To turn pure painter and deceive the eye?
Our honest sleight of hand prevails with all;
Hence springs an emulation general.
Mark how the pretty female-artists try
To shame poor Nature with an Indian dye.
Mark how the snail with 's grave majestic pace
40Paints earth's green waistcoat with a silver lace.
But—since all rhythms are dark, and seldom go
Without the Sun—the Sun's a painter too;
Heaven's famed Vandyke, the Sun, he paints—'tis clear—