The Works of William Mason :: :: University of Virginia Library

When Poets wrote, and Painters drew,
As Nature pointed out the view;
Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece,
To spoil the well-proportioned piece;
And in our verse ere monkish rhymes
Had jangled their fantastic chimes;
Ere on the flow'ry land of Rhodes
Those Knights had fix'd their dull abodes,
Who knew not much to paint or write,
Nor car'd to pray, nor dar'd to fight:
Protogenes, historians note,
Liv'd there, a burgess scot and lot;

186

And, as old Pliny's writings show,
Apelles did the same at Co.
Agreed these points of time and place,
Proceed we in the present case.

Piqu'd by Protogenes's fame,
From Co to Rhodes Apelles came
To see a rival and a friend,
Prepare to censure, or commend,
Here to absolve, and there object,
As art with candour might direct.
He sails, he lands, he comes, he rings,
His servants follow with the things:
Appears the governante of th' house,
For such in Greece were much in use;—
If young or handsome, yea or no,
Concerns not me, or thee, to know.

Does 'Squire Protogenes live here?
Yes, Sir, says she, with gracious air,
And curtsey low; but just call'd out
By lords peculiarly devout;
Who came on purpose, Sir, to borrow
Our Venus, for the feast to-morrow,
To grace the church: 'tis Venus day:
I hope, Sir, you intend to stay
To see our Venus: 'tis the piece
The most renown'd throughout all Greece,

187

So like th' original, they say;
But I have no great skill that way.
But, Sir, at six ('tis now past three)
Dromo must take my Master's tea.
At six, Sir, if you please to come,
You'll find my Master, Sir, at home.

Tea, says a Critic, big with laughter,
Was found some twenty ages after:
Authors, before they write, should read.
'Tis very true;—but we'll proceed.

And, Sir, at present, would you please
To leave your name?—Fair maiden, yes.
Reach me that board. No sooner spoke
But done. With one judicious stroke,
Apelles delicately drew
A line retiring from the view,
And quick as sportsmen draw their trigger,
Produc'd a fine fore-shorten'd figure.
And will you please, sweetheart, said he,
To show your Master this from me?
By it he presently will know,
How Painters write their names at Co.

188

He gave the pannel to the maid.
Smiling and curt'sing, Sir, she said,
I shall not fail to tell my Master:
And, Sir, for fear of all disaster,
I'll keep it my own self:—safe bind,
Says the old proverb, and safe find.
So, Sir, as sure as key or lock—
Your servant, Sir—at six o'clock.

Again at six Apelles came;
Found the same prating civil dame.
Sir, that my Master has been here,
Will by the board itself appear.
If in the sketch you chose to draw,
He found, you'll pardon me, a flaw—
And tried to make a nicer line,
You must not think the fault was mine;
For he, strange man! will have his way.
(I'm sure I find it night and day)
And when 'twas done, he bade me say,
Thus write the Painters of this Isle:
Let those of Co remark the style.

189

She said; and to his hand restor'd
The rival pledge, the missive board.
Apelles saw a truer stroke,
Now here, now there, his own had broke;
This gave the Artist a new hint,
With pencil of a different tint,
To trace, o'er both the lines together,
A third, more elegant than either.
And by its subtle intersection,
He brought the drawing to perfection.

The Coan now review'd the piece;
And live, said he, the Arts of Greece!
Howe'er Protogenes and I
May in our rival talents vie;
Howe'er our works may have express'd
Who truest drew, or coloured best—
When he beheld my flowing line,
He found at least I could design,
But now I've made it quite complete;
I trust 'twill cause us soon too meet.

190

It did. Protogenes beheld
The Sketch, and own'd himself excell'd.
Then to the port he ran in haste
And clasp'd with friendly arms his guest.

The dullest genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my tale;
That the distinguish'd part of men,
With compass, pencil, sword, or pen,
Should in life's visit leave their name
In characters, which may proclaim,
That they with ardour strove to raise
At once their arts, and country's praise,
And free from envy, spleen, and spite,
Took each their patriotic flight;
Like the two worthies of my story,
On mutual plumes, to mutual glory.

The exquisite humour with which Prior has enlivened the plain tale which he took from Pliny, it is hoped will not be much impaired by the following few alterations, attempted for no other purpose than to elucidate the original story, which it is thought, has not hitherto been perfectly understood; not from any defect in Pliny's narrative (as his last translator, M. Falconet would make us believe), but from the blunder of the old Commentators, and the inattention of the latter to the whole passage. The alterations are printed in italics, and Prior's original lines at the bottom of the respective pages.

O'er the plain ground Apelles drew
A circle regularly true.

Prior.

'Tis thus he order'd me to say.

Or Leda's egg, or Cloe's breast.

And from his artful round I grant
That he with perfect skill can paint.
Apelles view'd the finish'd piece.

That all was full, and round, and fair.