Ne could that Painter (had he lived yet) Have purtray'd this, for all his maistring skill; Ne fhe her felfe, had the remained still, 215 And were as faire as fabling wits do fayne, Could once come neare this Beauty foverayne. But had thofe wits, the wonders of their dayes, Or that sweete Teian poet, which did fpend His plenteous vaine in fetting forth her praise, Seen but a glims of this which I pretend, 221 How wondrously would he her face commend, Above that idole of his fayning thought,. That all the world fhould with his rimes be fraught! How then dare I, the novice of his art, 225 Or hope t' expreffe her leaft perfections part, Whose beautie filles the heavens with her light, And darkes the earth with fhadow of her fight? Ah, gentle Mufe! thou art too weake and faint The pourtraict of fo heavenly hew to paint. 231 Let angels, which her goodly face behold And fee at will, her foveraigne praises fing, Ver. 219. that sweete Teian poet,] Anacreon. T. WARTON. And those most facred mysteries unfold But whofo may, thrife happie man him hold, Of all on earth whom God fo much doth grace, And lets his owne Beloved to behold; For in the view of her celeftiall face All ioy, all bliffe, all happinesfe, have place; Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight Who of her felfe can win the withfull fight. 245 For fhe, out of her fecret threafury, 255 None thereof worthy be, but those whom shee In which they fee fuch admirable things, 260 And heare fuch heavenly notes and carolings Ne from thenceforth doth any fleshly sense, offenfe, 269 And all that pleased earst now feemes to paine: And that faire lampe which useth to enflame blame ; And all that pompe to which proud minds afpyre By name of Honor, and fo much defyre, Seemes to them bafeneffe, and all riches droffe, And all mirth sadnesse, and all lucre loffe. 280 So full their eyes are of that glorious fight, 284 ey; But in th' afpect of that felicitie, Ah, then, my hungry Soule! which long haft fed On idle fancies of thy foolish thought, And, with falfe Beauties flattring bait mifled, Haft after vaine deceiptfull fhadowes fought, 291 Which all are fled, and now have left thee nought But late repentance through thy follics prief; Ah! ceaffe to gaze on matter of thy grief: And looke at last up to that Soveraine Light, 295 From whofe pure beams al perfect Beauty fprings, That kindleth love in every godly spright, Even the love of God; which loathing brings Of this vile world and thefe gay-feeming things; With whose sweet pleasures being fo poffeft, Thy ftraying thoughts henceforth for ever reft. 301 |