Vi

Which work done, dry,--he rested him, Cleaned palette, washed brush, divested him Of the apron that suits frescanti, And, bonnet on ear stuck jaunty, This hand upon hip well planted, That, free to wave as it wanted, He addressed in a choice oration His folk of each name and nation, Taught its duty to every station. The Pope was declared an arrant Impostor at once, I warrant. The Emperor--truth might tax him With ignorance of the maxim "Shear sheep but nowise flay them!" And the Vulgar that obey them, The Ruled, well-matched with the Ruling, They failed not of wholesome schooling On their knavery and their fooling. As for Art--where 's decorum? Pooh-poohed it is By Poets that plague us with lewd ditties, And Painters that pester with nudities!