By law, by physic, nothing can be made; If a small living--mine are both too large, 180 And then the college is a cursed charge. The sea is open; should he there display Signs of dislike, he cannot run away.’ “Now Charles, who acted no heroic part, And felt no seaman’s glory warm his heart, Refused the offer--anger touch’d my lord.-- ‘He does not like it--Good, upon my word-- If I at college place him, he will need Supplies for ever, and will not succeed;-- Doubtless in me ’tis duty to provide 190 Not for his comfort only, but his pride-- Let him to sea!’--He heard the words again, With promise join’d--with threat’ning; all in vain: Charles had his own pursuits; for aid to these He had been thankful, and had tried to please; But urged again, as meekly as a saint, He humbly begg’d to stay at home, and paint. ‘Yes, pay some dauber, that this stubborn fool May grind his colours, and may boast his school.’ “As both persisted, ‘Choose, good sir, your way,’ 200 The peer exclaim’d, ‘I have no more to say, I seek your good, but I have no command Upon your will, nor your desire withstand.’ “Resolved and firm, yet dreading to offend, Charles pleaded _genius_ with his noble friend: ‘Genius!’ he cried, ‘the name that triflers give To their strong wishes without pains to live; Genius! the plea of all who feel desire Of fame, yet grudge the labours that acquire-- But say ’tis true: how poor, how late the gain, 210 And certain ruin if the hope be vain!’ Then to the world appeal’d my lord, and cried, ‘Whatever happens, I am justified.’ Nay, it was trouble to his soul to find There was such hardness in the human mind: He wash’d his hands before the world, and swore That he ‘such minds would patronize no more.’ “Now Charles his bread by daily labours sought, And this his solace, ‘so Corregio wrought.’ Alas, poor youth! however great his name, 220 And humble thine, thy fortune was the same. Charles drew and painted, and some praise obtain’d For care and pains; but little more was gain’d: Fame was his hope, and he contempt display’d For approbation, when ’twas coolly paid; His daily tasks he call’d a waste of mind, Vex’d at his fate, and angry with mankind: ‘Thus have the blind to merit ever done, And Genius mourn’d for each neglected son.’ “Charles murmur’d thus, and, angry and alone, 230 Half breathed the curse, and half suppress’d the groan; Then still more sullen grew, and still more proud; } Fame so refused he to himself allow’d; } Crowds in contempt he held, and all to him was crowd. } “If aught on earth, the youth his mother loved, And, at her death, to distant scenes removed. “Years past away, and where he lived, and how,