EPIGRAMS UPON THE PAINTINGS OF THE Most Eminent Masters, Ancient and Modern. With Reflections upon the several Schools of Painting. By J. E. Esq  
Pulchra Penicillum signa perire vetat,  
Si Venerem Co●s nunquam pinxisset Apelles,  
Mersa sub aequoreis illa lateret aquis.  
LONDON; Printed for Dan. Brown at the Black Swan and Bible without Temple-bar, and G. Strahan at the Golden Ball against the Royal Exchange in Cornhill. M. DCC.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
THE EPIGRAMS marked with an Asterism, are all Translations taken from Michael Silos de Romana Pictura & Sculptura.   
EPIGRAMS UPON THE PAINTINGS OF THE Most Eminent Masters.  

The INTRODUCTION.  
ARE you for Fancy, Humour, and Caprice?  
Brauwer invites you to a Comic Piece.  
Do you in sober History delight?  
Palma may gratify your Appetite.  
If you be nice, and for more choice Provision,  
Taste of Apelles, Raphael, and Titian.  
Be it in Matters Sacred, or Profane,  
You something here may find will entertain,  
Something in lively colours represented:  
If so, expect no more, but be contented.   

The Sacrifice of Iphigenia Daughter of Agamemnon; by Timanthes. EPIGRAM I.  
SEE how her near Relations all lament  
To lose a Virgin fair and innocent.  
The Under-mourners are so full of grief,  
The Painter's puzzled to express the Chief;  
He finds the Pencil is for this too frail,  
And therefore o'er his Eyes he casts the Veil.  
Thus wisely covering Agamemnon's Face,  
He turns the Art's Defect into a Grace.   

A Couple of Wrestlers, by Zeuxis. EPIG. II.  
NAked and brawny both, both very bold,  
Long did they struggle, yet maintained their hold.  
Both did stand out against the Kick and Trip,  
But one of them is got upon the Hip.  
And after all his pains of sweat and toil,  
Is like to get a Fall, at least a Foil.  
He's lifted up on high; but 'tis well known,  
Only with greater force to be cast down.  
This Wrestler, Zeuxis, you do so devise,  
And in him show such skill in Nudities,  
Fall he or fall he not, thy Fame will rise.   

A Boy with a Basket of Grapes, by the same Zeuxis. EPIG. III.  
THE Birds unto thy juicy Grapes did fly,  
And did the name of Zeuxis carry high:  
But had the Bearer been as lively made,  
The Birds most certainly had been afraid.   

Helena, by the same Hand. EPIG. iv  
BEhold a Beauty, that's the Painter's Creature!  
A Beauty never paralleled by Nature.  
The several Graces that lie scattered there,  
Are all collected and united here.  
The Work is great, and yet the Author mean,  
He would not let this matchless Piece be seen  
Without Reward, the Trick increased his Store,  
But made his Helena a mercenary Whore.   

An old Woman's Head, by the same Zeuxis. EPIG. V  
A Young smooth Look is oft adorned with Grace,  
But what Charm is there in a shrivelled Face?  
Look with an Artist's Eyes, and you will see  
The Work exceeding fanciful and free.  
You'll see a pleasant, but a fatal Head,  
Such as with transport struck its 
† Zeuxis upon a view of it died with laughing.  Author dead.   

Campaspes the beloved Concubine of Alexander the Great, drawn naked by Apelles. EPIG. VI  
AN Object this, so wonderfully bright,  
Does almost dazzle and confound the Sight.  
Her Eyes, her Breasts, her Bosom, every Part,  
Every Member of her shoots a Dart,  
Apelles found each of them pierced his Heart.  
The Macedonian King perceived him languish,  
Gave him Campaspe, and assuaged his Anguish.  
Had he in lieu of Her resigned his Crown,  
He had not half of such a Bounty shown:  
But what's returned for this vast Gift? A Table  
For Beauty and for Grace inestimable.   

Alexander Triumphant, by the same Apelles. EPIG. VII.  
THIS Eastern Monarch seated in a Car,  
Insults an Image representing War;  
And War appears with both hands tied behind him,  
A Posture very fit, may none unbind him.   

Jalysus, by Protogenes. EPIG. VIII.  
THE Picture, as Historians set it forth,  
Proved to the Rhodians of exceeding Worth.  
Their Capitol besieged, to flames is doomed,  
But spared for fear this Piece should be consumed.  
In Military Works they strong were grown,  
But 'twas the Painter's Work that saved the Town.   

Polyphemus, by Timanthes. EPIG. IX.  
A Huge and horrid Monster here lies sleeping,  
With several wanton Satyrs round him creeping.  
To no small danger they themselves expose,  
Themselves but little bigger than his Nose.  
The bolder sort do very near him come,  
And take the true dimension of his Thumb;  
But with such caution and such tenderness,  
As does their fear of rowzing him express.  
In this Timanthes wittily hath shown,  
That nothing's Great but by Comparison.   

Daniel in the Lion's Den, by Giorgion. EPIG. X.  
SEE devout Daniel in the Lion's Den,  
A fit place for savage Beasts than Men:  
He any pains and torments would endure  
Much rather than the purest Faith abjure.  
Strange! how the Lion's couch and fawn before him!  
Hungry, yet have no stomach to devour him!  
They rather are inclined to lick his feet,  
So awful is his Aspect, and so sweet.  
O Giorgion! what Art dost thou unfold!  
Tame are thy Lions, but thy Pencil's bold.   

Alexander and Diogenes, by Salvator Rosa. EPIG. XI.  
OLD Snarl you see is off the hooks,  
A crabbed Fellow by his looks:  
They say that he would Princes snub,  
And then retire into his Tub.  
The King invites him to his Court,  
But Cynic does not thank him for't:  
Nor begs he any Boon but one,  
That's not to intercept the Sun:  
Not of that Blessing to deprive,  
The greatest Monarch cannot give.  
The Painter lively does express,  
By a rough Scene his ruggedness.  
Yet something does the Picture spoil,  
It should not have been wrought in 
† Distemper more rough and more agreeable.  Oil.   

Diana turns Actaeon into a Stag; by Titian. EPIG. XII.  
THE Chaste Diana with her Maids,  
Bathing herself among the Shades,  
At length's surprised, and cannot take it,  
That Man should see a Goddess naked;  
And therefore turns him to a Stag,  
Lest the too forward Youth should brag:  
Or teaches us that Youth can't bear  
A Virgin's sweet and charming Air;  
But yields his Heart, turns dissolute,  
And Lust transforms him to a Brute.  
Titian employs his Pencil right,  
To edify, and to delight.   

Hercules' effeminated; by Annibal Carrats. EPIG. XIII.  
HIS Mantle and his Club laid by,  
The Man's no more than You or I.  
He slew a Lion once, but now  
He han't the Heart to kill a Cow.  
F●●m Cupid's Toils he can't get free,  
Cupid's a greater Hercules than Herald   

An old Man playing upon a Cymbal, by Tintoret. EPIG. XIV.  
HOW quick the Minstrels Fingers play!  
As if he felt not a decay,  
But all his Hours were brisk and gay.  
Methinks I hear his Melody,  
But if I hear not, sure I see  
In every Touch great Harmony.  
Notes high and low in order set,  
And in the Base the Air of Tintoret.   

* The Four Evangelists, by Dominiquin. EPIG. XV.  
NO need here to subscribe a Name,  
Tho Painters once did do the same:  
An Angel this; a Lion that;  
Th' Eagle and Ox discriminate  
The other two; thus every one  
Is by his proper Symbol known.  
The Angel makes the Picture Neat,  
The Ox and Lion make it Great,  
And th' Eagle gives it Light and Heat.   

* St. Laurence on the Gridiron, by Rosa. EPIG. XVI.  
UPON this fiery Couch St. Laurence lies,  
With Mind erect, and elevated Eyes.  
His inward Flames the outward Fire increase,  
Tumult and Noise without, within him Peace.  
His Foes may rage's and still add to the Fire,  
But Rosa's Pencil will defeat their Ire:  
For whilst He lives, the Saint will ne'er expire.   

* Pilate washing of his Hands; by Andraea Sacchi. EPIG. XVII.  
OCursed Pilate! Villain died in grain!  
A little Water cannot purge thy stain;  
No, Tanais can't do't, nor yet the Main.  
Dost thou condemn a Deity to Death,  
Him whose mere Love gave and preserved thy Breath?  
And thinkest thou to make a full amends,  
By a slight dipping of thy Finger's ends?  
Nothing can blanche the Aethiopian's skin,  
Tho not so black without, as thou within.  
Washed, thou remainest unclean; if any part  
About 's clear, thanks be to Sacchi's Art.   

* Scipio 's Chastity, by Rubens. EPIG. XVIII.  
NEar him adorned with Beauty, Youth, and State,  
Stands a fair Virgin, but unfortunate;  
A Captive brought, and offered 'mong the Spoils  
Of War, as a reward of martial Toils.  
At the first sight the Hero's Heart does swell,  
But he the great Commotion thus does quell:  
Be gone, be gone, thou swift surprising Pest!  
Avoid, make haste, and fly a Roman Breast.  
The fearful Damsel now he does release,  
Bridles his Lust, and bids her go in peace.  
He that so bravely does himself subdue,  
More valour shows than if he thousands slew.  
Rubens by this famed Piece instruction sends,  
That Mars and Venus are not always Friends.   

Marsyas flayed by Apollo; The Work of Caravagio. EPIG. XIX.  
HE that had used the Harp so much,  
With many a nice and nimble touch,  
Now lays aside his sweet Delight,  
To do himself a piece of Right.  
Marsyas to Music a Pretender,  
Challenged long since the Art's Defender;  
He strove t'outvie, but was o'ercome,  
And this I take it was his doom,  
To have his skin pulled o'er his Ears.  
See— The Tormentor there appears,  
And to his work himself applies;  
But O how loud the Scraper cries!  
He roars as if he'd rend the Skies.  
Marsyas indeed deserves to far thus hard,  
But Caravagio merits a Reward.   

* The single Combat of Hector and Ajax, by Rubens. EPIG. XX.  
STay and behold an admirable Piece,  
Two Heroes, Thunderbolts of Troy and Greece.  
One skilled at's Weapon, th' other fierce and fell,  
Which of the two's most valiant think you? tell.  
They meet, look stern, traverse, and beat the ground,  
And first with cruel Eyes each other wound;  
Then draw their glittering Swords, and begin to tilt,  
But in the brave Encounter no blood's spilt:  
This bushes hard, but t'other dextrously  
His gallant Adversary's thrust puts by.  
Hard they contend, and for the victory press;  
Equal their Courage, equal their Success.  
Long did they fight, yet neither Hand nor Heart  
Once failed, but night drew on and did them part.  
The Quarrel's ended: Rubens in this Table  
Has made both Combatants insuperable.   

* Tomyris drowning in Blood the Head of Cyrus; by the same Author. EPIG. XXI.  
A Bloody battle's fought, but Cyrus fails,  
And the Virago o'er his Arms prevails,  
Slays the proud King that was to her so cursed,  
Cuts off that Head which for her Blood did thirst,  
And then in Blood the severed Head immersed.  
Saying, In Blood thou ever didst delight,  
Now drink thy fill, now reek thy utmost spite.  
Great Fame the Queen gets from her Enemy,  
But Noble Rubens greater far by thee.   

Mars and Venus in the same Table; by Titian. EPIG. XXII.  
HEre Mars, there Venus you may see,  
In each Face great disparity,  
So Light and Darkness disagree.  
She tender, sweet, and charming fair,  
He of an horrid hideous air;  
In his Brow Thunder, in his Eye  
Tremendous Coruscations lie.  
In Venus nothing taketh place,  
But what has Ornament and Grace.  
Titian, in joining both thy Art is shown,  
Mars is too dreadful to be seen alone.   

