Comedies, Tragi-comedies, With other Poems by Mr William Cartwright ... The Ayres and Songs set by Mr Henry Lawes |
To the Lady Pavvlet, upon her Present sent to the
Vniversity, being the Story of the Nativity and
Passion of our Saviour, wrought by her self in Needle-work.
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Comedies, Tragi-comedies, With other Poems | ||
To the Lady Pavvlet, upon her Present sent to the Vniversity, being the Story of the Nativity and Passion of our Saviour, wrought by her self in Needle-work.
Could we Judge here (most Vertuous Madam) then
Your Needle might receive praise from the Pen:
But this our want bereaves it of that part,
VVhiles to Admire and Thank is all our Art.
Your Needle might receive praise from the Pen:
But this our want bereaves it of that part,
VVhiles to Admire and Thank is all our Art.
The VVork deserves a Shrine, I should rehearse
It's Glories in a Story, not a Verse;
Colours are mixt so subt'ly that thereby
The stealth of Art both takes and cheates the Eye;
At once a Thousand we can gaze upon,
But are deceiv'd by their Transition;
VVhat toucheth is the same; Beam takes from Beam,
The next still like, yet diff'ring in th'extreme:
Here runs this Track we see, Thither that tends,
But cann't say here this rose, or there that ends.
Thus while they creep insensibly, we doubt
Whether the one powres not the other out.
Faces so quick and lively, that we may
Fear, if we turn aside they'l steal away.
Postures of Grief so true, that we may swear
Your artfull Fingers have wrought Passion there:
View we the Manger and the Babe, we thence
Beleeve the very Threeds have Innocence;
Then on the Cross such Love and Grief we find,
As 'twere a Transcript of our Saviours Mind;
Each Parcell so expressive, and so fit,
That the whole seems not so much wrought, as writ.
'Tis Sacred Text all, we may quoat, and thence
Extract what may be press'd in our defence.
It's Glories in a Story, not a Verse;
Colours are mixt so subt'ly that thereby
The stealth of Art both takes and cheates the Eye;
At once a Thousand we can gaze upon,
But are deceiv'd by their Transition;
VVhat toucheth is the same; Beam takes from Beam,
The next still like, yet diff'ring in th'extreme:
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But cann't say here this rose, or there that ends.
Thus while they creep insensibly, we doubt
Whether the one powres not the other out.
Faces so quick and lively, that we may
Fear, if we turn aside they'l steal away.
Postures of Grief so true, that we may swear
Your artfull Fingers have wrought Passion there:
View we the Manger and the Babe, we thence
Beleeve the very Threeds have Innocence;
Then on the Cross such Love and Grief we find,
As 'twere a Transcript of our Saviours Mind;
Each Parcell so expressive, and so fit,
That the whole seems not so much wrought, as writ.
'Tis Sacred Text all, we may quoat, and thence
Extract what may be press'd in our defence.
Blest Mother of the Church, be in the list
Reckon'd from hence the Shee Evangelist:
Nor can the Style be Profanation, when
The Needle may Convert more than the Pen.
When Faith may Come by seeing, and each Leaf
Rightly perus'd prove Gospell to the Deaf.
Had not Saint Hellen happ'ly found the Cross,
By this your Work you had repair'd that loss.
Tell me not of Penelope, we do
See a Web here more Chaste, and Sacred too.
Where are ye now, O Women, you that Sow
Temptations, labouring to express the Bow
And the Blind Archer, you that rarely set,
To please your Loves, a Venus in a Net?
Turn your skill hither: then we shall (no doubt)
See the Kings Daughter glorious too without.
Women sew'd Idle Fig-leaves hither too,
Eve's Nakedness is truly cloath'd by you.
Reckon'd from hence the Shee Evangelist:
Nor can the Style be Profanation, when
The Needle may Convert more than the Pen.
When Faith may Come by seeing, and each Leaf
Rightly perus'd prove Gospell to the Deaf.
Had not Saint Hellen happ'ly found the Cross,
By this your Work you had repair'd that loss.
Tell me not of Penelope, we do
See a Web here more Chaste, and Sacred too.
Where are ye now, O Women, you that Sow
Temptations, labouring to express the Bow
And the Blind Archer, you that rarely set,
To please your Loves, a Venus in a Net?
Turn your skill hither: then we shall (no doubt)
See the Kings Daughter glorious too without.
Women sew'd Idle Fig-leaves hither too,
Eve's Nakedness is truly cloath'd by you.
Comedies, Tragi-comedies, With other Poems | ||