Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/619

Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.
Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.
Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand—that hand on the pen.
Tra. A propos—Will you write me a song now and then?
Ink. To what purpose?
Tra.⁠You know, my dear friend, that in prose
My talent is decent, as far as it goes;
But in rhyme ——
Ink.⁠You're a terrible stick, to be sure.
Tra. I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure
For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two;91
And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few?
Ink. In your name?
Tra.⁠In my name. I will copy them out,
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.
Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?
Tra.⁠Why,
Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme
What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?
Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Muse.
Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."100
Ink. As sublime!—Mr. Tracy—I've nothing to say.
Stick to prose—As sublime!!—but I wish you good day.
Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow—consider—I'm wrong;
I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song.
Ink. As sublime!!
Tra.⁠I but used the expression in haste.
Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damned bad taste.
Tra. I own it, I know it, acknowledge it—what
Can I say to you more?
Ink.⁠I see what you'd be at:
You disparage my parts with insidious abuse,
Till you think you can turn them best to your own use.110
Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them?
Ink.⁠Why that