 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
On the Adam and Eve, badly painted in the Headway of the Invincible.
Thanks to our Stars! the Painter's Skill,
Hath giv'n us no new Letch;
For all must own that Mother Eve,
Is here an ugly Wretch:
Hath giv'n us no new Letch;
For all must own that Mother Eve,
Is here an ugly Wretch:
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But then the well contrived Piece,
Doth raise no fierce Desires;
Nay, rather serves to quench, than add
New Fuel to our Fires:
Doth raise no fierce Desires;
Nay, rather serves to quench, than add
New Fuel to our Fires:
But had he drew, as Milton wrote,
How wretched were our Fate!
Not Adam's Case were half so bad,
As our unhappy State;
How wretched were our Fate!
Not Adam's Case were half so bad,
As our unhappy State;
The Object nigh, no Damsel near,
To lay the raging Flame,
Dame Nature might have been provok'd,
To what I would not name:
To lay the raging Flame,
Dame Nature might have been provok'd,
To what I would not name:
Then who can say, the Painter here,
Hath shew'd nor Art, nor Skill?
For sure, if Judgment's reckon'd aught,
He has perform'd not ill.
Hath shew'd nor Art, nor Skill?
For sure, if Judgment's reckon'd aught,
He has perform'd not ill.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |