TO The Learned and Worthy ARTIST Mr. Grinsted Gibbons.  
SIR,  
IT was not out of a presumption that these poor Lines could add any thing to the Glories you have achieved in the carving of that Matchless Statue of his Majesty, that incited me to lay them at your feet; since you have done that in Symmetry, beyond what Verse is able to show. The cadencies of it cannot run so smooth, as your hand has done, in the polishing of that admired Figure; nor do I expect they should any more affect you than the best of the School-Harangues should the intent Phidias while he was cutting his Minerva at Athens, or the Warlike Games while he was forming his Olympic Jupiter at Elis. No, Sir, it was not out of any such Consideration that I took the boldness to attempt the celebrating of your Name, but out of the charitable opinion you might put upon it, that any person who reveres his Prince, must necessarily have a peculiar regard for you; since you have in a more than ordinary method endeavoured to immortalize his Name: which nothing but his own Heroic Acts, Clemency, and Virtues could exceed. They indeed will shine when Time shall be no more, and Marble crumble into dust, outlive History; and while Mankind is upon Earth, though Letters be lost, be transmitted in a solemn and exemplary Tradition, so long as the Globe endures. But you have done as far as Art can do, and your Name at the bottom will be of more esteem than when on the ancient Pictures and Statues was subscribed, Titianus fecit, or Ephidias' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
In striving thus to Eternize that of your Prince, you have at the same time perpetuated your own; and in a politic method, with reverence to the Simile, have as it were in such a manner engrafted yourself into Royalty, that while the Majestic Figure lasts, your own Name will be recorded with it; and Posterity left, whilst by the Godlike Air it admires the one, to pay a due respect to the other, for the kindness of so grateful a Memoir.  
This Noble Product of yours, methinks, admits of another Nicety too; it is a production of the Brain more than the Hand, as that of Pallas was from Jupiter's: Whence could be else that extraordinary Pathos that it strikes even but a common Spectator withal? The dullest Peasant is affected, though he knows not why; and it touches upon all but the disaffected: and I have that charity to think that it may hit there too, upon the account of Remorse, and at length proceed to that of a dutiful Reverence; and Janus-like, conduct both ways to the Paths of Peace.  
Thus you act the Statuary and the Orator at the same time, and write a Treatise of the Passions in a Marble-book. Speak to me that I may see thee, says the Philosopher; but, Look upon this, and it will speak to thee, says the Carver. Look upon this Royal Figure, and who will not be steadfast in his Loyalty? Look upon this, ye disobedient, and who again dare rebel? A soft, yet powerful Voice seems to issue from it, that cheerfully encourages the one, and formidably deters the other.  
Neither does your Talon lie this way alone, in the raising of the Passions, but you instruct well-nigh the whole learned World, the better Series of Mankind. The exquisite Anatomist may come to you for instructions, and find a Treatise of the Muscles, beyond what their Books or Lectures can instruct them in. Nay, the exact Physiognomist and the most subtle Palmist may follow, to borrow his bigger and more noted lines, and appear better satisfied than in all the abstruse Notions that have hitherto been wrote on that subject.  
Thus you sit enthroned at the head of all the Mechanical, and almost the Political Arts: for there is a great part of them interwoven amongst it. But how you have amounted to this height, by what degrees, it is beyond my Province to trace. You must certainly have had towards the composition of this, the strength of Fancy, frank Facility, conception of the Passions, the comely Dimensions, Invention, and Grace of all your Predecessors; and have worked it up not only Con Diligenza, (as the Italians phrase it) but Con Study, Con Amore: Not with an ordinary Judgement, but with a studied and a loving one, as being in such a kind of a Rapture and ecstasy as heightened the Proportions, and you yourself as it were disembodied.  
But I go beyond my Sphere, and beg my pardon for having diverted so great an Artist from those obliging Strokes the World still expects to be gratified by. But this is your happiness, that you can never leave a greater Expectation than what you are able to perform; and evading the Saying of that great Roman Orator, Indulge the most ingenious Fancy in what they are capable to give but a rude draught of, and heighten it so far above their wishes, that they shall scarce know it to be their own.  
SIR, I am Your Friend and Servant to command, SAM. PHILIPPS.   

