The bard a tradesman [156d]—and a Jew [156e]—
The bard a botanist [156f]—a beak [156g]—
The bard a skilled musician [156h] too—
A sheriff [156i] and a surgeon [156j] eke!
Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
That, though it’s evident I try,
Yet even I can barely mock
The glimmer of his wondrous eye!
One morning as a work I framed,
There passed a person, walking hard:
“My gracious goodness,” I exclaimed,
“How very like my dear old bard!
“Oh, what a model he would make!”
I rushed outside—impulsive me!—
“Forgive the liberty I take,
But you’re so very”—“Stop!” said he.
“You needn’t waste your breath or time,—
I know what you are going to say,—
That you’re an artist, and that I’m
Remarkably like Shakespeare. Eh?
“You wish that I would sit to you?”
I clasped him madly round the waist,
And breathlessly replied, “I do!”
“All right,” said he, “but please make haste.”
I led him by his hallowed sleeve,
And worked away at him apace,
I painted him till dewy eve,—
There never was a nobler face!
“Oh, sir,” I said, “a fortune grand
Is yours, by dint of merest chance,—
To sport his brow at second-hand,
To wear his cast-off countenance!
“To rub his eyes whene’er they ache—
To wear his baldness ere you’re old—
To clean his teeth when you awake—
To blow his nose when you’ve a cold!”
His eyeballs glistened in his eyes—
I sat and watched and smoked my pipe;
“Bravo!” I said, “I recognize
The phrensy of your prototype!”