* A Country Maid with a Hamper or Basket on her Arm; by Titian. EPIG. XXIII.  
THIS Girl doth ravish each Spectator;  
Tho painted, makes their mouths to water.  
O what a Charm and lovely Grace  
Comes from her sweet and modest Face!  
Her Cheeks are of the Tyrian dye,  
Her Forehead smooth, serene, and high.  
Fine golden Tresses, not too red,  
Crown and adorn the Damsel's Head;  
Her Eyes emit a sparkling Light,  
They twinkle like the Stars at night.  
Her Dress is very tied and clean,  
And may at Fair, or Feast be seen.  
But why that Basket on her Arm?  
It does not her, nor Titian harm;  
It Honour to the Painter raises,  
Filled (as supposed) with his due Praises.   

* A Mule with a Mulettier, by Correggio. EPIG. XXIV.  
SEE here an awkard mongrel Creature!  
Of an unpleasing Form and Feature;  
Behind him an old Mulettier,  
As shapeless, and of Look severe:  
But though the Fellow be hirsute,  
He's one degree above the Brute.  
I must confess they both are rough,  
But both are true, and that's enough.   

* A Landscape, by Salvator Rosa. EPIG. XXV.  
INgenious Rosa who was wont to paint  
Heroes, and Histories, and many a Saint,  
Now lours his great and noble Vein,  
To Landscape, and to Views Campane.  
Dost thou paint Woods and Forests? Know  
Thy Subject, Rosa, is not low.  
Woods of a Consul worthy are,  
And rude things may require thy Care,  
Thy cultivating Hand will make them fair.  
A thousand Objects thou dost show,  
In one Piece, and distinctly too.  
Here Grass, there Groves, there Plains, there Heath and Brakes;  
There standing Corn, there running Streams, there Lakes.  
Rosa, w' admire not this Variety,  
But wonder much at one thing, that's at Thee.   

Duns Scotus, or the subtle Doctor; supposed by Tintoret. EPIG. XXVI.  
A Mighty Student this I guests,  
By's meager looks, and Sloven's Dress.  
He cares not for his outward Rind,  
But how to cultivate his Mind.  
How sharp the looks! his piercing Eye  
Sees deep in School-Divinity;  
And now is noting some dark Text,  
Not for to make it clear, but more perplexed.   

The Prodigal Son, by Bassan. EPIG. XXVII.  
SEE what a Rat the beardless Spendthrist's grown,  
He that was once the glaring'st Beau o'th' Town.  
He had his Horses, Valets, and his Whores,  
But's Wealth is flown, and they turned out of doors.  
No Man was fit t' associate with this Sinner,  
That could not spend a Piece or two on's Dinner.  
No Eating-house would serve him but a Locket's,  
But now the Wretch has not one Groat in's Pockets:  
Now would be glad on Husk and Draff to dine,  
Tho with no better Company than Swine:  
Swine his Companions were before I guess,  
Yet better bred, and in a better Dress.  
This Bassan's Pencil does express most fine,  
More prodigal of Art, than t'other was of Coin.  
But no Man wonders he so well should do't,  
His proper Talon 'twas to paint a Brute.   

* Galataea, by Raphael. EPIG. XXVIII.  
FAIR Galataea seems to me  
The prettiest Nymph of all the Sea;  
Girt and adorned with Reeds and Rushes,  
Tho her best Ornament's her Blushes.  
Dolphins about her dance and play,  
And th' Ocean now looks smooth and gay.  
So Poets feign, but Raphael, you  
What Fable was, do here make true.   

Card-players, by Quintin Messiah, formerly a Blacksmith. EPIG. XXIX.  
SINCE Noise his Mistress did offend,  
To th' Hammer-trade he puts an end;  
And now does set himself to paint,  
An Art more quiet and more acquaint,  
And doth by dint of Love attained.  
Venus has washed his Vulcan Face,  
And a clean Pencil is his Grace.   

* Aeneas escapes from the Fire, bearing Anchises. EPIG. XXX.  
NOT all the Enemies' Fire, nor Darts so lavish,  
Can once my aged Father from me ravish.  
The cruel Flames, and the Greeks fiercer Rage,  
Did so increase, nothing could them assuage.  
Yet none of all my Foes can justly scoff,  
Since I so bravely bore my Father off.  
My Country they indeed do burn and sack,  
But I escaped, with Troy upon my back.  
That I was forced to fly for't who can say,  
Since I such noble Trophys bore away?  
The Painter says it not, but does declare  
In spite of Fortune, Thou art Conqueror.   

A Representation of Justice at the Stadthouse in Brussels, by Vandyke. EPIG. XXXI.  
INcorrupt Justice here you may descry,  
Among her Ministers i'th' Treasury,  
And at her Feet see Weights and Measures lie.  
The Great Vandyke to do his Justice right,  
Has placed the Goddess in the clearest Light.  
Some Painters say he should have made her blind;  
They paint the Body, but he paints the Mind.   

Appemantus at Dinner on a Turnip, at the Stadthouse at Amsterdam. EPIG. XXXII.  
SEE how he seowls! He's not at ease,  
Something does much the Sage displease;  
The World will not comply with's Humour,  
This in his Spleen begets a Tumour,  
And makes him rail at all Mankind,  
For being obstinately blind,  
Not only Fools but Knaves to boot,  
And thus he grumbles o'er his Root.  
This petulant ill-natured Elf  
Sees thorough all men but himself;  
But does not see, nor will he grant us,  
That He's a surly Appemantus.   

The Effigies of Bellisarius. EPIG. XXXIII.  
GReat was thy Merit, but thy Fate was hard,  
A sorry Ha' penny thy best Reward.   

Susanna beset by the Elders, by Guercini. EPIG. XXXIV.  
AT a Clear Fountain in a glimmering Shade,  
That seemed for sweetness, and for pleasure made,  
The beautiful Susanna did repair  
To bathe her Limbs, and to refresh her Hair;  
But is surprised by two old Fornicators,  
Slaves to their Appetites, and vicious Natures.  
Amazed she stands at first, but soon prepares  
To guard her Honour, and overcome her Fears.  
Here Lust assails, there Chastity repels,  
And drives them both away, as Story tells.  
Susanna is at length a Victress grown,  
Tho naked, and against her two to one.   

St. Dominick with a Star in his Forehead. EPIG. XXXV.  
THE Saints ill done, the Star I think is worse,  
And is a Mark that's fit for a Horse.   

* Aeneas deserting Dido, by Raphael. EPIG. XXXVI.  
HE's gone; nor Sighs, nor Supplications can,  
Once change the mind of a resolved Man.  
He hears not Dido, nor doth seek her ease,  
Rougher and deafer than the Rocks and Seas.  
You see his Ship a sailing, and perceive  
How the poor Queen by turns doth rave and grieve.  
Tell me who steers the Ship, who does inflame  
Th' ungoverned Passion of this amorous Dame?  
'Tis matchless Raphael from Heaven sent,  
Who fixed things makes to move, and mute makes eloquent.   

St. Agnes distributing Money and Garments to the Poor; by Zampier, alias Dominiquin. EPIG. XXXVII.  
A Sweet and modest Look this Saint doth show,  
And with her own hand does her Alms bestow;  
She clothes the Naked, and the Hungry feeds,  
And of each Indigent supplies the needs.  
A Gift from such a fair Hand, such a Saint,  
Would make a Dives turn a Mendicant.  
All people gain by Her, but Zampier from her  
Has got the richest Gift, immortal Honour.   

Mercury teaching Cupid to read; by Titian. EPIG. XXXVIII.  
CVpid does learn to read, and Mercury  
Teaches the winged Stripling A B C.  
A Sternness you behold i'th' Master's Look,  
Which makes the trembling Scholar mind his Book.  
But how comes Cupid t' act so mean a part,  
To learn the very rudiments of Art?  
Whence is't that he who all the World does rule,  
Comes to be governed, and be whipped at School?  
Fly pretty Lad, fly quickly, learn no more,  
He'll bread thee up a Wit, and make thee poor,  
Or make thee know thy Mother was a Whore.   

Seneca teaching Nero; by Titian. EPIG. XXXIX.  
HIS Countenance does not betray much evil,  
At present he's a young and harmless Devil.  
But when this Infant-Tyrant comes of age,  
O how his Wrath and Cruelty will rage's!  
His Villainies and Murders will be rife,  
He will not spare his reverend Master's Life;  
But be a Plague to Country and to Court,  
And burn the City of the World in sport.  
Seneca! hard's thy task, such cross-grained Wood  
Cannot be wrought to any Shape that's good.  
As soon a Coward thou mayst make a Hero,  
As make a Man of morals of a Nero.   

* The School of Athens; the Work of Raphael in the Vatican. EPIG. XL.  
HAST thou a mind to see a noble Piece?  
Stay and behold the greatest School of Greece.  
See many Masters on a high Seat placed,  
With elegant distinctions finely graced,  
And round them Scholars with arrected Ear,  
Listening their learned Documents to hear.  
A Stoic here declaims, there Aristotle  
Reads Morals, and perhaps against the Bottle.  
One measures Land, another Stars doth measure,  
And every Art communicates its Treasure.  
This Gruppa Speech adorn, this Vice abolish,  
And that remote Knot does the Muses polish.  
But how can Painting such great things impart?  
Raphael alone is Master of this Art.   

The Descent from the Cross; by Quintin Messiah. EPIG. XLI.  
THE Painter here hath so well played his part,  
That this Descent's a Prodigy of Art:  
So true, so touching, and in such esteem,  
'Tis not permitted to be often seen,  
But on great Festivals and gaudy days,  
All its unequalled Graces it displays  
To Quintin's Honour and deserved Praise.   

A Double Aspect at the Jesuits College in Ghent. EPIG. XLII.  
THIS Picture simply seen doth show  
A fair Madonna to your view.  
But if it thro' a Glass you spy,  
The twelve Apostles you descry.  
And thus by Jesuits, the Virgin Mary's  
Divided 'mong Primitive Missionaries.   

The Roman Lucrece stabbing herself with a Dagger; by Giorgion. EPIG. XLIII.  
SInce the vile Ravisher my Honour stains,  
What thing of worth or moment now remains!  
Thus cries Lucretia with grief oppressed,  
And sheaths a poignant Dagger in her Breast.  
The Heroine would die; but you prevent,  
O Giorgion! her murderous intent.  
You have so painted her, that we conceive,  
She in thy Table will for ever live.   

* The Mother of the Maccabees at the Martyrdom of her Sons; by Andraea Sarta. EPIG. XLIV.  
WHAT a transcendent Treasure here doth rest  
Of manly Valour in a Woman's Breast!  
A Breast unarmed, yet nothing can it pierce,  
Not all the Malice of a Tyrant Fierce.  
She her seven Sons in tortures sees expire,  
Some by the Sword, and others by the Fire.  
She fights i'th' constancy of each brave Son,  
And gets a Victory in every one.  
Then herself finishes the Tragedy,  
Triumphing (Sarta!) over all but thee.   

St. John in the Wilderness, by Austin Carrats. EPIG. XLV.  
THIS Child a Pop'lous City can't abide,  
Therefore t' a Desert flies himself to hid.  
There he lives sparingly on Herb, or Root,  
And cools his thirst with Water, or with Fruit.  
A Stone his Pillow is, his Couch the Ground,  
His Garment Camel-hair with Girdle bound.  
But who does here this Infant-Baptist teach?  
Do the mute Trees instruct the Lad to preach?  
Or do the Birds and Stars this Hermit raise,  
To celebrate their Great Creator's Praise?  
Inquire not who his Master is, but know  
'Tis he who does inform all things below.  
How thou bewaylest both in Success and Choice,  
Carrats! this Child proclaims with manly Voice.   

* Cain assailing Abel, by Joachim Sandrart. EPIG. XLVI.  
THIS Work sets forth to the Spectators view,  
Him who did first in Blood his Hands imbrue.  
Great was, O Cain, thy Envy and thy Pride!  
A bold Attempt, an early Parricide.  
What Fury ' 'gainst thy Brother made thee rage?  
Can nothing but his Blood thy Wrath assuage?  
Weapons of murder yet unformed had been,  
Thy Wrath supplies them, nought than this more keen.  
The Earth does blush at such a cruel Deed,  
And wonders that thy Forehead is not red.  
How well the 
† The disposition of Lights and Shadows.  Clare Obscure is managed here!  
Cain's the dark shadow, Abel all that's clear.   

