THE weary look, desponding air,
Ill suits, my Dear, a face so fair;
Resume your smiles; again supply
The Graces caught by Fancy's eye.
While Wilson sketches out the piece,
We'll talk, to pass the time, of Greece;
Of Greece, as you have often heard,
For warriors, and for wits rever'd;
The seat of Learning, and the Graces,
Fam'd for fine arts, but finer faces;
Where Painters, Poets, not as since,
Were greater held than any Prince;
In temples, palaces carest,
None more the Ladies smiles possest;
For they were rich as well as clever,
And riches were successful ever;
Priests, Senates, Nations, Kings desir'd
The works their heaven-taught art inspir'd,
And if a pencil chanc'd to drop,
An Alexander pick'd it up;
Beauties would run to be sketch'd over;
The haughty Prince, tho' much a lover,
Once for the copy, payment small,
Resign'd up the original,
The fair Campaspé's matchless charms,
More conquering than the Monarch's arms,
To one Apelles; one who drew
The Queen of Love, as Wilson you.