To a Lady that was so like another that I cal'd her Picture

I Call you Picture, and by your Consent;
Although I know you want no Ornament,
Nor any curious Arts use, to supply
Any defect in you to any eye.
You then are none, and do want Colours so (snow;
As heaven wants clouds or Summers earth wants
Both which do both deform; And you therefore
To ouvy heaven and earth admit no more.
You then no picture are, but unto those
That can become enamour'd on your clothes.
Vandike, Mitten, Geltrop or Johnson may
Draw something like you; As a Summers day
May in the fleeting Clouds well counterfeit
Similitudes of things here, and not hit;
For 'tis impossible to Limn you right,
As 'tis the earthly Globe without a night.
To make your eyes were to amaze us all;
Make in your face two Suns rise; And to vail
Their glorious motions, no eclipses there
Can be more beautiful then your brown hair;
So doth the brightest star ofttimes repine
At it's own glory, and forbear to shine.
To name Apelles and to wish him draw
Your Portraicture, could he perform't 'twere law
To future Limners; but your beauties height
All imitation doth transcend outright.
Your Lips are like the rosy buds of May;
And your even teeth the pearls of India;
Your mouth's the sweetest Magazin of bliss,
Where Cupids Dialect best spoken is.
Your loveliest Cheeks are the tru'st Hemispheres
Of beauty, triumphing above your Peeres.
This your first sitting is; when you sit next,
I shall be better pleas'd, and you more vext;
For I shall more admire your beauties store,
Though you be angry th'are so slubberd o're.