A Triumphal Arch, by Raphael. EPIG. XLVII.  
WE don't suspect the fabulous Deities  
That deck this Arch, but him that painted these:  
Here Jupiter armed with his Bolt doth thunder;  
There Saturn threats to cut the World asunder.  
Bellona storms, and Juno's in a Pet,  
Venus looks cheerful, Pallas temperate.  
Young Bacchus with a Belly like a Tun,  
Lies fast asleep as if his Work was done.  
Vulcan and Neptune rage as they were wild,  
(Inveterate Foes ne'er to be reconciled.)  
Pluto looks grim, and his Infernal Queen  
Just shows her Head, not caring to be seen.  
A mixed Convention: Some in Heaven dwell,  
On Earth some, some i'th' Sea, and some in Hell.  
But well it happens, that they all are known  
To be mere Fictions, Shadows, Names alone.  
For Raphael with his Graces doth so store 'em,  
That many will be tempted to adore ' 'em.   

* Herodias holding St. John 's Head; by Titian. EPIG. XLVIII.  
THE Wife, the Sister, the Adulteress  
Of Herod this; the lend Herodias.  
The Reverend Baptist's severed Head is shown,  
With great Indecence and Derision.  
See how she now insults, her Looks express  
Cruelty intermixed with Wantonness.  
Is this a Head to grace a public Feast,  
Or fit to be the subject of a Jest?  
Shameless! Canst thou withstand his threatening Look?  
Tho his Tongue's mute, yet still it doth rebuke.  
Titian with horror does express this Head,  
That it may strike the cruel Harlot dead.   

* Aristotle 's Effigies, by Rembrant. EPIG. XLIX.  
NO Monster come from afric in this Piece,  
But a profound Philosopher from Greece:  
A Sage who no occasion had to roam,  
He found a World within himself at home;  
And Alexander, justly called the Great,  
Made him his Master, as the most complete.  
They both were great, both at the Helm did sit,  
One ruled the World by Force, t'other by Wit.   

* Parnassus, by Raphael. EPIG. L.  
THIS Mountain's high, and at the top is cleft,  
Yet its proud Top of Verdure not bereft.  
Steep the Ascent, but th'higher up you go,  
In pleasure far surpassing things below.  
Sweet is its Air, perpetual its Spring,  
And chirping Birds its praises ever sing.  
Refreshed with a clear Fountain full to th' brink,  
Where Violets and Roses duly drink.  
The Muses Ancient Seat this; here the Nine  
Themselves enjoy, and lead a Life Divine.  
Each by her Mark distinctly is expressed,  
By th' Instrument that's hanging at her Breast.  
I'th' midst Apollo with his Harp you see,  
The God of Music and of Poetry.  
He and the Muses do in consort join;  
Here all things sing, all things are gay and fine.  
'Tis a forked Mount, one of its Tops is free  
For Poets, Raphael! tother's left for thee.   

Raphael 's Effigies, drawn by himself. EPIG. LI.  
HOW skilfully! how rarely well!  
Thy Face thou paint'st, O Raphael!  
The Figure breaths, i'th' Forehead shine  
A Wit and Genius Divine.  
The Piece thou dost so animate,  
It will not pass for counterfeit:  
The Lines and Colour so agree  
With Nature's curious Effigy,  
That both are true, or both feigned be.  
But one is subject to decay,  
The other ne'er wilt wear away.  
In this thou wilt for ever live,  
And even thy very self survive.   

* Bathsheba with her Son Solomon on the same Throne; by Zampier, alias Dominiquin. EPIG. LII.  
HOW neatly stands upon a lofty Throne,  
The Beauteous Mother of King Solomon!  
Candour you see and Sweetness in her Face,  
And in her Gesture, Majesty and Grace.  
The wise King knew that Bathsheba was born  
A Royal Throne to fill, and to adorn;  
And that two Suns placed in one Hemisphere,  
Do make each other shine more bright and clear.  
Zampier, thou hast performed a thing that's great,  
Two August Princes planted in one Seat.   

* The Blessed Virgin visits Elizabeth; by Caravagio. EPIG. LIII.  
LOVE does invite, nor does the Virgin stay,  
Nothing impedes, no Lion in the way;  
They both in mutual Embraces meet,  
And without Compliment each other greet.  
Each is with Child, and each Child proves a Boy,  
And the Great Infants leap i'th' Womb for joy.  
What Discourse happened between the holy Pair  
Of Mothers, Sacred Story does declare.  
But if in this the Pen did not avail,  
Thy Pencil, Caravagio, would not fail.   

Venus beholds herself in a Glass sustained by Cupid; the Work of Titian. EPIG. LIV.  
WITH Paint and Washes to correct her Face,  
Tho without need, Venus consults her Glass.  
And this the Gyprian Lad stoutly supports,  
A Lad still forward to promote Love-sports.  
Lose Hairs are hence most orderly suppressed,  
And her pale Cheek with Crimson is redressed.  
But why dost thou thy time so vainly waste?  
Learn to be humble, provident, and chaste.  
Let this Instruction from thy Glass prevail,  
Thy Beauty shining is, but very frail.   

Danae receiving a golden Shore, by Correggio. EPIG. LV.  
SHE whom you see so very fair,  
With such a sweet, yet killing Air,  
Dressed up with Gold, and many a Gem,  
Is sprung from the Acrysian Stem.  
Her Father was a little sour,  
And shut her up in brazen Tower;  
Took care she ne'er should be a Bride,  
T' avoid a horrid 
† Was told by an Oracle that he should be slain by a Nephew.  Parricide.  
A pretty shift; but what, alas!  
Do signify your Bars of Brass.  
'Tis not within their petty power  
T' exclude a thundering Golden Shower:  
Nor can a weak and silly Damsel  
Refuse so great, so rich a Handsel.  
Correggio this doth plainly teach,  
Gold never fails to make a breach.  
O helpless Virgins, then beware!  
Lest what seems Gold do prove a Snare.   

* St. Sebastian, by Guido Rheni. EPIG. LVI.  
WHO that intrepid Youth is would you know?  
The several Darts fixed in his Flesh do show.  
His valiant Breast without is pierced sore,  
Yet is within inflamed and wounded more.  
And though his Body's bound unto a Tree,  
His Mind's enfranchised, and his Looks are free.  
Rheni as many Wounds as thou hast given,  
So many Mouths extol thy Praise to Heaven.   

The Rape of Proserpina, by the same Guido. EPIG. LVII.  
OF old when Proserpina the fair  
Did walk abroad to take the air,  
Pluto spied her, and made at her,  
Never asked the Maid whose Daughter:  
But by a more compendious course,  
Gets her into his Claws by Force.  
And, as some ancient Stories tell,  
Resolved to make her Queen of Hell.  
But such a Beauty could not brook  
His ugly Diabolick Look.  
She roars and struggles, but in vain,  
Nothing can ease her of her pain.  
This, Guido, you so well declare,  
Spectators much astonished are,  
And reckon you the Ravisher.   

* A Celebrated Venus with Cupid; by Titian. EPIG. LVIII.  
OLD Titian, what, dost thou turn Pimp  
To Venus and her little Imp?  
Has not their Beauty done great harm?  
Why dost thou add unto the Charm?  
Why makest thou both so fair and tender?  
As both were of the female Gender.  
Dost thou think by such little ways  
To get thee everlasting praise?  
Thy Piece they grace, but Manners slain,  
Make a good Venus, but bad Titian.   

St. Magdalen, or the great Penitent; by the same Hand. EPIG. LIX.  
SAD is her Countenance, though fair,  
Lose and neglected is her Hair;  
Her Hands she wrings, and doth lament  
Her grievous loss, her time misspent.  
See in that shower of Tears the force  
Of a deep Sorrow and Remorse:  
See how her Breast doth beat and swell,  
As if within she felt a Hell.  
This thou dost fully represent;  
Titian! thou inward Wounds dost paint.   

St. Austin, by Caravagio. EPIG. LX.  
HE that was once immersed in filth, and nigh  
Hell's lowest pit, now rears his Head to th' Sky.  
No sinful Lust, nothing of former stains,  
About the Holy Father now remains.  
Now a stout Champion of the Church he's grown,  
And many a Monster with his Pen knocks down.  
He, Caravagio, in thy very Table,  
To Heretics looks fierce and formidable.   

Cupid smiling, and trampling Crowns and Arms under his foot; by the same Caravagio. EPIG. LXI.  
A Cupid to express most just and fit,  
The Painter tries the force of Art and Wit.  
So fair the little ranging Rogue's expressed,  
You'd think he dropped from's Mother's snowy Breast.  
He's winged and armed with Bow and Dart most neat,  
Golden his Locks, and his Face wondrous sweet.  
See how the Child insults, and brags that He  
Great Monarches overrules in's Infancy.  
Sceptres and Crowns, bright Helmets, Swords and Daggers,  
Truncheons, and broken Spears he spurns, and swaggers.  
He laughs that he so great a Conquest gains  
Without the battering Gun, or warlike Pains.  
But by soft Words, or shedding of a Tear,  
By pretty Smiles, or by an anirous Leer.  
Since, Caravagio, thou dost paint so right  
Most powerful Love; thou shalt be our Delight.   

Thais, by the same Caravagio. EPIG. LXII.  
HERE you behold Immodesty,  
A wand'ring Foot, and rolling Eye.  
Of Wit and Beauty she has store,  
'Tis pity Thais is a Whore:  
Yet seems of artifice so guilty,  
Were she alive the Jade would jilt ye.  
This florid, sweetening, flattering Pest,  
Did Athens heretofore infest.  
Her rosy Cheeks and sparkling Eyes,  
Smote all th' unwary and unwise.  
Nay, many a Man of Sense and Brain,  
By this Enchantress has been slain.  
But, Caravagio, here thy Art,  
More than a Thais wounds the Heart.   

* The Adulteress in the Gospel; by Giorgion. EPIG. LXIII.  
LAW, Justice, Conscience, and the Brows of Men,  
Do thee convict, O Woman! and condemn.  
Paleness and Silence do thy guilt confess,  
And thou expectest punishment no less,  
Than what is due to an Adulteress.  
But be not thou oppressed with anxious fear,  
Let this Advice thy drooping Spirits cheer:  
Th' offended Deity on whom we trust,  
Writes not our crimes in Marble, but in Dust.   

* Goliath challenges the Camp of the Israelites; by Old Palma. EPIG. LXIV.  
HERE you an armed Giant may behold,  
If you have Courage, and dare be so bold.  
A monstrous Helmet on his Head doth stand,  
And a tall Pine supports his Weapon-hand.  
His Eyes and Forehead scowl and threaten hard,  
And the poor Israelites are almost scared.  
Thy Giant, Palma, 's great, to do thee right,  
Great things to paint was ever thy delight.   

* Mercury heheads Argus; by Nicholas Poussin. EPIG. LXV.  
Argus' with all his hundred Eyes,  
Was not defended from surprise.  
Mercury caught him at a nap,  
And cut off's Head, a sad Mishap!  
Those Eyes which then did Argus fail,  
Now shine like Stars i'th' Peacock's Tail.  
Poussin! this Piece I do admire,  
Thy Works a hundred Eyes require.   

The Effigies of a Religious Man; by Titian. EPIG. LXVI.  
WHO, Titian! is that grave and reverend Sire,  
That hooded is, and Men so much admire?  
What are his Talents? How does his Tongue hang?  
Can he the People sway by fine Harangue?  
Is he a Master of Philosophy?  
Is he from worldly Cares and Pleasures free?  
Is he of any use to Church or State?  
We need not ask, nor needest thou relate;  
For when the Picture we do view and scan,  
We find him soon a choice accomplished Man.   

* The Daughters of Lot intoxicate their Father; by Bilbert. EPIG. LXVII.  
BEhold, the Sisters have prepared a Bowl,  
To dose and stupify their Father's Soul.  
Th' insuperable Wine assaults his Head,  
And all the upper part of him is dead.  
They with its raging heat in Lust do burn,  
And each enjoys her Father in her turn.  
See, see the bitter fruit of Drunkenness,  
And learn t'avoid all manner of excess.  
If rev'ling Bacchus once does pass the Bar,  
You may be sure that Venus is not far.   

