Classic Poem

Poets and Painters rival Glories claim,
Alike their Labours, and alike their Fame;
Apelles by a Homer 's Thoughts design'd,
And Homer was the Picture of his Mind:
From Both the same immortal Wonders rise,
At once in speaking to our Ears, and Eyes;
The Pencil's Art, a seeming Likeness gives,
But by the Pen alone, that Likeness lives;
For Time, that makes those Colours fainter show,
Gives Life to these, and makes them brighter grow.

But your's bold Artist, claim a longer Date,
The great Original preserves their Fate;
To future Fame transmit the finish'd Piece,
And boast a perfect Parallel with Greece ;
Nor boast too much — for tho' the Face we find,
We lose the noble Image of the Mind:
'Tis ours to draw the Manners, yours the Men,
And Painting's but the Shadow of the Pen:
Yet happy in your Art, O bless your Fate,
'Tis Honour here enough to Imitate ;
Whilst we, confounded by your skilful Hand,
Think the Draught lives, and fix'd like Pictures stand.