THE ANSWER OF Mr. waller's PAINTER, To His many new ADVISERS.  
London, Printed by A. Maxwell 1667.   

THE ANSWER OF Mr. WALLER'S PAINTER, To his many new ADVISERS.  

GOOD Sirs be civil: Can one man (d'ye think)  
As fast lay Colours, as you all spill Ink?  
At what a pass am I! a thousand hands  
I need, if I must be at all Commands.   

Thy sparkling Fancy (Waller) first designed  
A Stately Piece, true Picture of thy Mind.  
But (how Conceits engender!) on thy Wit  
Each Scribbler new Advices doth beget;  
And so the Breeds embased, that now 'tis grown  
Like Royal Blood when mixed with the Clown.  
'Twas racy Wine ran from thy Loyal Quill;  
But these their Brandy from its dregs distil:  
Or, like false Vintners, they adulterate  
Thy Nectar with a poisonous Sublimate.  
Without thy Muse, thy Fancy they purloyn;  
And Bastard Cions to thy stock they join.  
Thus in dead Bodies, Satan acts a soul;  
And Virgil's self's travestyed to a Droll.   

I shall forswear my Art, if I must be  
Thus Schooled by Bunglers, whiles I paint for Thee.  
Or if I must each new Adviser please;  
Jumble our World with the Antipodes;  
And mix the Firmament and Stygian Lake;  
A Chaos, not a Picture I shall make:  
And then, (as he that marred a noble Draught,  
By altering it as each Spectator taught)  
I shall forswear the Piece too, and write by,  
This Monster my Advisers made, not I   

However, Sirs, my Colours will not do;  
And therefore I must be supplied by you.  
I have no mixtures to paint Treason's Face  
So fair, for Loyalty to make it pass.  
None that will blemish Princes on report;  
Which none dares own, to make the Rabble sport.  
Besides, Slander's a fading Colour, though  
It stick a while, it will not long do so:  
If I make use of that, this I shall have,  
When it decays, my work will prove me Knave.   

Yea, Princes (Sirs) are Gods, as they're above;  
Though as Men, in a Mortal Sphere they move.  
As Gods, 'tis Sacrilegious to present  
Them in such Shapes as may bespeak contempt.  
And who allows 'em Men, does therewithal  
Allow 'em Possibility to fall.  
Yet Paint not their Infirmities. Would you  
In each foul Posture be exposed to view?  
Balk not the Noble Rule, and let them have  
The charity (at least) that you would crave.   

My Colours will not alter Forms of State  
After the Whimsies of each Crowing Pate.  
What Paint will draw Utopia's? or where  
Shall th' Groundwork be for Castles in the Air?  
What Colours wears the Man i'th' Moon? who can  
Limn an Oceana, or Leviathan?  
Rob the Chameleon, Sirs, or Polypus,  
For Colours, if you mean t' employ me thus.   

Fie! At the Old Play still! what have we got,  
By Rota's, Ballots, and I know not what?  
Who cheats me once, he fool's me; but 'tis plain,  
I fool my self to deal with him again.  
Bought Wit is best, 'tis said; but who buys oft,  
Shall never sell it at the rates he bought.  
Cast up your Books, (Sirs,) and I dare engage,  
Creditors, falls short of the Debtor's Page;  
Unhinge not Governments, except you could  
Supply us better, ere you change the old.   

You would have all amended, so would I;  
Yet not deface each Piece where faults I spy.  
'Tis true, I could find Colours to expose  
Faulty Grandees, and over-paint a Rose.  
But this checks me, that (whatsoever is aimed)  
Few such are mended by being proclaimed.  
Public disgrace oft smaller sinners scares;  
But Vice with greatness armed, no Colours fears;  
Besides, the Rout grows insolent hereby,  
And slights the once disgraced Authority.  
Whence, to Paint all our Betters Faults, would be,  
To hang up Order in Effigy:  
Leave such then, to their Masters, and the Laws;  
Who play with Lions, at last feel their paws.   

But one word more, Sirs; Grant I yield to you,  
Am I secure, I have no more to do?  
If thus Advices spawn, your three or four  
May shortly propagate to half a score;  
And those by hundreds multiplied, may make  
A task, Briareus would not undertake.  
Besides the Clash; Dash out that line, says one;  
Another, Alter this, Let that alone.  
So Babel's builders marred their Tower, and made  
An heap unlike the Project that they laid.   

Pray leave Advising then, for (never crave it)  
No Art can Paint a World as all would have it.   

Or, if you're set upon't; to fit your mind,  
I'll tell you where a Painter you may find.  
Look out some Canvas-stayner, whose cheap skill  
With Rhythmes and Stories Ale-house-walls doth fill.  
Such men will do your work best: (sorry Elves)  
They paint all Kings and Princes like themselves.  
So with Jack-wheels upon their heads, they slander  
Arthur, and Godfrey, and great Alexander.  
Here David stands with's Harp of whipcord-strings;  
And Solomon's Wives, who (sure) loved no such things.  
Yea Ahab, and Queen Jezabel, who ne'er  
Painted her self, as she is painted there.  
Thus th' Royal Oak in Country Signs is found,  
In a Park Copied from the Neighbour-Pound:  
And Royal Charles his head looks peeping through,  
Much in the posture that's the Dawbers due.  
Employ these then, not me; Except you please  
To use my Art on your own Visages.  
Those, I know who would thank me for; and then  
Your Faces might be famous as your Pen.   

And (lastly) that done, three large dashes by,  
(I doubt) would serve to paint your Destiny.   
FINIS.