Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/510

466 And Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate;

Long of their Patron's gusto let them tell,

Whose noblest, native gusto is—to sell:

To sell, and make—may shame record the day!—

The State—Receiver of his pilfered prey.

Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West,

Europe's worst dauber, and poor Britain's best,

With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er,

And own himself an infant of fourscore.

Be all the Bruisers culled from all St. Giles',

That Art and Nature may compare their styles;

While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare,

And marvel at his Lordship's 'stone shop' there.

Round the thronged gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep

To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep;

While many a languid maid, with longing sigh,

On giant statues casts the curious eye;

The room with transient glance appears to skim,

Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb;

Mourns o'er the difference of now and then;

Exclaims, 'These Greeks indeed were proper men!'