* St. Peter with the Maidservant, Doorkeeper; by Lovis Carats. EPIG. LXVIII.  
THOU who wert once a mighty Prop and Stay  
O'th' Church, dost thou now sink and fall away?  
What dismal Chance doth make thy Members quake,  
And all thy wont Courage from thee take?  
No warlike Engine doth against thee roar,  
A Maid's soft Voice doth wound and gall thee sore.  
St. Peter falls; Carats by this doth rise,  
And mounted on Applauses reach the Skies.   

Another on St. Peter. EPIG. LXIX.  
FRail Flesh and Blood, when danger was not nigh,  
Thy Courage, Peter, than seemed very high;  
But when it approached, thou hadst not heart of Grace  
To stand thy ground, and look grim Death i'th' Face.  
Let all Men learn by thy base Cowardice,  
That he that would be resolute and wise,  
Must this poor transitory Life despise.   

Adam and Eve in Paradise after the Fall; by Paul Veronese. EPIG. LXX.  
HERE the two Parents of Mankind you see,  
The Masterpiece o'th' Holy Trinity.  
Both very stately, beautiful, and neat;  
Both naked are, yet both of them complete.  
But this is not enough, to Man is given  
Dominion over all things under Heaven.  
See how the Lion and the Tiger meet,  
And lower their fierceness at their Master's feet;  
Yet th' happy Pair regarding not their Station,  
For a poor Apple barter this Donation.  
In show the Serpent does present and give,  
But does indeed most treacherously deprive.  
They fall, and are expelled: This doleful sight,  
O Paul, thy Pencil turns to our Delight.   

* John Baptist, an Infant, holds a Cross made of Reed; by Sehido of Parma. EPIG. LXXI.  
THIS well-looked Child of good Behaviour,  
Is the Forerunner of our Saviour.  
A Cross he bears, his business is to teach,  
Mortification and Repentance preach.  
But some unthinking Men are at a loss,  
To know why of a Reed he made the Cross;  
The Reason is, if I do take it right,  
To show us that this Burden is but light.   

A Friar with a Death's Head, by Vandyke. EPIG. LXXII.  
HERE you may see a Man that's truly wise,  
Sober and grave without the least disguise,  
That doth his time in Contemplation spend  
Upon his Frailty and his latter End.  
He does not range about the World for Pelf,  
Nor foreign Matters studies, but Himself.  
He is no Slave to Passion or Opinion,  
Nor has Example over him dominion.  
Good present he can slight for Joys to come,  
And doth not dread the day of Death or Doom.  
These Precepts, these Instructions, or the like,  
Are in this Friar shadowed by Vandyke.   

* Night, by Julio Romano. EPIG. LXXIII.  
MY Face sometimes so dark is, that you'd swear,  
I wore a Mask, or I a Negro were.  
Sometimes again the Stars do make me bright,  
Some by a fixed, some by a wand'ring Light.  
Soft Sleeps about me stand, the World doth rest  
With Morning Pains, and Evening Fumes oppressed.  
Poppies adorn my Head, and close my Eyes,  
And the Moon watches o'er me till I rise.  
Who so well portrayed this Reverse of Day,  
Did not in darkness grope, to find his way.   

Charles the Fifth on Horseback; by Titian. EPIG. LXXIV.  
THAT Charles that was so stout and valiant,  
Is lively represented here in Paint.  
Th' undaunted Courage in his noble Breast,  
Is by his generous Countenance expressed.  
In his right Hand he holds a darting Spear,  
And all things round about him seem to fear.  
His metalled Courser owns him for his Lord,  
And to be ridden yields of's own accord.  
He snorts, and foams, and scowls, and with fierce Eye,  
To Battle proudly bids his Enemy.  
Titian hath made his Hero even to wonder,  
Yet not like Alexander armed with Thunder.  
In this great Work he acts a Princely Part,  
Himself a Prince o'th' Apellean Art.   

Charity, by Andraea del Sarto. EPIG. LXXV.  
BEnign and tender Charity am I,  
In my Breast Kindness and Compassion lie.  
This Child with Fruit, with Prattle that I please,  
And t' other kiss and dandle on my knees.  
Do they laugh? so do I. If they do play,  
I am as sportive, and as brisk as they.  
Three Boys the Painter gives me for my charge:  
He errs; my Province should have been more large.  
As Justice should be free, and never bribed,  
So Charity should ne'er be circumscribed.   

* Paul and Barnabas taken for Jupiter and Mercury; by Elshamer. EPIG. LXXVI.  
SUCH were their Aspects, such their Power had been,  
When by the Lystrians they at first were seen;  
That these poor Souls could hardly stand before 'em,  
For Gods they take 'em, and must needs adore ' 'em.  
We know full well frail Mortals they were then,  
But, Elshamer, you make them more than Men:  
So full of Spirit, so Divine, 'tis odds  
But they by others will be counted Gods.   

The Massacre of the Innocents'; by Rubens. EPIG. LXXVII.  
soldiers in Armour clad, without remorse,  
These Infants from their mournful Mother's force.  
Were not their Hearts as hardened as their Steel,  
They would relent, and some compassion feel.  
This Boy the Villain's Sword grasps without fear,  
And sweetly smiles upon his Murderer.  
One's stabbed, fewer Throat's cut, a third's thrown  
(And his brains quite dashed out) against a Stone.  
This Soldier's sorely pinched, that plucked by th' Hair,  
And like a pictured Saracen does stare.  
But where the Guard of Innocence does fail,  
No other Methods of defence avail.  
They slay apace, and many a tender Limb  
Does in its Mother's Tears, and own Blood swim.  
Such a sad sight who can endure to see?  
Yet this doth please us in effigy.  
We overlook the Soldiers barbarous part,  
And only mind the Painter's curious Art.  
For, Rubens, thou this Scene dost so enliven,  
The Babes again are to their Mothers given.   

* Effigies of Erasmus, by Hans Holben. EPIG. LXXVIII.  
THE famous Swiss no little skill hath shown  
In painting of his Generous Patron.  
This Work in England th' Artist much commends,  
By which he was preferred, and gained his ends.  
Thou mad'st Erasmus, Holben! as 'tis said,  
But I say that Erasmus Holben made.   

A Portrait of K. Charles I. by Dobson. EPIG. LXXIX.  
TELL me what modern Picture can compare  
With this for Sweetness and majestic Air.  
What lively tints and touches strike the Eye,  
And a Vandykish Manner do descry.  
Nothing's more nicely followed, or more like,  
In every stroke you see the great Vandyke.   

A Piece of Grotesca, by Perin de Vaga. EPIG. LXXX.  
THIS Florentine was never used to paint  
Things common, but most fanciful and acquaint;  
Some God transformed, or Michael and the Dragon,  
And stroll about till he had scarce a rag on.  
All Men allow Perin in's Art most able,  
But yet was too mercurial and unstable.  
'Tis not his Plastic Painting, or his Carving,  
Can keep an idle Wanderer from starving.  
Poor Perin, an old Proverb doth thee cross,  
The Rolling Stone doth never gather Moss.   

* Harpocrates, the God of Silence. EPIG. LXXXI.  
HIS Mouth in a close posture does abide,  
For which great Faculty he's Deified.  
He with his Finger doth his Lips compress,  
Admonishing great Talkers to say less.  
The very Picture this doth plainly tell,  
And pleases the Spectator wondrous well.  
But with Harpocrates it does not suit,  
'Twould more delight the silent God, if mute.   

Pallas, by Annibal Carats. EPIG. LXXXII.  
FEAR not her Arms, but mind her pleasant Face,  
She smiles, and shows great gentleness and grace:  
Peace she promotes, and liberal Arts refines,  
Sweetens the Poet's Verse, and Painter's Lines.  
This thy Draught, Carats! we plainly see,  
Pallas did guide thy hand, and made it free.   

A Head, by Albert Durer. EPIG. LXXXIII.  
GOOD Col'ring here, and not a little Life;  
But yet methinks, there's something hard and stiff.  
All Germane Artists th' Author does excel;  
Had his Fate been in Italy to dwell,  
Albert had proved another Raphael.   

* Neptune, by Rubens. EPIG. LXXXIV.  
THE shaggy Monarch of the Sea doth stand,  
With naked Breast, and Trident in his Hand.  
When he this Sceptre doth in anger shake,  
His Tritons roar, and the poor Isles do quake.  
His Palace does with liquid Crystal shine;  
He feeds on Fish, and all his drink is brine.  
In Water he and all his Subjects lie;  
If once upon the Land they come, they die.  
But this ingenious Artist's powerful Hand  
Has made a Neptune that doth live on Land.   

A Drunken Sot, by an unknown Hand. EPIG. LXXXV.  
THAT Drinking may be better plied,  
The Hat and Wig are thrown aside:  
The Glass he holds in's palsyed hand,  
Till he can neither go nor stand.  
His Head does on his Shoulder lean,  
His Eyes are sunk, and hardly seen:  
Sometimes he gives a Nod or two,  
And keeps his Seat with much ado.  
His Carbuncles do cease to shine,  
When his mouth opes, he bawls— Moore Wine!  
Or else what's worse, gins to spew,  
To curse and swear, and quarrel too;  
Or calls the Drawer to fetch a Whore,  
Then nods again, and begins to snore.  
Who sees this Sot in his own colour,  
Is apt to say, 'twas drawn by Fuller.   

* A Prophet at St. Austin 's Church in Rome; by Raphael. EPIG. LXXXVI.  
SURE this is not a Shadow on a Wall,  
No Counterfeit of Art, but Natural;  
Rome sees a Prophet here in Look profound,  
A Man in whom both Grace and Truth abound.  
No other Prophet need the Author tell,  
View but the work, you'll say 'twas Raphael.   

A Portrait of Mona Lisander, Wife of Francis the jocund; by Leonardo da Vinci. EPIG. LXXXVII.  
WHEN this fair Piece you view, you will suppose  
You then see all the Pencil can disclose.  
The Head's complete, but after four years' pains,  
The rest in France unfinished still remains.  
In each tint of the Face, in every Feature,  
You see Art nicely imitating Nature.  
The Hair is lose, well waved and very fine,  
And in the Eyes Vivacity doth shine.  
The Nose well shaped, and well set, 'bove dispute,  
The Lips and Cheeks th' other Carnatians suit.  
And for her lovely Throat-pit, all who see't,  
Would swear in that her very Pulse did beat.  
Good Judges do admire it, but the Weak  
Wonder a Head so lively does not speak.   

The Israelites worshipping the Golden Calf; by Nic. Poussin. EPIG. LXXXVIII.  
AN Idol-God the stiffnecked Jews require,  
And spare no cost to compass their desire.  
They'd have a Deity that may be seen,  
Such as in Egypt formerly had been.  
A Golden God's set up; they flock apace  
The Calf to honour, and themselves debase.  
Of blind Devotion now behold the fruit,  
Th' Israelites give Homage to a Brute.  
They dance about the Altar, eat, drink, play,  
Laugh, sing; and thus they consecrate the Day.  
Stupid Idolaters! yet some do hold,  
'Twas not the Calf they worshipped, but the Gold.   

A Butcher's Shop, by Annibal Carats. EPIG. LXXXIX.  
THE Shop is clean, the Flesh exposed to sale,  
A hundred years has hung there, yet not stolen.  
A Chapman with his hand in's pouch retires,  
Loath to pay dear for Meat he much admires;  
And if the busy Butcher you inspect,  
Posture and Motion you will find correct.  
Justness of Draught, of Col'ring Purity,  
Which seldom meet, Carats, unite in thee.  
But doth great 
† He painted the Banquet of the Gods.  Annibal's Invention drop,  
From banqueting of Gods, t' a Butcher's Shop?  
'Tis somewhat strange indeed, but nothing truer,  
Thy noble Pencil's turned into a Skewer.   

