Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/432

390 Abused his art, till Nature, with a blush,

Saw cits grow Centaurs underneath his brush?

Or, should some limner join, for show or sale,

A Maid of Honour to a Mermaid's tail?

Or low Dubost —as once the world has seen—

Degrade God's creatures in his graphic spleen?

Not all that forced politeness, which defends

Fools in their faults, could gag his grinning friends.

Believe me, Moschus, like that picture seems

The book which, sillier than a sick man's dreams,