To Amasia, on her drawing her own Picture

So just a form you to your Picture give,
So like your own, that it appears to live.
Your very shadow Charms beholders more,
Than any real substance could before.
O view it not, such is its Pow'r to move,
Narcissus like, you may your Image love.
So wond'rous lively is the shade you drew,
That Heav'n alone could finer Painting shew,
In one fair Piece, when it had finish'd you.
In me your skill does fond desires create,
And Painted fires, I find, can cause a heat.
If to your draught my Passion life could give,
I, like Pigmalion soon should make it live.
Great as Prometh'us his, your Work appears,
And from your Eyes it got the fires it bears.
Justly you knew no other's hands could draw,
The killing Charms which in your Face you saw.
Painting your light'nings, any else would prove,
Like him, who flashing from his Bridge above,
Fell by those arms which he assum'd from Jove.
He will with Phaeton dire hazzards run,
Who dares attempt the Chariot of the Sun.
'Tis you alone have Pow'r to play with fire,
And not like Mortal Semele expire.
Her Lover, here, if in your paths he trod,
Had been inflam'd, tho' the great thund'ring God.
He, whilst attempting what by you is done,
Would have felt light'nings fiercer than his own.
This, like Saints pictures, with design I view,
To raise my Zeal, when I would Worship you.