Classic Poem

1

If noble things can noble thoughts infuse,
Your Art might even in me create a Muse,
And what you did inspire, you would Excuse.

2

But if it such a Miracle could do,
That Muse would not return you half your due,
Since 'twould my thanks, but not the praise pursue
3

To praise your Art is then it self more hard,
Nor would it the Endeavour much regard,
Since it and Vertue are their own reward.

4

A Pencil from an Angel newly caught,
And Colours in the Morning's bosom sought,
Would make no picture, if by you not wrought.

5

But done by you it does no more admit
Of an Encomium from the highest Wit,
Then that another hand should equal it.

6

Yet whilst you with creating power vye,
Command the very spirit of the Eye,
And then reward it with Eternity:

7

Whilst your each touch does Life and Air convey,
Fetch the Soul out, like overcoming Day,
And I my friend repeated here Survey:

8

I by a Passive way may do you right,
Wearing in that what none could ere endite,
Your Panegyrick, and my own delight.