To thy victorious pencil all, that eyes And minds call reach, do bow. The deities Bold Poets first but feign'd, you do and make, And from your awe they our devotion take. Your beauteous pallet first defin'd Love's Queen, And made her in her heav'nly colours seen; You strung the bow of the Bandite her son,<88.4> And tipp'd his arrowes with religion. Neptune as unknown as his fish might dwell, But that you seat him in his throne of shell. The thunderers artillery and brand, You fancied Rome in his fantastick hand; And the pale frights, the pains, and fears of hell First from your sullen melancholy fell. Who cleft th' infernal dog's loath'd head in three, And spun out Hydra's fifty necks? by thee As prepossess'd w' enjoy th' Elizian plain, Which but before was flatter'd<88.5> in our brain. Who ere yet view'd airs child invisible, A hollow voice, but in thy subtile skill? Faint stamm'ring Eccho you so draw, that we The very repercussion do see. Cheat-HOCUS-POCUS-Nature an assay<88.6> O' th' spring affords us: praesto, and away!<88.7> You all the year do chain her and her fruits, Roots to their beds, and flowers to their roots. Have not mine eyes feasted i' th' frozen Zone Upon a fresh new-grown collation Of apples, unknown sweets, that seem'd to me Hanging to tempt as on the fatal tree, So delicately limn'd I vow'd to try My<88.8> appetite impos'd upon my eye?<88.9> You, sir, alone, fame, and all-conqu'ring rime, File<88.10> the set teeth of all-devouring time. When beauty once thy vertuous paint hath on, Age needs not call her to vermilion; Her beams nere shed or change like th' hair of day,<88.11> She scatters fresh her everlasting ray. Nay, from her ashes her fair virgin fire Ascends, that doth new massacres conspire, Whilst we wipe off the num'rous score of years, And do behold our grandsire[s] as our peers; With the first father of our house compare We do the features of our new-born heir: For though each coppied a son, they all Meet in thy first and true original. Sacred! luxurious! what princesse not But comes to you to have her self begot? As, when first man was kneaded, from his side Is born to's hand a ready-made-up bride. He husband to his issue then doth play, And for more wives remove the obstructed way: So by your art you spring up in two noons What could not else be form'd by fifteen suns; Thy skill doth an'mate the prolifick flood, And thy red oyl assimilates to blood. Where then, when all the world pays its respect, Lies our transalpine barbarous neglect? When the chast hands of pow'rful Titian Had drawn the scourges of our God and man, And now the top of th' altar did ascend To crown the heav'nly piece with a bright end; Whilst he, who in<88.12> seven languages gave law, And always, like the Sun, his subjects saw, Did, in his robes imperial and gold, The basis of the doubtful ladder hold. O Charls!<88.13> a nobler monument than that, Which thou thine own executor wert at!