On Mr. Gibbons his carving the Matchless Statue of the King Erected in the middle of the Royal Exchange.  

DEep in the Bosom of the Paphian Isle,  
Where more peculiarly the Sun does smile,   

There lay a Marble-quarry white as Snow,  
On which he thick his piercing Rays did throw,  
And in more ample sort his nobler heats bestow.   

A part of this, from many a Marble more  
Of different sorts that were kept up in store,  
Skilled GIBBONS chose; it was a lovely Stone,  
And fit for such a Hand to work upon:  
Fit (as a Stone could be) the Badge to wear  
Of England's Monarch, and his Image bear.  
By all the Planets tinctured, that we find  
To favour Greatness, and to Prince's kind:  
But chief influenced by that which shone,  
And at his birth appeared, at Noon-days Sun.  
Of that it strongly did the power feel,  
And by't was made more pliant to the Steel.  
Thus tinged from Heaven, 'tis virtually bred  
A Talisman, or stone constellated;  
Which when set up, the Nations Wounds shall heal,  
As the Brass Serpent those of Israel.  
A Stone which will do many a wondrous thing,  
When once stamped with the likeness of a King.   

This to himself the learned Artist spoke,  
And did foretell, ere once he gave a stroke.  
And now, as in deep Trance, or deeper Thought,  
He hunts the fair Ideas that are wrought  
Around the Cells of his well-tempered Brain,  
For Figures Royal of a Noble strain.  
The Features there and forms of things lie hid  
In order, as in Nature's pregnant Bed.  
He prays his Guardian-Genius would prove kind,  
And Shapes Majestic offer to his mind.  
He heard, and skilfully did for him frame  
A bright Idea, and with force it came:  
And soon throughout its Plastic power displays,  
Round the whole Mass its Energy conveys.  
Each Joint it works on, and each Tendon small,  
And guides his hand, at ev'ry stroke let fall.   

Thus aided, as he wrought it shaped apace,  
And ev'ry motion gave a novel Grace.  
From its first form still as the Marble risen  
And heightened up, and did fresh Airs disclose.  
The Artist polished with a trembling hand,  
And did in awe of the great Figure stand.  
In wonder wrapped at his own Products now,  
Himself had like t'ave turned to Marble too.  
He sweat as that lest any wayward stroke  
Should break the measures in his mind he took.  
Proceeding on with reverential fear,  
To finish up its Regal Character.  
At length he gives the main strokes he intends,  
And from his hands th' amazing Figure sends.   

With what August and what Majestic mien,  
Becoming such a Monarch is, it seen!  
How vivid does it look! how aptly fit  
The Royal Garb; the Joints how firmly knit!  
The wellwrought Muscles how they aptly swell,  
And by their rise their springie Tendons tell.  
How duly placed is ev'ry branching Vein!  
'Twould bear the test of wary Bartholine.  
What Royal Vigour is throughout displayed!  
How artfully, yet wonderfully made!  
A Kingly Symmetry each part does show,  
And an Heroic Air around does flow.  
It does outdo old Memnon's Royal Shrine,  
And is harmonious, though the Sun not shine,   

And now the well-carved Basis does await  
The Glories to receive of its great freight.  
With such exactness carved, and a nice care,  
As holy Nuns embroider Books for Prayer:  
Or sacred Hermits, when with fear and awe,  
Their Patron-Saints with trembling quills they draw.  
'Tis fixed: from its four quarters Angels sound  
Their joyful Trumpets; the Area does rebound.   

Thus having finished this his Grand Design,  
He claps his hands, and does i'th' Chorus join;  
Leaving the crowd of Artists that come near,  
To gaze, to wish, admire, and to despair.   Sam. Philipps. 
FINIS.   

LONDON: Printed for James Norris, at the sign of the Kings-Arms without Temple-bar. 1684.