But I will not grant thy prayer.
I'm not worthy of thine easel;
I am neither great nor fair," -
Said a poet to a painter
In the dreamy days of old,
When the substance of my story
By a better tongue was told.
But the painter urged his comrade
That he should present his face
In the hall, amidst the portraits
Of his old and noble race.
And at last the friend's entreaty
Brought the much-desired permit;
But a strange, unholy message
Were the words he spake; to wit: -