 | Clarastella |  |
To Madam Moyle on her Picture.
Madam! their judgments I commend who said,Your Pictur's like your self, for it is made
Of fading colours which wil wear away,
To be gaz'd on a while, and then decay;
An empty shadow with a rouling sight,
Looks wantonly on all that look on it;
A wel drest statue, yes; and painted too;
'Tis very like you, Madam! so are you.
| Clarastella | |