My Lady Hyde, Sitting for her Picture.
WHILE Kneller with inimitable Art
Attempts that Face, whose Print's on ev'ry Heart,
The Poet with a Pencil less confin'd
Shall draw her Virtues, and describe her Mind,
Unlock the Shrine, and to the Sight unfold
The secret Gems, and all the inward Gold.
Two only Patterns do the Muses name
Of perfect Beauty, but of guilty Fame;
A Venus and a Hellen have been seen,
Both perjur'd Wives, the Goddess and the Queen.
In this, the Third, are reconcil'd at last
Those jarring Attributes of Fair and Chast.
This dazling Beauty is a lovely Case
Of shining Virtue, spotless as her Face,
With Graces that attract, but not ensnare,
Divinely good, as she's divinely fair:
With Beauty nor affected, vain, nor proud,
With Greatness easie, affable, and good.
Others, by guilty Artifice, and Arts,
Of promis'd Kindness, practise on our Hearts,
With Expectation blow the Passion up;
She fans the Fire without one Gale of Hope:
Like the chaste Moon, she shines to all Mankind,
But to Endymion is her Love confin'd.
What cruel Destiny on Beauty waits,
When on one Face depend so many Fates!
Oblig'd by Honour to relieve but One,
Unhappy Men by Thousands are undone.
