Postures unforced, and lively colours join, Likeness is ever there; but still the best, (Like proper thoughts in lofty language drest,) Where light, to shades descending, plays, not strives, Dies by degrees, and by degrees revives. Of various parts a perfect whole is wrought; Thy pictures think, and we divine their thought. Shakespeare, thy gift, I place before my sight;[75] With awe, I ask his blessing ere I write; With reverence look on his majestic face; Proud to be less, but of his godlike race. His soul inspires me, while thy praise I write, And I, like Teucer, under Ajax fight; Bids thee, through me, be bold; with dauntless breast Contemn the bad, and emulate the best. Like his, thy critics in the attempt are lost; When most they rail, know then, they envy most. In vain they snarl aloof; a noisy crowd, Like women's anger, impotent and loud. While they their barren industry deplore, Pass on secure, and mind the goal before, Old as she is, my muse shall march behind, Bear off the blast, and intercept the wind. Our arts are sisters, though not twins in birth, For hymns were sung in Eden's happy earth: But oh, the painter muse, though last in place, Has seized the blessing first, like Jacob's race. Apelles' art an Alexander found, } And Raphael did with Leo's gold abound; } But Homer was with barren laurel crowned. } Thou hadst thy Charles a while, and so had I; But pass we that unpleasing image by. Rich in thyself, and of thyself divine, All pilgrims come and offer at thy shrine. A graceful truth thy pencil can command; The fair themselves go mended from thy hand. Likeness appears in every lineament, But likeness in thy work is eloquent. Though nature there her true resemblance bears, A nobler beauty in thy piece appears. So warm thy work, so glows the generous frame, Flesh looks less living in the lovely dame. Thou paint'st as we describe, improving still, } When on wild nature we ingraft our skill, } Yet not creating beauties at our will. } But poets are confined in narrower space, To speak the language of their native place; The painter widely stretches his command, Thy pencil speaks the tongue of every land. From hence, my friend, all climates are your own, Nor can you forfeit, for you hold of none. All nations all immunities will give } To make you theirs, where'er you please to live; } And not seven cities, but the world, would strive. } Sure some propitious planet then did smile, When first you were conducted to this isle; Our genius brought you here, to enlarge our fame, For your good stars are every where the same. Thy matchless hand, of every region free, Adopts our climate, not our climate thee. [76]Great Rome and Venice early did impart To thee the examples of their wonderous art.