* The Rape of Europa, by Raphael. EPIG. XC.  
THE Son of Saturn's all on fire  
To bring this Fair One to's desire;  
Resolved he is she shall not ' escape,  
Get her he will tho by a Rape,  
And by a base Vngodlike Shape:  
Lays by his Crown, and horns his Skull;  
Appears a white unspotted Bull.  
This Virgin, walking in the Meads,  
Seeing him gentle, strokes and seeds.  
With Flowers she decks his Neck, and smiles,  
Not dreaming of his secret Wiles;  
Then mounts his Back, and (as 'tis said)  
Is caught by Jove in Masquerade.  
Distressed, with Cries her Throat she tears,  
But the wide Ocean has no Ears.  
So Rheni paints, so ancient Poets feign;  
Tell which of them did it with sreer Vein.   

Cleopatra bitten by an Asp; by Bramant. EPIG. XCI.  
TH' undaunted yields her naked Breast  
TO an Asp, and doth the Serpent feast:  
Very profuse of Royal Blood,  
But not one drop of it was good.  
She was a Whore, the worse her fate,  
But yet she was a Whore of State:  
A fair one too, and full of charms,  
And did subdue a Man of Arms.  
Now the Scene's changed, herself is ta'en,  
And Antony by's own hand slain,  
She chooses rather now to die,  
Than to survive with infamy  
The Triumph of the Enemy.  
Yet, Bramant, you, as may be seen,  
Triumph in this your Captive Queen.   

St. Catherini a reading; by Correggio. EPIG. XCII.  
SEE here a very sweet and modest Look,  
With eyes intently fixed upon her Book;  
Her Flesh soft, tender, beautiful, and bright,  
Illustrated with plenitude of Light:  
Justly relieved, and made to seem more round  
By noble 
† Out-lines.  Contours, and a Shade profound:  
And doth in Union others so surpass,  
You'd think you saw the Picture in a glass.  
What tho Correggio never was at Rome,  
The Roman Manner he found out at home.   

Bacchus and Venus in one Table; by Rosso. EPIG. XCIII.  
A Pretty Pair! how well they do agree;  
In him no Shape, in her just Symmetry.  
The Cytherean Dame looks cool and fair,  
Bacchus is warm, and seems to want fresh Air.  
Good Colouring in each of them is seen,  
In each good Posture, and a proper Mein.  
Vessels of Silver, Gold, and Crystal fine,  
Are planted near, t' adorn the God of Wine.  
Through the whole Work appears facility,  
And shows the Author's great ability.  
The God and Goddess join, pray where's the Wonder?  
Bacchus and Venus seldom live asunder.   

* Aesculapius'. EPIG. XCIV.  
OUR mortal Bodies him a God did make;  
He Sickness cures, or doth its fury break.  
But why that Snake twisting about his Wand?  
What that denotes, I do not understand.  
It is to show us how to keep our Health  
With Vigilance, as Misers keep their Wealth.   

The three fatal Sisters; by Annib. Carats. EPIG. XCV.  
CLOTHO from Hell, and Night's dark shade doth come,  
And in her looks we may discern a gloom.  
She doth the Distaff hold with grasping hand,  
And with great sternness shows her vast command.  
Yet more unpleasant, much more frowning this,  
That in the middle's placed, called Lachesis.  
She spins the Lives of Men, she winds the Line,  
That is so subtle and so superfine.  
The third's called Atropos, and done't you see  
That she's the worst and sourest of the Three?  
She whets the Shires, and frequently in sport,  
Man's overvalued Thread of Life cuts short.  
In vain, Carats, thou madest these Sister's fair,  
They're fatal Sisters, and will no Man spare.   

* A Fountain of a Triton, at the Palace of Barberini. EPIG. XCVI.  
WHAT makes this Rover hither come,  
Why rambles he so far from home?  
Doth he dislike the Sea d'ye think,  
And comes fresh Water here to drink;  
Or of some Nymph has made a Strumpet,  
And now retires to save his Trumpet;  
Or Rocks and Monsters comes t' avoid,  
For fear of being soon destroyed?  
O Triton, think not here t' evade all Shocks,  
Rome has its Monsters too and dangerous Rocks.   

* The great Circus between Aventinum and Palatinum EPIG. XCVII.  
HERE you behold a spacious sandy Plain,  
That will two hundred thousand Men contain:  
Horses and Coaches with such fleetness run,  
That scarcely are they by the Winds outdone.  
The People's great Applauses give them Wings,  
And Heaven's high Arch with Acclamation sings.  
But mind not thou the speed of Coach or Horse,  
Think how thy Life runs with as swift a Course.   

A Deformed Head. EPIG. XCVIII.  
WHAT awkard ill-looked Fellow's this?  
He has an ugly frightful Phys,  
Cadaverous, black, blue, and green,  
Not fit in public to be seen.  
Dirty, hirsute, and goggle-eyed,  
With a long Nose, and Mouth as wide;  
With blobber Lips, and lockram Jaws,  
Warts, Wrinkles, Wens, and other Flaws:  
With nitty beard, and Neck that's scabby,  
And in a dress that's very shabby.  
Who this should be I do know,  
But all Men see he's not a Beau.   

A Piece of Boars, by Brauwer. EPIG. XCIX.  
BRauwer! 'tis true thou lov'dst the Pot,  
Yet never was an arrant Sot:  
Seldom or never was good Fellow,  
More pleasant than thyself when mellow.  
Sometimes you'd drink till you were drunk,  
And sport a little with a Punk.  
Sometimes again you'd dance and sing,  
And make the House with Revels ring.  
Sometimes you'd smoak upon a Barrel,  
You'd sometimes play, and sometimes quarrel.  
Thou wert a frolic merry Droll,  
And paintedst Motion, Life, and Soul.  
In all thy Pieces, in each Clown,  
A Brauwer's seen to thy Renown.   

St. Ignatius casting out a Devil; by Rubens. EPIG. C.  
SEE how the Daemoniack raves and rends,  
See how like Foes he treats the best of Friends.  
His Rage is great, great as the Painter's Merit,  
In every Limb you may discern a Spirit.  
In every Tint there is a kind of Tone,  
The sharp Lights shriek, the heavy Shadows groan,  
The Friend's adjured, and the great Work is done.   

A Battle, supposed by Le Brun. EPIG. CI.  
GReat Clouds of Smoke and Dust obscure the Sky,  
And in the Air torn Plumes of Feathers fly.  
How hard those Troops do press upon their Foes,  
How hot their Fury, and how thick their blows!  
Many you see besmeared with Blood and Dust,  
Fall to the Ground by fatal Cut or Thrust.  
There one with lift-up Arm, and high-raised Crest,  
Doth signalise himself above the rest.  
That Gallant Chief with Truncheon in his hand,  
Like Lightning flies about to give Command:  
But yonder Slave with one Hand 'fore his Eyes,  
Turning the inside towards his Enemies,  
And tother backward drawn, a chillness feels,  
And does declare his Heart is in his heels.  
There you see wandering Rivulets of Blood,  
The Vanquished dying in a sullen mood.  
Men, Horses, Arms, confounded and in heaps,  
(Death not Decorum in a Battle keeps)  
And at a distance almost out of sight,  
You see the horror of a Rout and Flight.  
Whether, Le Brun, the Battle were well fought  
I know not, but I see it here well wrought.   

The Effigies of Sebastian Serle a famous Architect; by Titian. EPIG. CII.  
THE Chisel to the Pencil did submit,  
And a great Builder for his Picture sit.  
Wise Titian, to express this Master's Face,  
Takes Strength from Angelo, from Raphael Grace.  
A Justness in his Draught you plainly see,  
And that accompanied with Majesty.  
Great is his management of Light and Shade,  
His Colours charming bright, and never fade.  
None equals Titian. Titian! I tell ye,  
Thou wert a Painter in thy Mother's Belly.   

The three Graces, by Tintoret. EPIG. CIII.  
EACH of these Virgins, as appears,  
Is in the Flower of her years;  
Each naked, cheerful, fair and kind,  
And hand in hand t' each other joined.  
Whom Nature makes such pretty Lasses,  
Thou, Tint'ret, turnest into Graces.   

The Resurrection; by Lucas Van Leyd. EPIG. CIV.  
O Matchless Lucas! great was thy intention  
To choose a Subject of so large dimension.  
Invention, Drawing, Colouring, every Part  
Of Painting shows thee here a Man of Art.  
On this side Bliss and Glory strike the Eye,  
On that Confusion, Woe, and Misery.  
Gruppas' of blessed Saints and Angels here,  
Knots of cursed Devils and damned Sinners there.  
Seldom or never did the Curious see  
Of Shape and Posture such variety.  
Thy Daemons are not heavy Flesh and Blood,  
No, they are sprightly, better understood.  
But vainly their Activity is given,  
' Less by thy Hell to Heaven thou art driven.   

Prometheus, by Titian. EPIG. CV.  
SEE here Prometheus, once a Man of Art,  
Daring in's way, for which he now doth smart.  
A Vulture preys upon the Artist's Liver,  
A Spectacle that makes the Heart to quiver:  
So painted, that it's plain Celestial Fire  
With vital Heat the Portrait doth inspire.  
The Painter follows bold Prametheus near,  
Yet is secure, has no just cause to fear.  
The Vulture preys on him alone of late,  
Whose Figures are dull and inanimate.   

Coronation of Roxana, by Raphael. EPIG. CVI  
THIS Beauty naked sits upon a Bed,  
Cupid's her Sandals tie, and dress her Head.  
The gallant Son of Philip doth present  
A Royal Crown with hon'rable intent.  
The Youth at distance, very bright and blooming,  
Is Hymen, God of Marriage, hither coming.  
He eyes the King (and pointing with his Finger  
To fair Roxana) bids him not to linger.  
Remoter Distance doth a Prospect yield  
Of Boys in Troops, some carrying his Shield;  
Others in pretty Postures do advance,  
Bearing his Breastplate, Helmet, or his Lance.  
One looks upon the shining Arms, and simpers;  
Another sinks under his Load, and whimpers.  
Here all the Charms of naked Limbs you see,  
But no Uncleanness, no Obscenity.  
The Pen here to the Pencil yields the Glory,  
Raphael surpasses Lucian in this Story.   

* St. Paul baptised; by Peter of Cortona. EPIG. CVII.  
SAUL to Damascus riding, with intent  
To vex and persecute the Innocent,  
Hears a strange Voice that doth him much appal,  
And from his Horse he suddenly doth fall.  
Afterwards Baptization him doth purge,  
Is dipped a Saul, but doth a Paul emerge.  
The Saint is rebaptised, and doth revive,  
For in thy Table, Peter, he doth live.   

The Judgement of Paris, by Rubens. EPIG. CVIII.  
THREE Goddesses for Beauty here contend,  
And Paris to the Strife must put an end.  
He stairs like one that never saw before,  
Such Nudities and Graces in such store.  
Having surveyed and tried them by due light,  
Finds Juno stately, Pallas straight and tied,  
But Venus' fair, sweet, delicate, and bright:  
To Venus therefore do't adjudge the Ball,  
And by this Judgement he will stand and fall.  
Let Envy, Fury, Malice do their worst,  
Rubens confirms it ne'er to be reversed.   

The Fortune of the Court, by Pelegrin the Bononian. EPIG. CIX.  
IN this large Table you behold the sport  
Of the revolving and inconstant Court.  
See there a Man whom People now berogue,  
The same was t'other day the most in vogue.  
There one in Pomp and State aloft doth sit,  
And he that raised him's fallen into a Pit.  
Another, as at Bowls in little space,  
Strikes out the best at Mark, and lies in's place.  
That Beautefeu to raise Rebellion strains.  
And hazards his hot Head for want of Brains.  
Blind Fortune here doth Parasites advance,  
And Worth is crushed on purpose, not by chance.  
View well this Piece, and you perhaps will find,  
This Counsel offered to a sober Mind:  
If thy Stars do not favour thee, retreat,  
And live contented at thy Country Seat,  
From Pride, Lust, Envy, Malice, Luxury,  
From Flattery, Teach'ry and Impiety,  
And from a thousand Vices more most free.  
Repose no confidence in splendid Looks;  
You see the Bait, but don't discern the Hooks.  
This Scene the bold Bononian has expressed,  
After some Court indeed, but not the Best.   

