Classic Poem

Some curious Painter, taught by Art to dare,
(For they with Poets in that title share)
When he would undertake a glorious Frame
Of lasting worth, and fadeless as his fame;
Long he contrives and weighs the bold design,
Long holds his doubting hand, ere he begin,
And justly then proportions every stroke and line,
And oft he brings it to review,
And oft he do's deface, and dashes oft anew,
And mixes oil to make the flitting colours dure,
To keep 'em from the tarnish of injurious time secure:
Finish'd at length in all, that care and skill can do,
The matchless Piece is set to publick view,
And all surpriz'd about it wondring stand,
And tho no name be found below,
Yet strait discern th' unimitable hand,
And strait they cry, 'tis Titian , or 'tis Angelo :
So thy brave Soul, that scorn'd all cheap and easy ways,
And trod no common road to praise,
Would not with rash and speedy negligence proceed
(For who e're saw Perfection grow in hast?
Or that soon done, which must for ever last?)
But gently did advance with wary heed,
And shew'd that Mastery is most in justness read.
Nought ever issued from thy teeming brest,
But what had gone full time, could write exactly best,
And stand the sharpest censure, and defy the rigidst Test.
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