Lest Captious Men Suspect Your Story, Speak Modestly Its History. The Traveller, Who Overleaps The Bounds Of Probability, Confounds; But Though Men Hear Your Deeds With Phlegm, You May With Flattery Cram Them. Hyperboles, Though Ne'er So Great, Will Yet Come Short Of Self-Conceit. A Painter Drew His Portraits Truly, And Marked Complexion And Mien Duly; - Really A Fellow Knew The Picture, There Was Nor Flattery Nor Delicture. The Eyes, And Mouth, And Faulty Nose, Were All Showed Up In Grim Repose; He Marked The Dates Of Youth And Age - But So He Lost His Clientage: The Which Determined To Recover, He Turned In Mind The Matter Over. He Bought A Pair Of Busts - One, Venus, The Other Was Apollo Phoebus; Above His Subject Client Placed Them, And For The Faulty Features Traced Them. Chatted The While Of Titian'S Tints, Of Guido - Raphael - Neither Stints To Raise Him To The Empyr?Al, Whilst He Is Sketching His Ideal. He Sketches, Utters, "That Will Do: Be Pleased, My Lord, To Come And View." "I Thought My Mouth A Little Wider." "My Lord, My Lord, You Me Deride, Ah!" "Such Was My Nose When I Was Young." "My Lord, You Have A Witty Tongue." "Ah Well, Ah Well! You Artists Flatter." "That Were, My Lord, No Easy Matter." "Ah Well, Ah Well! You Artists See Best." "My Lord, I Only (Aside) Earn My Fee Best." So With A Lady - He, Between Us, Borrowed The Face And Form Of Venus. There Was No Fear Of Its Rejection - Her Lover Voted It Perfection. So On He Went To Fame And Glory, And Raised His Price - Which Ends The Story; - But Not The Moral, - Which, Though Fainter, Bids One To Scorn An Honest Painter.