Classic Poem

ODE XXVII

1

Soe should you have my Picture. Would it change
And varie, to the Time;
But when I see
Art permanent, and nature fade, how Strange
Would it appear to me?
And twitt my Slime
As weake materialls, to the Painters stuffe;
There youthfull Still, in my Selfe, bald, or rough,
With Age, and Time enough.

2

Twould trouble me; when I with frosted hairs,
Should looke, at what I was;
And see my selfe
Sanguine and fresh; my Eyes there quicke and Cleare;
And I, a Sordid Elfe.
What a sweet Glasse
Were this, to make me mad? and love againe
My youthfull Follies: and but change the Straine,
Doating, for Light and vaine?
3

Noe; would you see me better, you who presse
To have my Picture tooke,
Beyond all Art;
I leave it here, my selfe; it will expresse
More then the formall looke
Or outward part;
A better draught, I leave you; doe not Strike
My Feature, to the Cunning of Van Dyke;
This, this is farre more like.

4

Here looke upon me, as I am in Truth;
Let everie Leafe present
Some severall part;
And draw em into forme: to the just growth
Of my intendement;
To pussle Art,
In her loud boast, and something leave behind
Unto my Freinds; that whosoe lookes, may find
The Effigies of my Mind:

5

And though perhaps, the Colours are but poore;
And some defects appeare
To the strict Eye;
You will not Censure, want of Cunning more,
To pourtray Truth, if I
Have bristlie haire,
Or my head bald, or beard in Cop'ses grow.
Will Art soe trim me, that they must not show?
Who then my Face, could know?

6

Had I bene more exact, I had bene lesse;
And though I might have put
More varnish on,
It had bene Time ill spent: and might expresse
More fine proportion;
But without doubt,
Lesse to the Life; and I would now appeare
In my Just Symmetrie; though plaine, yet Cleare,
Soe, may you see me here.