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Which heartlefs peasants did fo well refemble, That one wou'd fwear he faw them quake and

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[tremble.'

In Ajax and Ulyffes, O! what art
Of phyfiognomy might one behold!
The face of either cypher'd either's heart;
Their face, their manners most exprefly told
In Ajax' eyes blunt rage and rigour roll'd;

But the mild glance that the Ulyffes lent,
Shew'd deep regard and fmiling government.

There pleading might you fee grave Neftor ftand,
As 'twere encouraging the Greeks to fight,
Making fuch fober actions with his hand,
That it beguil❜d attention, charm'd the fight,
In fpeech it seem'd his beard all filver white,

Wagg'd up and down and from his lips did y
Thin winding breath, which purl'd up to the sky.

About him were a prefs of gaping faces,
Which feem'd to swallow up his found advice;
All jointly lift'ning, but with several graces,
As if fome mermaid did their ears entice;
Some high, fome low, the painter was fo nice,
The fcalps of many almost hid behind,

To jump up higher feem'd to mock the mind.

Here one man's hand lean'd on another's head,
His nose being shadow'd by his neighbour's ear;
Here one being throng'd, bears backall fwoln and red;
Another fmother'd, feems to pelt and swear,
And in their rage, (fuch figns of rage they bear,)
As but for lofs of Neftor's golden words,
It seems they would debate with angry fwords.

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For much imaginary work was there ;
Conceit deceitful, fo compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image ftood his fpear,
Grip'd in an armed hand; himself behind
Was left unseen, fave to the eye of mind:
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head,
Stood for the whole to be imagined.

And from the walls of strong befieged Troy,
When their brave hope, bold Hector, march'd to field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, fharing joy

To fee their youthful fons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope, they fuch odd action yield,
That thro' their light joy feemed to appear,

(Like bright things ftain'd) a kind of heavy fear.

And from the ftrand of Dardan where they fought
To Simois' reedy banks the red blood ran.
Whose waves to imitate the battle fought
With fwelling ridges; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled fhore, and then
Retire again, till meeting greater ranks
They join, and shoot their foam at Simois' banks.

To this well painted piece is Lucrece come
To find a face where all diftrefs is ftell'd;
Many fhe fees, where cares have carved fome,
But none where all diftrefs and dolour dwell'd, 15
Till the defpairing Hecuba beheld,

Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyes,
Who bleeding under Pyrrhus' proud foot lies.

In her the painter had anatomiz'd

Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and grim care's reign;

Her cheeks with chops and wrinkles were difguis'd;
Of what she was, no femblance did remain ;
Her blue blood chang'd to black in every vein :
Wanting the spring, that those shrunk pipes had
Shew'd life imprison'd in a body dead. [fed,

On this fad fhadow Lucrece fpends her eyes,
And thapes her forrow to the beldame's woes
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries,
And bitter words to ban her cruel foes.
The painter was no god to lend her those;
And therefore Lucrece fwears he did her wrong,
To give her fo much grief, and not a tongue.

Poor inftrument (quoth fhe) without a found!
I'll tune thy woes with my lamenting tongue;
And drop sweet balm in Priam's painted wound,
And rail on Pyrrhus, that hath done him wrong,
And with my tears quench Troy, that burns fo long;
And with my knife fcratch out the angry eyes
Of all the Greeks, that are thine enemies.

Shew me this ftrumpet, that began this ftir,
That with my nails her beauty I may tear;
Thy heat of luft, fond Paris, did incur

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This load of wrath, that burning Troy did bear;
Thy eye kindled the fire that burneth here:

And here in Troy, for trefpafs of mine eye, i
The fire, the fon, the dame and daughter die.

Why should the private pleasure of some one,
Become the publick plague of many more?
Let fin alone committed, light alone
Upon his head, that hath tranfgreffed fo.
Let guiltless fouls be freed from guilty woe.

For one's offence why fhould fo many fall,
To plague a private fin in general?

Lo! here weeps Hecuba, here Priam dies!
Here manly Hector faints, here Troilus founds!
Here friend by friend in bloody channel lies!
And friend to friend gives unadvised wounds!
And one man's luft these many lives confounds !
Had doating Priam check'd his fon's defire
Troy had been bright with fame, and not with fire.

Here feelingly fhe weeps Troy's painted woes :
For forrow, like a heavy hanging bell,

Once fet a ringing, with his own weight goes;
Then little ftrength rings out the doleful knell.
So Lucrece fet a-work, fad tales doth tell

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To pencil'd penfiveness, and colour'd forrow; She lends them words, and the their looks doth [borrow She throws her eyes about the painted round. And whom the finds forlorn fhe doth lament: At laft the fees a wretched image bound, That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent; His face, tho' full of cares, yet thew'd content. Onward to Troy with thefe blunt fwains he goes, So mild, that patience feem'd to fcorn his woes.

In him the painter labour'd with his fkill,
To hide deceit, and give the harmless fhow,
An humble gait, calm looks, eyes wailing ftill,
A brow unbent, that feem'd to welcome woe;
Cheeks, neither red, nor pale, but mingled fo,

That blushing red, no guilty instance gave,
Nor afhy pale, the fear that false hearts have.

But, like a conftant and confirmed devil,
He entertain❜d a fhow fo feeming juft;
And therein fo infconc'd this fecret evil,
That jealoufy itfelf could not mistrust,

Falfe creeping craft and perjury fhould thrust,
Into fo bright a day fuch black-fac'd storms,
Or blot with hell-born fin fuch faint-like forms.

The well-fkill'd woman this wild image drew
For perjur'd Sinon, whofe inchanting story
The credulous old Priam after flew;

Whose words like wild-fire burnt the fhining glory
Of rich-built Ilion; that the fkies were forry,
And little ftars fhot from their fixed places,
When their glass fell wherein they view'd their

This picture the advisedly perus'd,

And chid the painter for his wondrous skill:
Saying, fome shape in Sinon's was abus'd,

So fair a form lodg'd not a mind fo ill:

And still on him the gaz'd, and gazing ftill,

[faces.

Such figns of truth in his plain face the spy'd,
That the concludes, the picture was bely'd.

It cannot be (quoth the) that fo much guile,
She would have faid, can lurk in fuch a look;
But Tarquin's fhape came in her mind the while,
And from her tongue, can lurk, from cannot took ;
It cannot be, the in that fenfe forfook,

And turn'd it thus; it cannot be, I find,
But fuch a face fhould bear a wicked mind.

For ev❜n as fubtle Sinon here is painted,
So fober fad, so weary and fo mild,
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