Classic Poem

Well may the Sceptick's love Suspence,
And doubt of all they see;
Since Moreland leaves us no Defence
For Sense's Certainty.

Moving Figures, living Paint,
Sanguin Warmth, and piercing Eyes;
Lips that speak, and Breasts that pant,
Seize us with a just Surprize.

Oh Moreland! could my Numbers match thy Fame,
Greece should no more boast her Apelles Name:
Nor Italy, for Titian make Pretence,
But both should yield to thy Preheminence.