A Madonna with the Child Jesus, by Rubens. EPIG. CX.  
BEhold the Wisdom of the Father stands,  
Supported with his Virgin-Mother's Hands.  
In his endearing Countenance you see  
Stupendous Goodness and Humanity.  
Rubens, thy Subject is exceeding great,  
And you this Subject answerably treat,  
With Force and Grace, a Manner most complete.   

The Marriage at Cana in Galilee; by Paul Veronese. EPIG. CXI.  
SEE an Aspiring Wit surmounting Schools,  
Above dull Precepts and incumb'ring Rules.  
At this magnificent and famous Feast,  
Every Spectator is a kind of Guest.  
A great Variety he soon descried,  
That entertains his Thoughts, and feeds his Eyes.  
Most choice Carnatians, Drapery well cast,  
Truth, Life, and Motion, not to be surpassed.  
When we behold this Noble Piece, we view  
Paul's Triumph, and the Pride of Painting too.   

A Valiant Soldier. EPIG. CXII.  
A Brown red Face, rough Forehead, sparkling Eye,  
Chin, Mouth, and Kickshaws arched; Nose very high:  
Wide Nostrils, bony Cheeks: In short, see here  
The Man that has no tint or mark of fear.   

A Usurer weighing of Gold. EPIG. CXIII.  
SEE an old Muck-worm in a heavy plight,  
Fearing his Gold should prove some Grains too light.  
Was ever Mortal under such a Curse?  
Belly and Back he robs to fill his Purse.  
The sordid Wretch has wore his Coat to rags,  
And starves among rich Pawns and well-filled Bags.  
His vicious Heart is wholly set on Pelf,  
Good he will do to none, not to himself,  
All his good Deeds lie sealed upon his Shelf.   

The hunting of Lions, by Rubens. EPIG. CXIV.  
FOur Horsemen, and three Foot on  Chase,  
Attack a Lion and a Lioness.  
The nearest Horse is fallen, the Lion's up,  
The Men and Beasts are huddled in one grup.  
The Lioness sits steady on her Guard,  
With Paws erect, and open Mouth prepared.  
Two Horsemen wound her with a Pike and Spear,  
The other's slain, though armed with Scimitar.  
See on the left, the Foot all very tame,  
Each with a Belly full of Royal Game.  
One lies expiring of his ghastly Wounds,  
And both the rest amazement quite confounds,  
The Sport ends ill, but counsels us at length  
' 'Gainst Rashness, and Attempts above our Strength.   

A Blackamoor's Head, by Vandyke. EPIG. CXV.  
THIS Negro very natural shows,  
With flock Hair, big Lips, flatted Nose,  
With Eyes and Teeth as white as Milk,  
A Skin coalblack, and soft as Silk:  
Of a good Hand here's many a Mark,  
A Beauty 'tis, but in the dark.   

Narcissus, or the Self-Admirer; by Langrynck. EPIG. CXVI.  
TO a good Fountain glittering fair,  
A Youth from Hunting does repair.  
He drinks, and, what does much surprise,  
Drinks the most greedy with his Eyes.  
Now burns he with another Thirst,  
A Flame more raging than the first.  
He sees his Representative,  
And thinks the Shadow is alive.  
He wistly marks its Shape and Feature,  
And takes it for a lovely Creature;  
As like himself as Form can make it,  
Views and reviews, and can't forsake it.  
There he lies fixed, the worse his luck,  
As if the Sot was Planet-struck.  
Of all the Plagues may this still miss us,  
And no Man dote like Beau Narcissus.   

Beggar-boys a playing, by Spaigniolet. EPIG. CXVII.  
IN eating, drinking, and in play,  
They merrily do pass the Day.  
Scarce have they Rags to hid their Breech,  
Yet Spaigniolet's free Pencil makes them rich.   

The Last Judgement, by M. Angelo. EPIG. CXVIII.  
THE Trumpets sound, the Books are open laid,  
The Gross exalted, and the Throne displayed.  
The Dead awaked, out of their Graves arise,  
With wonder and amazement in their Eyes.  
A Choir of martyred Saints are seen on high,  
With Marks which their past Sufferings signify.  
The broiled St. Laurence doth his Gridiron show,  
And his stripped Skin, the flayed St. Barthol'mew.  
Beneath the Blessed, i'th' middle Region,  
The Libertine, the Dives, the Highflown,  
By furious Devils haled, come headlong down.  
At bottom of the Dreadful Piece you see  
Another Scene of Woe and Misery.  
Here Troops of Reprobates are dragged to Hell,  
With Horror, Malice, and Despair to dwell.  
All Angelo admire, his Day of Doom  
To present view sets forth the World to come.   

An Old Man's Head, by Rembrant. EPIG. CXIX.  
WHAT a corpse rugged Way of Paintings here,  
Strokes upon Strokes, Dabbs upon Dabbs appear.  
The Work you'd think was huddled up in haste,  
But mark how truly every Colour's placed,  
With such Oeconomy in such a sort,  
That they each other mutually support.  
Rembrant! thy Pencil plays a subtle Part,  
This Roughness is contrived to hid thy Art.   

St. Luke, by Raphael. EPIG. CXX.  
A Saint and Painter: Saint of great Renown,  
But what the Painter was, is not well known.  
Suppose his Paintings were not worth a rush,  
He was a Friend and Lover of the Brush;  
Was sometime since its eminent Patro●,  
But now the Art defended is by none.  
Admired by all, thought fit to be protected,  
Yet fares like Honesty, much praised, and much neglected.   

Fortune asleep, and a satire near her; by Annibal Carats. EPIG. CXXI.  
FOrtune asleep! a very pretty jest,  
This made our Luck of late prove not the best.  
Will matters mend d'ye think, when she awakes?  
Will she refund to Losers all their Stakes?  
She's now unkind, yet is a fickle Dame;  
She were not Fortune, were she still the same.  
What makes that sly and snearing satire by her,  
To laugh at those she bilks, and yet still try her?   

The Picture of Anger, by Nic. Poussin. EPIG. CXXII.  
BLESS me! I think I must retire,  
There's no enduring so much Fire.  
How red her Eyes! And how she stairs!  
How horridly she raves and tears!  
She foams at Mouth, her Teeth do gnash,  
Her Motions all are wild and rash.  
Her Hands are armed with Torch and Dagger,  
Weapons that make the Fury swagger.  
Her Garments ruffled, rend, and torn,  
The bloodiest that e'er was worn.  
Near her, lie Skulls and scattered Bones,  
At distance, ruinated Towns.  
Thus Anger's painted by Poussin,  
Or thus expressed it should have been.   

Caesar's Ghost, by Titian. EPIG. CXXIII.  
HERE in his Tent you Brutus see up late,  
Writing Dispatches, and Affairs of weight.  
Before him, with a Flambeau in his hand,  
You see a naked wounded Fantom stand,  
Which threatens that it will appear again,  
But the bold Patriot treats it with disdain.  
The Painting's strong, and done perhaps by Titian,  
Yet Brutus here is but an 
† A mere Shadow.  Apparition.   

The Venetian Senators, a Family-Piece at the Duke of Somerset 's; by the same Titian. EPIG. CXXIV.  
SEE here a great and faithful Imitator  
Of all the beauteous Niceties of Nature.  
Was ever seen more just and truer Motion?  
In their Looks Wisdom, Zeal in their Devotion.  
Did ever Art in Children more express,  
More Beauty, Innocence, or Tenderness?  
Order, Correctness, Sweetness, Majesty,  
Force, Spirit, Freeness, here united be.  
In other Works these Graces shine alone;  
Here in a glorious Constellation.  
Titian has drained all Italy and Greece,  
And made his Senators a perfect Piece.  
A Piece that will regale the Sense of Sight;  
A Piece was heretofore Vandyke's Delight.  
Admired by all that Painting understand,  
A Noble Work, and in a Noble Hand.   

Judith with the Head of Holofernes; by Dominiquin. EPIG. CXXV.  
SEE in a Woman's fair and tender Hand,  
That Head which Syrian Armies did command.  
By this Illustrious Dame there stands a Hag,  
Attending to receive it in a Bag.  
Bold are her Looks, so is not Judith's Face,  
That's turned aside with Modesty and Grace.  
Dominiquin would have it understood,  
His Heroine does not delight in Blood,  
But in her Country's Peace, and Public Good.   

An old Hermit in his Cell, by—, EPIG. CXXVI.  
COnscience has made the Hoary Father nice,  
He quits the World to fly from Noise and Vice;  
Renounces all its Honours, Pleasures, Riches,  
And every Vanity that Man bewitches.  
His Garments corpse, his Diet very slender,  
His Body worn with age, and very tender.  
He no Estate has, that is independent;  
And save a Dog or Cat, has no Attendant.  
No Wife, no Child, no Friends, no Visitants,  
No chirping Cups, yet he no Comfort wants:  
For placing his delight in Contemplation,  
He in a Cell enjoys the whole Creation.   

The Assumption of St. Paul, by Nic. Poussin. EPIG. CXXVII.  
WE're told the Saint fought Beasts at Ephesus,  
Did mighty things both for the Jews and us.  
But now victorious in his Holy Wars,  
Mounts to receive a Crown, brighter than that of Stars.  
You see here noble Light and Ordnance,  
By great Poussin the Raphael of France.   

The Decollation of St. John Baptist; by Gentil Belin. EPIG. CXXVIII.  
THE Great Turk views this Piece for th' Author's sake,  
And finding here a very gross Mistake,  
No bloating in the fleshy part o'th' Neck,  
Beheads a Slave, to show Belin his Error,  
And almost killed the Painter with the Terror.  
It was a Fault: Gentil cannot defend it,  
And therefore wisely promises to mend it;  
But knew not how to do't a surer way  
Than by Elopement: 'Twas not safe to stay.   

A Rustic feeding on a Hock of Bacon; by Honthurst. EPIG. CXXIX.  
A Very pleasant Head (in sooth)  
Exceeding merry 'bout the Mouth.  
The Boor a savoury Bit has got,  
And under's Arm he hugs a Pot;  
Forgets the Plough, and all its Care,  
Thinking on nothing but high Fare;  
Is now a Prince, and free from Pain,  
But after eating is a Clown again.   

The Holy Family, by Raphael. EPIG. CXXX.  
THE Infant Jesus has the middle place,  
Raising himself, his Mother to embrace.  
She bows and reverently receives the Favour,  
Showing a modest Look, and grave Behaviour.  
Raphael has painted this to that degree,  
As Raphael to outdo, if that can be.   

Oliver Cromwell, by Walker. EPIG. CXXXI.  
IF we may trust to Metoposcopy,  
To Lines o'th' Face, and Language of the Eye,  
We find him thoughtful, resolute, and sly.  
He knew when to cajole, and to dissemble,  
And when to make his Foes with blust'ring tremble.  
We find (though Cromwel's little understood)  
The Sword has made him Great, the Pencil Good.   

Pandora, by James Callot. EPIG. CXXXII.  
THE Lady has a fair and florid Skin,  
Handling a Box that's very foul within;  
Filled with Diseases, Woes, and Miseries,  
All sorts of Evils, and Calamities:  
The same that was to Epimetheus sent,  
And by the Fable this I guess is meant.  
It represents the hard and dismal Fate  
Of careless Men, and such as think too late.  
This Piece is by a Painter not professed,  
Yet is not much inferiors to the Best.   

St. Michael, by Raphael. EPIG. CXXXIII.  
TWO sorts of Contours in this Piece appear,  
The delicate Out-lines, and the Severe.  
The first the Angel, or young Hero frame,  
With Muscles which a beauteous Shape proclaim:  
Not discomposed, but very sweet and even,  
Becoming an Inhabitant of Heaven.  
The other sort are of a grosser Feature,  
And fitted to the Devil's evil Nature.  
Where in two Figures did you ever see  
More artificial Contrariety?  
In Vrbin's works nothing can be descried,  
But what is most judiciously applied.   

