Protogenes and Apelles. When Poets wrote, and Painters drew, As Nature pointed out the View: E'er Gothic Forms were known in Greece, To spoil the well-proportion'd Piece: And in our Verse e'er Monkish Rhimes Had jangl'd their fantastic Chimes: E'er on the flow'ry Lands 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; 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. Picqu'd by Protogenes's Fame, From Co to Rhodes, Apelles came; To see a Rival and a Friend, Prepar'd to Censure, or Commend, Here to absolve, and there object, As Art with Candor 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 Handsom, Yea or No, Concerns not Me, or Thee to know. Does 'Squire Protogenes live here? Yes, Sir, says She with gracious Air, And Curt'sey 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, So like th'Original, they say: But I have no great Skill that Way. But, Sir, at Six ('tis now past Three) Dromo must make 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, shou'd read: 'Tis very true; but We'll proceed. And, Sir, at present wou'd you please To leave your Name — Fair Maiden, yes: Reach me that Board. No sooner spoke But done. With one judicious Stroke, On the plain Ground Apelles drew A Circle regularly true: And will you please, Sweet-heart, said He, To shew your Master this from Me? By it He presently will know, How Painters write their Names at Co. 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 a Clock. Again at Six Apelles came; Found the same prating civil Dame. Sir, that my Master has been here, Will by the Board it self appear. If from the perfect Line He found, He has presum'd to swell the Round, Or Colors on the Draught to lay; 'Tis thus (He order'd me to say) Thus write the Painters of this Isle: Let those of Co remark the Style. She said; and to his Hand restor'd The rival Pledge, the Missive Board. Upon the happy Line were laid Such obvious Light, and easie Shade; That Paris' Apple stood confest, Or Leda's Egg, or Cloe's Breast. Apelles view'd the finish'd 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 color'd best; When He beheld my flowing Line; He found at least I cou'd design: And from his artful Round, I grant, That He with perfect Skill can paint. 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, Shou'd in Life's Visit leave their Name, In Characters, which may proclaim That They with Ardor strove to raise At once their Arts, and Countrey's Praise: And in their Working took great Care, That all was Full, and Round, and Fair.