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The favourite of the muses, exasperated at this vexatious perseverance of the painter, who he imagined had come to tease and insult him, “I would,” said he, “sacrifice a cock to Esculapius, were I assured that any person had been taken up for extirpating such a troublesome Goth as you are from the face of the earth. As for your boasted Cleopatra, which you say was drawn from your own wife, I believe the copy has as much as the original: but, were it mine, it should be hung up in the Temple of Cloacina, as the picture of that goddess; for any other apartment would be disgraced by its appearance.”—“Hark ye, sir,” replied Pallet, enraged in his turn at the contemptuous mention of his darling performance, “you may make as free with my wife as you think proper, but 'ware my works; those are the children of my fancy, conceived by the glowing imagination, and formed by the art of my own hands: and you yourself are a Goth, and a Turk, and a Tartar, and an impudent pretending jackanapes, to treat with such disrespect a production which, in the opinion of all the connoisseurs of the age, will, when finished, be a masterpiece in its kind, and do honour to human genius and skill. So I say again and again, and I care not though your friend Playtor heard me, that you have no more taste than a drayman's horse, and that those foolish notions of the ancients ought to be drubbed out of you with a good cudgel, that you might learn to treat men of parts with more veneration. Perhaps you may not always be in the company of one who will halloo for assistance when you are on the brink of being chastised for your insolence, as I did, when you brought upon yourself the resentment of that Scot, who, by the Lord! would have paid you both Scot and lot, as Falstaff says, if the French officer had not put him in arrest.”

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