Extempore, at the Painting Cloe's Picture
Why Painter, you have done your Part,
I own th' Intention bold and good:
It finds some Passage to my Heart,
Which nothing quite unlike her could.
But view again that Shape! that Air!
That Hand! that Eye! that Lip! that Cheek!
There's still Abundance in my Fair,
Which you can't paint, which I can't speak!
Am I not right? once more behold!
Behold, and feel Conviction rise!
Thy Lines are faint, thy Colours cold —
He fails, my Friend, whoever tries.
Yet let him try, defie his Skill:
Smile at the utmost Art can do:
Tell the Presumer, if he will,
He may attempt Love's Goddess too,
I own th' Intention bold and good:
It finds some Passage to my Heart,
Which nothing quite unlike her could.
But view again that Shape! that Air!
That Hand! that Eye! that Lip! that Cheek!
There's still Abundance in my Fair,
Which you can't paint, which I can't speak!
Am I not right? once more behold!
Behold, and feel Conviction rise!
Thy Lines are faint, thy Colours cold —
He fails, my Friend, whoever tries.
Yet let him try, defie his Skill:
Smile at the utmost Art can do:
Tell the Presumer, if he will,
He may attempt Love's Goddess too,
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