Classic Poem

There's scarce a Paultry Dauber in the Town,
(So much like Apes We doat on what's our own)
But will pretend t'express the Air, and Grace
Of each great Monarch and Admired Face.
See how the dull neglected Trifles lye,
And scarce can gain a glance from passers by:
Unless we reckon the unthinking Fry
Who glare in Shoals at gawdy drapery:
But when with charming Stroaks and Powerful lines
Some curious Titian the great work designs;
The lovely figures all our Passions move,
And as if Real, we obey, and Love:
The Envious, pleas'd on force, here gazeing stands
Whilst all true Artists wondering clap their Hands:
Each Novice may the Genius and with Wit,
That finds, or makes all Beautiful that sit,
No Scar, or faults of Nature do appear
Yet something that resembles them is there,
Strangely by wondrous Art made tempting fair.
Such is thy Genius, Creech, such is thy Art,
We have Lucretius like in every part,
Yet no decays of Age, no roughness shown,
Tis Masterly and Great, the Beauty's all thy Own.