Thou, that wouldst find the habit of true passion, And see a mind attired in perfect strains; Not wearing moods, as gallants do a fashion, In these pied times, only to show their brains, Look here on Breton's work, the master print: Where, such perfections to the life do rise. If they seem wry, to such as look asquint, The fault's not in the object, but their eyes. For, as one coming with a lateral view, Unto a cunning piece wrought perspective, Wants faculty to make a censure true: So with this author's readers will it thrive: Which being eyed directly, I divine, His proof their praise will meet, as in this line. |