A picture hung in a public hall,
And it was much admired by all,
Painted by a true artist’s hand,
The subject it was truly grand.
Its fame o’er the whole world resounds,
Valued at ten thousand pounds,
Beauteous lady none ’ere passed her,
She was the work of an old master.
At last a critic keen did gaze
And saw ’twas work of modern days,
Then quick it was pronounced a daub,
And artist but a money grab.
The true, the noble and the grand,
Will lend to struggling helping hand,
Then let no man of dues be shorn,
If he a subject doth adorn.