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 The Painter grew pale, for he knew it no joke, Help-help me! O Mary! he cried in alarm From the canvas the Virgin extended her arm, The Old Dragon fled when the wonder he spied The PIOUS PAINTER. THE SECOND PART. The Painter so pious all praise had acquired The Monks the unerring resemblance admired: One there was to be painted the number among The country around of fair Marguerite rung, O Painter avoid her! O Painter take care! Take heed lest you fall in the Wicked One's snare, Of Satan and Marguerite too. She seats herself now, now she lifts up her head, The colours are ready, the canvas is spread, He is come to her eyes, eyes so bright and so blue! In vain he retouches, her eyes sparkle more, He yielded alas! for the truth must be told, Now Satan exults in his vengeance compleat, With Repentance, his only companion, he lies, On a sudden he saw the Old Serpent arise, But my tender heart it is easy to move If to what I propose you agree; That picture,-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, At morn he arises, composes his look, And proceeds to his work as before; The people beheld him, the culprit they took, 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 might catch all the charms of his face, Then vanish'd in lightning away. Quoth the Painter, I trust you'll suspect me no more, But I'll alter the picture above the Church door, And I must give the Devil his due. |