own times a Painter—who jealousy felt
That some portraits antique, of a day long bygone
From the connoisseurs won both lauding and gelt—
Determined to make some antiques of his own.
So essaying, one day, the portrait to limn
Of a certain rich man, in high estimate held,
He deemed that a dress of antiquity grim
Would give to his limning the impress of eld.
For a second Velasquez he counted to stand—
When the traits of the sitter, to perfect content,
Having deftly depicted—with grave collar and band,
And glittering gauds, he a costume besprent
That had figured, whilom, as stately and grand.
To his patron the work he carries with speed.
He, his form thus yclad with wonderment saw;
By such odd gear full sorely astounded, I rede,—
Though the face of the portrait showed dainty and braw.
This antick his patron, to quip him, devised—
The Painter a guerdon to grant, to his gree—
In a chest, as heir-loom from his ancestry prized,
Some old coins had been lying for centuries three;
Of the first of the Charles' and fifth Ferdinand,
Of Philip the second and Philip the third:
A purse full of these he placed in the hand
Of the Painter abashed—but ne'er said a word.
"With these coin—or, as certes, I rather might say—
These medals, to market if I chance for to his,"—
Quoth our limner,—"when victuals I needed, I pray,
How, with such, could I chaffer my cheer to supply?
"But sith," said the other, "you've pranked me out there
In a guise, that was once brave and lordly,—'tis true,
But which no living man but a beadle would wear;
As you 've painted me, so I have paid you.
Take your picture again, and paint round my throat
A cravat, instead of that collar and band—
Yon satin slashed doublet exchange for my coat,
And my rapier, too, for that basket-hilt brand;
Not one, in the city's whole compass, there is
Who, in trappings like these, would guess at my phiz.
Paint me like myself, and the price I'll lay down
In good money, current in country or town."