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He looks and retouches again with delight,

'Tis a portrait compleat to his mind! He touches again, and again feeds his sight, He looks round for applause, and he sees with affright

The Original standing behind.

Fool! Idiot! old Beelzebub grinn'd as he spoke

And stampt on the scaffold in ire. The Painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke, 'Twas a terrible height, and the scaffolding broke,

The Devil could wish it no higher.

Help-help me! O Mary! he cried in alarm

As the scaffold sunk under his feet. From the canvas the Virgin extended her arm, She caught the good Painter, she saved him from harm,

There were hundreds who saw in the street.

The Old Dragon filed when the wonder he spied

And cursed his own fruitless endeavour.
While the Painter call’d after his rage to deride,
Shook his pallet and brushes in triumph and cried,

I'll paint thee more ugly than ever !

The PIOUS PAINTER,

THE SECOND PART.

The Painter so pious all praise had acquired

For defying the malice of Hell; The Monks the unerring resemblance admired : Not a Lady lived near but her portrait desired

From one who succeeded so well.

One there was to be painted the number among

Of features most fair to behold; The country around of fair Marguerite rung, Marguerite she was lovely and lively and young,

Her husband was ugly and old.

O Painter avoid her ! O Painter take care !

For Satan is watchful for you! Take heed lest you fall in the Wicked One's snare, The net is made ready, O Painter beware

Of Satan and Marguerite too.

She seats herself now, now she lifts up her head,

On the Artist she fixes her eyes ;
The colours are ready, the canvas is spread,
He lays on the white, and he lays on the red,

And the features of beauty arise.

He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so blue !

There's a look that he cannot express ; His colours are dull to their quick-sparkling hue, More and more on the Lady he fixes his view,

On the canvas he looks less and less.

In vain he retouches, her eyes sparkle more,

And that look that fair Marguerite gave! Many Devils the Artist had painted of yore But he never attempted an Angel before

St. Anthony help him and save!

He yielded alas! for the truth must be told,

To the Woman, the Tempter and Fate.
It was settled the Lady so fair to behold,
Should elope from her husband so ugly and old,

With the Painter so pious of late !

Now Satan exults in his vengeance compleat,

To the Husband he makes the scheme known, Night comes and the lovers impatiently meet, Together they fly, they are seiz'd in the street,

And in prison the Painter is thrown.

With Repentance, his only companion, he lies,

And a dismal companion is she !
On a sudden he saw the Old Serpent arisë,
Now
you

villainous dauber! Old Beelzebub cries, You are paid for your insults to me!

But my

tender heart it is easy to move If to what I propose you agree ; That pi&ture,-be just! the resemblance improve, Make a handsomer portrait, your chains I'll remove, And you

shall this instant be free.

Overjoyed, the conditions so easy he hears,

I'll make you quite handsome! he said,
He said, and his chain on the Devil appears,
Releas'd from his prison, releas'd from his fears,

The Painter is snug in his bed.

At morn he arises, composes his look,

And proceeds to his work as before; The people beheld him, the culprit they took, They thought that the Painter his prison had broke,

And to prison they led him once more.

They open the dungeon, behold in his place

In the corner old Beelzebub lay. He smirks and he smiles and he leers with a grace, That the Painter miglit catch all the charms of his face,

Then vanish'd in lightning away.

Quoth the Painter, I trust you'll suspect me no more, Since you find my

assertions were true. But I'll alter the picture above the Church door, For I never saw Satan so closely before,

And I must give the Devil his due.

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