Classic Poem

TO BE WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF MR. POYNTZ

Such is thy form, O Poyntz! but who shall find
A hand or colours to express thy mind?
A mind unmov'd by ev'ry vnlgar fear
In a false world that dares to be sincere;
Wise without art, without ambition great,
Tho' firm yet pliant, active tho' sedate;
With all the richest stores of learning fraught,
Yet better still by native prudence taught;
That fond the griefs of the distress'd to heal
Can pity frailties it could never feel;
That when Misfortune su'd ne'er sought to know
What sect, what party, whether friend or foe;
That fix'd on equal virtue's temp'rate laws
Despises calumny and snuns applause;
That to its own perfections singly blind
Would for another think this praise design'd.