Poem by John Dyer

As to Clio’s Picture

     [A Fragment]

O deeply learned, wisely modest, tell —
Is it a fault to like thy praise so well?
Pleased to be praised by thee, my spirits glow,
And could I ever, I could paint her now.
I meet her beauties in a brighter ray,
And in my eyebeams all her graces play.

Painting, great goddess, mocks my vain desires,
Her lofty art a lofty soul requires;
Long studies too, and fortune at command,
An eye unwearied, and a patient hand;
And, if I cannot brook to be confined,
What scenes of nature should instruct my mind;
At home, abroad, in sunshine, and in storms,
I should observe her in a thousand forms;
Beneath the morning and the evening sky,
Beneath the nightly lamp with patient eye;
Where princes oft, and oft where slaves resort,
In fleets and camps, at cities and at court;
Low at the base of every pillared dome,
And in the awful fields of ruined Rome.

But what receives the man, but what return
Before his ashes fill the silent urn?
A very little of his life remains,
And has he no reward for all his pains?
None by the thoughtless and the gay arise,
None shine with merit in the miser's eyes,
A veil the envious over beauties throw,
And proud ambition never looks below.
Were it not better seek the arms of ease,
And sullen time with mirth and music please,
Hold pleasant parle with Bacchus over wine?

1. To Aaron Hill, Esq.
2. An Epistle to a Famous Painter
3. Bedford Level
4. Written at Ocriculum, in Italy, 1725
5. An Epistle to a Friend in Town

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