Classic Poem

In vain, fair Nymph, thy Pencil wou'd disgrace
The Bloom of Cælia 's, or Clarinda 's Face;
Against thy Will thou charm'st our ravish'd Eyes,
And what thy Envy prompts, thy Skill denies.
By one judicious Stroke, inform'd we guess
Whose Form inspir'd the Malice of the Piece;
Nor all thy less'ning Colours can suggest,
Can force the sweet Idea from our Breast,
We see 'tis————and forget the rest.