L. da Vinci. Where else should sit the architects, engineers, philosophers, poets of the nation—in whom all knowledge is orbed around the Beautiful, and grows to Art?
Sir J. Reynolds. I am not informed that they do sit exactly at the Royal board, but the equerries’ table is excellent—and no doubt——
M. Angelo. Basta! Do not mince words, man—out with it. The painters’ table with the lackeys! Excellent England!
AN ARTIST SCAMP IN THE HIGHLANDS.
Artist (entering). My good woman, if you’ll allow me, I’ll just paint that bedstead of yours.
Cottager (with bob-curtsey). Thank ye, sir, I’ sure it’s very kind of ye—but dinna ye think the wee yin wants it more?
Titian (aside). These islanders! But our pictures which adorn your English galleries, my Bacchus and Ariadne—I painted it for Gonzaga.
M. Angelo. Well remembered, Vicellio. There’s Sebastiano’s picture, too, in your gallery; I painted the Lazarus, my Rafael, to shame thee. Blister my hand for it! How of it?
Rafael. It is a noble work, and I was honoured by such a rivalry.