The likeness is perfect: the artist worked _con
amore_, and told me it was the finest head he had ever under his hand. I
would have had a wreath round the brows, but the poet was afraid of
being mistaken for a king or a conqueror, and his pride or modesty made
him forbid the band. However, when the marble comes to England I shall
place a golden laurel round it in the ancient style, and, if it is
thought good enough, suffix the following inscription, which may serve
at least to tell the name of the portrait and allude to the excellence
of the artist, which very few lapidary inscriptions do;
'In vain would flattery steal a wreath from fame,
And Rome's best sculptor only half succeed,
If England owned no share in Byron's name
Nor hailed the laurel she before decreed.'
Of course you are very welcome to a copy--I don't mean of the verses,
but of the bust. But, with the exception of Mr. Kinnaird, who has
applied, and Mr. Davies, who may apply, no other will be granted.
Farewell, dear Sir."
The fourth canto duly reached London in Mr. Hobhouse's portmanteau, and
was published in the spring of 1818.
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