Expecting, soon, his enemy to go, Roger, at first, walk'd to and fro, With tolerably tranquil paces; But finding John determine'd to remain, Roger, each time he pass'd, thro' spite or pain, Made, at his adversary, hideous faces. How misery will lower human pride! And make us buckle!-- Roger, who, all his life, had John defied, Was now oblige'd to speak him fair,--and truckle. "Behold me," Roger cried, "behold me, John! Entreating as a _favour_ you'll be gone; Me! your sworn foe, tho' fellow-lodger; Me!--who, in agony, tho' suing now to you, Would, once, have seen you damn'd ere make a bow to you. Me,--Roger!"[12] [12] This is a palpable plagiarism. _Rolla_ thus addresses _Pizarro_: "_Behold me_, at thy feet--_Me_,--_Rolla!_--Me, that never yet have bent or _bow'd_--in humble _agony_ I _sue_ to you."--The theft is more glaring, as the Apostrophe, both here, and in the original, occurs in the midst of a strong incident, and is address'd to an Enemy by a proud spirit, in very moving circumstances. To this address, so fraught with the pathetick, John remain'd dumb, as a Pythagorean; Seeming to hint, "Roger, you're a plebeian Peripatetick." When such choice oratory has not hit, When it is, e'en, unanswer'd by a grunt, 'Twould justify tame Job to curse a bit, And set an Angler swearing, in his punt. Cholerick Roger could not brook it;-- So seeing a huge brick-bat, up he took it; And aiming, like a marksman at a crow, Plump on the breast he hit his deadly foe; Who fell, like Pedants' periods, to the ground,-- Very inanimate, and very round. Here is another Picture, reader mine! I gave you one in the first Canto;[13]-- This is more solemn, mystical, and fine,-- Like something in the Castle of Otranto. [13] _Vide_ Part 1st, page 61, lines 4-7. Bring, bring me, now, a Painter, for the work, Who on the subject will, with furor, rush! Some Artist who can sup upon raw pork, To make him dream of horrors, for his brush! Come, Limners, come! who choke your house's entry With dear, unmeaning lumber, from your easels; Dull heads of the Nobility and Gentry; Full length of fubsey Belles, or Beaux like weasels! Come, Limners, hither come! and draw A finer incident than e'er ye saw! Here is a John, by moon-light, (a fat monk) Lying stone _dead_; and, here, a Roger, _quick_! And over John stands Roger, in a funk, Supposing he has kill'd him with a brick! There, Painters! there! Now, by Apelles's gamboge, I swear! Such a dead subject never comes, Among those _lifeless living_ ye display; Then, thro' your palettes thrust your graphick thumbs,-- And work away!