The Picture — Set by Mr. Laws

How, Chloris, can I e're believe
The Vows of Woman-kind,
Since yours I faithless find,
So faithless, that you can refuse
To him your Shadow, t' whom, to chuse,
You swore you could the Substance give.

Is 't not enough that I must go
Into another Clime,
Where Feather-footed Time
May turn my Hopes into Despair,
My downy Youth to bristled Hair,
But that you add this torment too?

Perhaps you fear my Idolatry
Would make the Image prove
A Woman fit for Love;
Or give it such a Soul, as shone
Through fond Pigmalion's living bone;
That so I may abandon thee.

Oh, no! 'twould fill my Genius's room,
Mine honest one, that when
Frailty would love again,
And faultring with new Objects burn,
Then, Sweetest, would thy Picture turn
My wandring Eyes to thee at home.