The Annunciation in Fresco, at the Cappucins in Parma; by Corregio. EPIG. CXXXIV.  
THE Angel Gabriel with expanded Wings,  
To th' Holy Virgin joyful Tidings brings.  
She with a humble Mien, and modest Face,  
Receives the News of this transcendent Grace.  
A strange and glorious Light appears above,  
Around the form of a Descending Dove.  
Of Cherubs also you discern a Choir,  
Who this great Salutation much admire.  
Softness and Brightness in each Figure's found,  
I'th' Painter Lofty Thought, and Skill profound:  
That nothing's wanting here, you must confess,  
Corregio always painted with Success.   

A Peasant beaten by his Wife, by Brauwer. EPIG. CXXXV.  
THE Poor Man leads a cursed life,  
Is ridden by a rampant Wife.  
She Railing leaves, and falls to Blows,  
And in her Wrath no Mercy shows.  
In her a haughty Spirit's seen;  
In him Submission very mean.  
He couches like the worst of Slaves,  
She does the Wrong, he Pardon craves.  
Never was Female Hector painted truer,  
Than what is represented here by Brauwer.   

A Couple of Clowns playing at Tables; by the same Brauwer. EPIG. CXXXVI.  
OVERDO the Back of one you see the other  
Puzzled, and in a very anxious pother;  
Which way to move his Man, he does not know,  
This will not do, and that Man will not go,  
And all the Game depends on this ill Throw.  
The Betters, like to lose, do stamp and stare,  
And hardly can believe the Dice are fair.  
All this Vexation, or but little less,  
Brauwer's most pleasant Pencil does express.  
And who could better paint a losing Side,  
Than he that had a Loser's Fortune tried,  
That drank and gamed, till he a Beggar died?   

A Night-piece of a Boy blowing a Firebrand; supposed by Schalcken. EPIG. CXXXVII.  
PUFFING to blow the Brand into Flame,  
He brightens his own Face, and th' Author's Fame.   

Cupid stung with Bees, complains to his Mother. EPIG. CXXXVIII.  
THE Piece is lively, the Expression high,  
We almost hear the Lad lament, and cry,  
O sad! O sad! An ugly buzzing thing  
Flies in my Face, and makes it ache and sting.  
It is a Bee, says Venus, bear the smart,  
That only pricks the Skin, you pierce the Heart.   

The Blind leading the Blind, by old Brugel. EPIG. CXXXIX.  
ALAS, these Beggars are not only blind  
In Body, but are all as dark in Mind.  
To chose so bad a Foreman is a shame,  
Yet many of their Betters do the same:  
And as the Poor Blind fare, so far the Rich,  
Linked to their Guide, they fall into a Ditch.   

The Judgement of Solomon in case of the Harlots; by Rubens. EPIG. CXL.  
THAT the great Quarrel may be well decided,  
It is decreed the Child shall be divided.  
A dreadful Sentence upon Innocence,  
Yet gives the Whore Defendant no offence.  
Her Forehead's made of Brass, her Heart of Steel;  
This knows no Shame, and that no Grief doth feel.  
But a great tenderness is seen in t'other,  
Which plainly does demonstrate who's the Mother.  
Now Justice, which had threatened to destroy,  
Lays down its rigour, and restores her Boy.  
This Rubens paints, and thus at last 'tis shown,  
That Impudence is sometimes overthrown.   

Apollo lays aside his Bow and Arrows, and plays upon the Harp. EPIG. CXLI.  
THE Bow must not be always bend,  
Nor must the Mind be too intent,  
There's nothing good that's violent.  
We may indulgence give to Sense.  
And Pleasure take without offence,  
If dipped in Honesty and Temperance.  
The Man's unhappy that's oppressed  
With too much Care, or too much Rest,  
The middle State the Wise account the best.   

Two Philosophers Disputing. EPIG. CXLII.  
WITH right Forefinger laid upon left Thumb,  
Th' Opponent drives his Confutation home.  
The Posture's proper; this doth let us know  
He reasons close, and argues a Propo.  
The Hand of the Respondent lifted high,  
Shows him impatient, eager to reply.  
The Figures speak, without Device uncouth,  
Without a Label put into the Mouth;  
Speak the extensive Language of the Hand,  
A Language which all Nations understand.  
But what, I pray, is learned by this Dispute?  
We find Dumb Poetry not always mute.   

Vanity, by a Modern Master. EPIG. CXLIII.  
HER Face young, airy, fleering, licked and patched,  
The wantonest giddy'st thing that e'er was hatched.  
Her Hair's in bushy Puffs, and not in Tresses,  
Her Garments flying both in flaunting Dresses.  
She struts and views her Features in her Glass,  
And thinks them such as may for Beauty pass.  
Her Tiffanies, and Ribbons fling about,  
Catch fluttering Fops, and awe the gaping Rout.  
At her feet Heaps of Toys and Trinkets lie,  
And round her empty Head gay Bubbles fly.  
Nothing more light, none more unfit to reign,  
Yet none has greater Sway nor greater Train.   

The Bleeding Host at Brussels. EPIG. CXLIV.  
THIS Picture represents unto our view,  
Cast on the ground, an unbelieving Jew,  
Grasping a Dagger very bright and keen,  
On whose sharp point a Wafer stabbed is seen.  
Upon th' adjacent Table others lie,  
All bleeding under like Indignity.  
A Roughhewn Rustic with a poignant Knife,  
Seeks to revenge it on th' Affronter's Life.  
Bystanders wonder; 'mong the rest you see,  
A Turk ready t' embrace Christianity.  
He plainly saw the horrid Profanation,  
But not so plain the Transubstantiation.   

St. Cecilia, by Mignard. EPIG. CXLV.  
THIS Saint plays on a Harp with many strings,  
And to its tuneful Notes she sweetly sings  
Anthems and Hymns, to celebrate the Praise  
O'th' first Composer of Harmonious Lays.  
See by the Elevation of her Eyes,  
How with the Lyric Notes her Thoughts do rise.  
We in her Fingers see a sprightly Motion,  
But in her Countenance a fixed Devotion.  
In the Boy musing on a Singing-book  
Docility, and an Intentive Look.  
Concord and Discord here united are,  
None of the Lines, none of the Colours jar.  
Here's nothing seen unworthy of Mignard,  
Nothing too faint, and nothing that's too hard.   

Moses trampling under foot Pharaoh 's Crown, by Nic. Poussin. EPIG. CXLVI.  
THE young adopted Son of Pharaoh's Daughter,  
That was not born to perish under Water,  
But to abase th' Egyptian Monarch's Pride,  
Spurns with disdain, and kicks his Crown aside.  
This Action is expressed with such a Mein,  
As graces Moses, and the Great Poussin.   

A Portrait of an old Gentleman, by Dobson. EPIG. CXLVII.  
PErceiving some body behind his Chair,  
He turns about with a becoming Air.  
His Head is raised, and looking o'er his Shoulder,  
So round and strong, you never saw a Bolder.  
Here you see Nature thoro ' understood,  
A Portrait not like Paint, but Flesh and Blood.  
And, not to praise Dobson below his Merit,  
This Flesh and Blood is quickened with a Spirit.   

Duke of Florence dictating to Macchiavel his Secretary; by Titian. EPIG. CXLVIII.  
WE in the Duke discern a thoughtful Mind,  
And great Attention in his Scribe we find.  
With a quick Eye his Master's Looks he watches,  
And with a ready Pen his Words he catches.  
Both in the Prince and in his Secretary,  
You see a Politician, wise and wary.  
The Pencil shows his Looks: But all its Art  
Cannot disclose a Politician's Heart.   

Noah and his three Sons, by Annibal Carats. EPIG. CXLIX.  
THE Aged Patriarch lies upon the Ground,  
Overcome by heady Wine and Sleep profound.  
The youngest Son points at his Sire, and fleers,  
Exposes him by Mockeries and Jeers,  
Without regard to Nature or his Years.  
But th' Elder wisely hid their Father's Shame,  
And by dumb Signs their graceless Brother blame.  
Observe the Piece, and you will learn from hence  
The Indecorum of Irreverence.   

A Night-Piece of a Ship on Fire, by Old Vanderveld. EPIG. CL.  
THE Moon 'mong thin and flying Clouds looks bright,  
And the Sky dapled over with Shade and Light.  
The Sea is calm, but in a Ship doth rage's  
A Fire, which all its Waters can't assuage.  
Several Boats approach her; some for Succour,  
But most about her ply for 
† For Spoil and Plunder.  sordid Lucre.  
Some of her Crew are saved, some hard beset  
Between two Extremes, a dry Death and a wet.  
The People on the Shore do stand and gaze  
Upon so great and terrible a Blaze,  
Increased by the Reflection of the Seas.  
The Draught, the Colouring, the Optic Part  
Show Vanderveld a Master of his Art.   

Faith, by Mignard. EPIG. CLI.  
DEcently clad, and sitting on the Ground,  
With Looks sublime, and Gravity profound,  
Of Holy Faith we have a noble view,  
Th' Invention good, the Collocation true.  
Under a Cross which her right Hand doth hold,  
A Child lifts up a Chalice made of Gold,  
Our Saviour's Death and Passion to unfold.  
Her other Hand is laid upon her Breast,  
An Act by which Sincerity's expressed.  
On her left Knee a godly Book is placed,  
And the Piece with two other Figures graced.  
Two Boys the Tables of the Law sustain,  
To show that Faith without good Works is vain.  
Mignard, you see, soars above common reaches,  
Not only sweetly paints, but sweetly preaches.   

Arion riding a Dolphin, and playing on his Harp. EPIG. CLII  
THE Man whom here o'th' Dolphin's Back you see,  
One Death escaped, yet's still in jeopardy;  
Is still distressed, has nothing to rely on  
But's Fish; and if that fails, farewel Arion.  
Upon the Harp he plays to sooth and court her,  
For he bestrides a slippery Supporter.  
His Music (as 'tis said) did prove enchanting,  
'Tis granted; and so proves this piece of Painting.   

The Woman of Samaria, by Old Palma. EPIG. CLIII.  
OUR Saviour leaving the proud Pharisees,  
T' a Woman does impart Celestial Bliss.  
Water he asks, which she, more nice than wise,  
For Scruple sake delays, if not denies.  
You see them both confer at Jacob's Well,  
Where he her grosser Errors does refel;  
Tells her of Water which he has to give,  
That to Eternity will make her live.  
At some small distance his Disciples stand,  
Ready t' obey his Order and Command.  
The Figures all are strongly turned and clean,  
The Landscape too has nothing in it mean.  
Old Palma surely had a noble Gust,  
For all his Works we find are great and just,  
That shine in Courts, and not in Corners rust.   

St. Peter delivered out of Prison by an Angel; the Work of Raphael. EPIG. CLIU  
IF you the Architecture wistly view,  
You'll find the Fabric regular, and true.  
Its Vaults and Arches have a kind of Grace,  
Yet at the best 'tis but a dismal place:  
With all its Ornaments 'tis but a Jail,  
And to avoid it Men are glad of Bail.  
But so is not our Saint, he may be free  
By an extraord'nary Delivery;  
Yet is not forward an Escape to make,  
He looks as if he was not well awake:  
Or only saw an Angel in a Dream,  
But he must move, the Spirit presses him.  
The Gates fly , to let him go at large,  
And the Guards fast asleep neglect their Charge.  
As to their Armour 'tis so represented,  
As if 'twas polished, not as if 'twas painted.  
But the chief Figures are exceeding bright,  
This by a proper, that by borrowed Light,  
Both heightened by the gloomy Shades of Night.  
The Saints Enlargement is a Miracle,  
So is the Picture it does so excel.   

Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise by St. Michael with a flaming Sword. EPIG. CLV.  
THIS lovely Pair, Offsprings of Heavenly Race,  
Are by Transgression fallen into Disgrace,  
Become corrupt, degenerous, and base.  
He whose Looks once were Lordlike, Great and Brave,  
Now hangs his Head like a dejected Slave,  
Like an irrational and grovelling Brute.  
Of blind Ambition see the bitter Fruit.  
He wrings his Hands, he sadly doth lament,  
And cannot bear the thought of Banishment.  
He grieves for Pleasure past, and Pain to come,  
But don't repine, his Conscience strikes him dumb.  
How full of trouble is a state of Sin!  
A flaming Sword without, and flaming Gild within.   

