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- BE not too forward, painter; 'tis
- More for thy fame, and art, to miss
- All other faces, than come near
- The Lady, that expecteth here.
- Be wise, and think it less disgrace
- To draw an angel, than her face;
- For in such forms, who is so wise
- To tell thee where thy error lies?
- But since all beauty (that is known)
- Is in her virgin sweetness one,
- How can it be, that painting her
- But every look should make thee err?
- But thou art resolute I see;
- Yet let my fancy walk with thee:
- Compose a ground more dark and sad,
- Than that the early Chaos had,
- And show, to the whole sex's shame,
- Beauty was darkness till she came.
- Then paint her eyes, whose active light
- Shall make the former shadows bright,
- And with their every beam supply
- New day, to draw her picture by.
- Now, if thou wilt complete the face,
- A wonder paint in every place.
- Beneath these, for her fair neck's sake,
- White as the Paphian Turtles, make
- A pillar, whose smooth base doth show
- It self lost in a mount of snow;
- Her breast, the house of chaste desire,
- Cold, but increasing others' fire.
- But how I lose (instructing thee)
- Thy pencil, and my poetry!
- For when thou hast expressed all art,
- As high as truth, in every part,
- She can resemble at the best,
- One, in her beauty's silence dressed,
- Where thou, like a dull looker-on,
- Art lost, and all thy art undone;
- For if she speak, new wonders rise
- From her teeth, chin, lip, and eyes;
- So far above that excellent
- Did take thee first, thou should repent
- To have begun, and lose i'th'end
- Thy eyes with wonder how to mend.
- At such a loss, here's all thy choice,
- Leave off, or paint her with a voice.
- James Shirley
- THIS Garden does not take my eyes,
- Though here you show how art of men
- Can purchase Nature at a price
- Would stock old Paradise again.
- These glories while you dote upon,
- I envy not your spring nor pride,
- Nay, boast the summer all your own,
- My thoughts with less are satisified.
- Give me a little plot of ground,
- Where might I with the Sun agree,
- Though every day he walk the round,
- My Garden he should seldom see.
- Those Tulips that such wealth display,
- To court my eye, shall lose their name,
- Though now they listen, as if they
- Expected I should praise their name.
- But I would see my self appear
- Within the Violet's drooping head,
- On which a melancholy tear
- The discontented morn hath shed.
- Within their buds let Roses sleep,
- And virgin Lilies on their stem,
- Till sighs from lovers glide, and creep
- Into their leaves to open them.
- I'th'center of my ground compose
- Of Bays and Yew my summer room,
- Which may so oft as I repose,
- Present my arbor, and my tomb.
- No woman here shall find me out,
- Or if a chance do bring one hither,
- I'll be secure, for round about
- I'll moat it with my eyes' foul weather.
- No bird shall live within my pale,
- To charm me with their shames of art,
- Unless some wandering Nightingale
- Come here to sing and break her heart.
- Upon whose death I'll try to write
- An epitaph in some funeral stone,
- So sad, and true, it may invite
- My self to die, and prove mine own.
- James Shirley
- WHEN this crystal shall present
- Your beauty to your eye,
- Think that lovely face was meant
- To dress another by.
- For not to make them proud,
- These glasses are allowed
- To those are fair,
- But to compare
- The inward beauty with the outward grace,
- And make them fair in soul as well as face.
- James Shirley
Poets' Corner .
H O M E .