A FLOWER painted by SIMON VARELST.
WHEN fam'd Varelft this little wonder drew;
Flora vouchfaf'd the growing work to view: Finding the Painter's fcience at a stand,
The goddess fnatch'd the pencil from his hand; And, finishing the piece, the finiling faid: Behold one work of mine, that ne'er fhall fade..
To the Lady ELIZABETH HARLEY, Afterwards Marchionefs of CARMARTHEN. On a COLUMN of her Drawing.
WHEN future ages shall with wonder view Thefe glorious lines, which Harley's daughter drew;
They fhall confefs, that Britain could not raise A fairer column to the Father's praife.
HEN poets wrote, and painters drew, As Nature pointed out the view: Ere Gothic forms were known in Greece, To fpoil the well-proportion'd piece : And in our verfe ere monkish rhymes Had jangled their fantaftic chimes :
Ere on the flowery lands of Rhodes Thofe knights had fix'd their dull abodes, Who knew not much to paint or write, Nor car'd to pray, nor dar'd to fight: Protogenes, hiftorians note,
Liv'd there, a burgess, scot and lot; And, as old Pliny's writings show. Apelles did the fame at Co.
Agreed these points of time and place, Proceed we in the prefent cafe.
Piqu'd by Protogenes's fame, From Co to Rhodes Apelles came; To fee a rival and a friend, Prepar'd to cenfure, or commend; Here to abfolve, and there object, As art with candour might direct. He fails, he lands, he comes, he rings; His fervants follow with the things : Appears the governante of th' houfe; For fuch in Greece were much in ufe: If young or handfome, yea or no, Concerns not me or thee to know.
Does fquire Protogenes live here? Yes, Sir, fays he, with gracious air, And court'fey low, but juft call'd out By lords peculiarly devout;
Who came on purpose, Sir, to borrow Our Venus for the feaft to-morrow, To grace the church: 'tis Venus' day: I hope, Sir, you intend to flay,
To fee our Venus: 'tis the piece The most renown'd throughout all Greece; So like th' original, they fay:
But I have no great skill that way. But, Sir, at fix, ('tis now paft three) Dromo must make my mafter's tea: At fix, Sir, if you please to come, You'll find my master, Sir, at home.
Tea, fays a critic big with laughter, Was found fome twenty ages after; Authors, before they write, fhould read. "Tis very true; but we 'll proceed.
And, Sir, at present would you please To leave your name Fair maiden, yes. Reach me that board. No fooner spoke But done. With one judicious ftroke, On the plain ground Apelles drew A circle regularly true;
And will you please, sweet-heart, said he, To fhew your mafter this from me? By it he presently will know, How painters write their names at Co. He gave the pannel to the maid. Smiling and court'fying, Sir, fhe said, I shall not fail to tell my master: And, Sir, for fear of all difafter, I'll keep it my ownfelf: fafe bind, Says the old proverb, and fafe find. So, Sir, as fure as key or lock Your fervant, Sir, at fix o'clock.
Again at fix Apelles came; Found the fame prating civil dame, Sir, that my master has been here, Will by the board itself appear. If from the perfect line be found, He has prefum'd to fwell the round, Or colours on the draught to lay : "Tis thus (he order'd me to fay) Thus write the painters of this isle : : Let thofe of Co remark the style.
She faid; and to his hand reftor'd The rival pledge, the miffive board. Upon the happy line were laid Such obvious light, and eafy fhade ; ~ That Paris' apple stood confest, Or Leda's egg, or Cloe's breaft: Apelles view'd the finish'd piece : And live, faid he, the arts of Greece! Howe'er Protogenes and I
May in our rival talents vie;
Howe'er our works may have exprefs'd,
Who trueft drew, or colour'd beft; When he beheld my flowing line i He found at leaft I could defign: : And from his artful round, I grant, That he with perfect skill can paint.
The dulleft genius cannot fail To find the moral of my tale: That the diftinguish'd part of men, With compaís, pencil, fword, or pen,
Should in life's vifit leave their name, In characters which may proclaim, That they with ardour strove to raise At once their arts, and country's praise; And in their working took great care, That all was full, and round, and fair.
DEMOCRITUS and HERACLITUS.
DEMOCRITUS, dear droll, revifit earth, And with our follies glut thy heighten'd mirth: Sad Heraclitus, ferious wretch return,
In louder grief our greater crimes to mourn. Between you both I unconcern'd stand by: Hurt, can I laugh and honeft, need I cry
On my BIRTH-DAY, July 21.
My dear, was born to-day,
So all my jolly comrades fay;
They bring me mufick, wreaths, and mirth,
And afk to celebrate my birth:
Little, alas! my comrades know,
That I was born to pain and woe ; To thy denial, to thy scorn; Better I had ne'er been born, I wish to die ev'n whilst I fay, 1, my dear, was born to-day.
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