Mutius Scaevola. EPIG. CLVI.  
MUTIUS resolves that Hand shall suffer pain,  
Which has by gross mistake a wrong Man slain.  
The hardy Roman holds it in the Fire,  
Porsemia shrinks, some of his Guards retire:  
Others more stout that can the Sight abide,  
Are with Amazement almost stupefied.  
A great Concern in every one is shown,  
Unless it be in Scaevola alone.  
This Brave had rather die than not live free,  
What's Life and Limb worth under Tyranny?   

A young Lady's Head with a sharp Nose. EPIG. CLVII.  
HER Head is round, of Form complete,  
Her Forehead without wrinkle sweet.  
Her Brows are strait, her Eyes are clear,  
Not languishing, nor yet severe.  
A smiling Mouth, a dimpled Chin,  
Good Signs that all are calm within.  
Yet the acuteness of her Nose  
A Chol'rick Constitution shows,  
And th' other Symptoms quite undoes.  
This Part is seldom found to lie,  
(As say the skilled in Physiognomy)  
But oft the Forehead, Mouth, and Eye.   

Pope Julius II. by Raphael. EPIG. CLVIII.  
A Countenance so strong, and so severe,  
Tho but a Shadow, raiseth Awe and Fear.  
The Picture breathes; for this I can assure ye,  
Here you may see of Art the utmost Fury.  
His Temples are begirt with Triple Crown,  
To show that Kings before him do fall down.  
Julius' Power Raph'el doth express,  
But who can paint Julius' Holiness.   

The stoning of St. Stephen; by Julio Romano. EPIG. CLIX  
THE Jewish Mob, transported with a rage,  
To persecute a patiented Saint engage.  
They blast his Credit first, then break his Bones;  
First the Dirt flies, and afterwards the Stones.  
The Composition's laudable. In this  
We do behold a great Antithesis.  
St. Stephen's full of Meenness, Love, and Grace,  
Celestial Glory shines upon his Face.  
But in his Enemies there's nothing seen,  
Save restless Fury, and a devilish Spleen.  
The Motion's right, and Julio high doth raise,  
A proper Motion is sufficient Praise.   

Duke Schomberg on Horseback; by Sir Godfrey Kneller. EPIG. CLX.  
WHO can deny passed Times renewed may be,  
When such a Revolution here you see?  
Behold Bucephalus' lofty Crest,  
See what a Courage swells the proud Steed's Breast.  
See in his Martial Master and Commander,  
The Air and Spirit of an Alexander.  
You'd think the ancient Grecians were revived,  
And all their Arts and Sciences retrieved.  
So sits the Rider, so the Horse doth stand,  
As both were painted by Apelles hand.   

St. Catherine, by the same Sir Godfrey. EPIG. CLXI.  
HERE you may see a very pretty Face,  
Set off with sweet Simplicity and Grace.  
The famed Sir Godfrey does not only paint  
The Beauty, but the Virgin and the Saint.   

The Listening Fawn, by Cook. EPIG. CLXII.  
TWO Striplings of the Wood, of humour gay,  
Themselves diverting, on the Pipe do play:  
A third more solid, and of riper years,  
Bows down his Body, and erects his Ears,  
With such attention that you'd think he hears.  
See in the Parts, a difference of Complexion,  
But in the Whole, good Union and Connexion.  
With many other Beauties it is graced,  
And of the Antique has a noble Taste:  
All so contrived, and so exactly finished,  
That nothing can be added, or diminished.   

The Lord Chancellor Summer; by Dubois. EPIG. CLXIII.  
IF we the Skeleton, or Drawing view,  
There's not a Line but what's exactly true;  
And this Correctness is more graceful made  
By a good Posture, and a Scene well laid.  
The Colouring is very strong and bright,  
Ennobled with a clear dilated Light.  
The Head is very like, and with an Air  
Agreeing with his Post and Character.  
All Men, Dubois! must grant thy Pencil great,  
That such a Life can nicely imitate.   

The Effigies of Mr. Dryden, by Closterman. EPIG. CLXIV.  
A Sleepy Eye he shows, and no sweet 
† Feature is but a stroke or part of the Countenance, but is here by Synecdoche used for the Whole.  Feature,  
Yet was in truth a Favourite of Nature.  
Endowed and graced with an exalted Mind,  
With store of Wit, and that of every kind.  
Juvenal's Tartness, Horace's sweet Air,  
And Virgil's Force in him concentered were.  
But though the Painter's Art can never show it,  
That his Exemplar was so great a Poet,  
Yet are the Lines and Tints so subtly wrought,  
You may perceive he was a Man of Thought.  
Closterman ('tis confessed) has drawn him well,  
But short of 
‖ His own Pen has outdone the Pencil.  Abslom, and Achitophel.   

Mr. Lock, by Doll. EPIG. CLXV.  
HERE you behold the Image of a Sage,  
The Ornament and Wonder of his Age;  
Which if with his Ideas you compare,  
You'll find both sorts exact, but this more clear.  
Notions to Pictures are of near relation,  
But not so capable of Demonstration.   

A Madonna, by Murry. EPIG. CLXVI.  
HERE you the Head of a Madonna see,  
The Glory of her Sex for Piety.  
And if the Colouring I understand,  
Here you may also see no Vulgar Hand.   

Fortitude in its Passive State and Condition. EPIG. CLXVII.  
Tho' here no Pomp and Pageantry is seen,  
Here we behold a great and potent Queen:  
One who a heavy Burden does sustain,  
And does not shrink at either Loss or Pain.  
Her Crown an Eagle snatches from her Head,  
Angels have seized her Treasures, and are 
† Are flying away with Cornucopias.  fled.  
The Sun, whose candid Beams were used to cherish,  
So scorches now, with Heat she's like to perish.  
Now of resistless Fate she seems the sport,  
Of Grandeur stripped, but not of all support:  
Not of sound Virtue, and of sober sense,  
Not of Reliance upon Providence;  
These are her Bulwarks, and her best Defence.  
All sorts of Ills with even Mind she bears,  
Her Looks betray no Sorrow, nor no Fears:  
No wrinkled Forehead, no contracted Brows,  

† In Fear the Mouth opens, and the Nose widens.  No open Mouth, and no distended Nose.  
No downcast Eye, no Motion to retreat;  
Nothing that is ignoble, or petit.  
Her right Hand's stretched, but not immod ' rately,  
Her left is steady, resting on her Thigh,  
Her Sword and Buckler lying useless by.  
That Knot of Women standing by her side,  
Are her firm Friends, and nearly are allied;  
As Courage, Patience, Generosity,  
Boldness, Puissance, all of high degree.  
But at a little distance you may spy  
Opinion, her inveterate Enemy;  
Vain in her Dress, and lifted up with Pride,  
Weak and unwise, yet is the People's Guide.  
As to the Scene, one part of it doth show  
A rough and barren Landscape to our view,  
T' other a Fabric, strong and beauteous too.  
The Building is adorned with 
‖ A Work of Sculpture low embossed.  Bas-rehef,  
Of which th' ensuing Subjects are the Chief:  
Job on the Dunghill, Stephen killed by Stone,  
Abraham offering up his only Son:  
Socrates drinking off a Cup of Ire,  
And Scevola holding his Fist in Fire.  
Each shows that Fortitude is like a Rock,  
Dashed with the raging Seas, yet stands the Shock.  
'Tis true, the roughest Passions of her Soul  
Are overcome, and under great Control;  
So are the Pencils in an able Hand  
All mastered, and at wonderful command.   

Reflections on the several Schools of Painting. EPIG. CLXVII.  

Painter's stirred up by an aspiring Mind,  
By heat of Fancy hard to be confined,  
To various Ways and Methods are inclined.   

The School of Rome and Florence, where preside  
Raphael and Angelo (though differing wide)  
Shows us the very fairest Part of Nature,  
And recommends that to her Imitator;  
Sets us a difficult but excellent Lesson,  
Touching the Life and fineness of Expression.  
About Minutes it gives itself no trouble,  
Having a Manner Masculine and Noble.  
In short, this College teaches Force and Grace,  
And therefore justly claims the highest Place:  
It has produced Eminent Elevees,  
Julio Romano, Polydore Venise,  
Del Sarto, Perugin, and such as These   

In the Venetian School Good Judges see,  
Colouring in its perfect Purity,  
Order, Decorum, and a Pencil free.  
To them its chief Disciples too are known,  
As Tint'ret, Titian, Palma, Giorgion.   

I' th' Lombard Academy's plainly taught  
The Principles and Mysteries of Draught:  
How to direct and manage every Line,  
Shows when to make a full stroke, when a fine:  
How to proportion every thing aright,  
Not by the Compass, but by simple Sight:  
What Airs become the Young, and what the Old;  
Where to be Nice, where Negligent and Bold:  
How to give every Figure its true Station,  
And make them firm by Aequiponderation:  
Shows us the way each Object to relieve,  
And how the Eye, by shortenings, to deceive.  
For this the three Carats we are to thank,  
Andrea Sacchi, Albano Lanfrank,  
Dominiquin, Corregio, Guido Rheni,  
Spaigniolet, Caravagio, and Guercini.   

The Flemish and the Germane Schools advance  
The Art of Harmony and Elegance;  
Have Scholars bred whose Works pronounce the same,  
Without a Gothick Gust, or aught that's lame.  
Instanced in Holbin, Rubens, Moor, Vandyke,  
Mervelt, Sir Peter Lily, and the like.   

The School of France has no established Fashion,  
It's most peculiar way is Elevation.  
Observe their Works, and you will quickly see,  
In every Piece, Briskness and Gaiety.  
In Ʋander Mulen, Nic. Poussin, Le Brun,  
Mignard and Cousin, this is clearly shown.  
Each Seminary acts a  Part;  
Join them, and you complete the Shadowing Art.    
FINIS.  

INDEX of the Authors.  

ANgelo, Ep. 118  
Apelles. 6, 7  
Bassan, 27  
Belin, 128  
Bilbert, 67  
Du Bois, 163  
Bramant, 91  
Brauwer, 99, 135, 136  
Brugell, 139  
Le Brun. 101  
Callot (James) 132  
Carats (Annibal) 13, 82, 89, 95, 121, 149  
Carats (Austin) 45  
Carats (Lovis) 68  
Caravagio, 19, 53, 60, 61, 62  
Cook, 162  
Corregio, 24, 55, 92, 134  
Closterman. 164  
Dobson, 79, 147  
Dominiquin, 15, 37, 52, 125  
Durer (Albert) 83  
Doll. 165  
Elshamer. Ep. 76  
Fuller. 85  
Giorgion, 10, 43, 63  
Guercini. 34  
Holben (Hans) 78  
Honthurst. 129  
Julio Romano. 73, 159  
Kneller (Sir Godfrey) 160, 161  
Langrynck, 116  
Lucas Van Leyden. 104  
Mignard, 145, 151  
Messiah (Quintin) 29, 41  
Murry. 166  
Palma (Old) 64, 153  
Paul Veronese, 70, 111  
Pelegtin (of Bononia) 109  
Perin de Vaga, 80  
Peter of Cortona, Ep. 107  
Polydore,  
Poussin (Nich▪) 65, 88, 122, 127, 146  
Protogenes. 8  
Raphael, 28, 36, 40, 47, 50, 51, 86, 90, 106, 120, 130, 133, 154  
Rheni (Guido) 56, 57  
Rembrant, 49, 119  
Rosa (Salvator) 11, 16, 25  
Rosso, 93  
Rubens. 18, 20, 21, 77, 84, 100, 108, 110, 114, 140  
Sacchi (Andraea) 17  
Sandrarth (Joakim) 46  
Sarto Andraea, Ep. 44, 75  
Schalken, 137  
Schido (of Parma) 71  
Spaigniolet, 117  
Timanthes, 1, 9  
Tintoret, 14, 26, 103  
Titian. 12, 22, 23, 38, 39, 48, 54, 58, 59, 66, 74, 102, 105, 123, 124, 148  
Vandyke, 31, 72, 115  
Da Vinci (Leonardo) 87  
Vanderveld. 150  
Walker. 131  
Zeuxis. 23, 45