A Demand

You promised to paint me a picture,
    Dear Mat,
  And I was to pay you in rhyme.
Although I am loth to inflict your
  Most easy of consciences, I’m
Of opinion that fibbing is awful,
And breaking a contract unlawful,
  Indictable, too, as a crime,
    A slight and all that.

If, Lady Unbountiful, any
    Of that
  By mortals called pity has part
In your obdurate soul⁠—if a penny
  You care for the health of my heart,
By performing your undertaking
You’ll succor that organ from breaking⁠—
  And spare it for some new smart,
    As puss does a rat.

Do you think it is very becoming,
    Dear Mat,
  To deny me my rights evermore?
And⁠—bless you! if I begin summing
  Your sins they will make a long score!
You never were generous, madam:
If you had been Eve and I Adam
  You’d have given me naught but the core,
    And little of that.

Had I been content with a Titian,
    A cat
  By Landseer, a meadow by Claude,
No doubt I’d have had your permission
  To take it⁠—by purchase abroad.
But why should I sail o’er the ocean
For Landseers and Claudes? I’ve a notion
  All’s bad that the critics belaud.
    I wanted a Mat.

Presumption’s a sin, and I suffer
    For that:
  But still you did say that sometime,
If I’d pay you enough (here’s enougher⁠—
  That’s more than enough) of rhyme
You’d paint me a picture. I pay you
Hereby in advance; and I pray you
  Condone, while you can, your crime,
    And send me a Mat.

But if you don’t do so I warn you,
    Dear Mat,
  I’ll raise such a clamor and cry
On Parnassus the Muses will scorn you
  As mocker of poets and fly
With bitter complaints to Apollo:
“Her spirit is proud, her heart hollow,
  Her beauty”⁠—they’ll hardly deny,
    On second thought, that!