Book III, 70: On Gods Image

It was a dainty piece! In every part,
Drawne to the life, and full of curious Art:
It was as like thee as a shadow could
Be like a substance; There was none but would
Have known thee by't: There needed then no name,
No golden Characters, that might proclaime
Whose Picture t'was: the Art was so divine
That very Beasts did reverence, as thine:
But now, alas, 'tis blurr'd: the best that we
Or they can judge, is this, 'twas made for thee:
Alas'tis faded, soyl'd with hourely dust,
Sullyed, and shadow'd with the smoke of Lust;
So swarthy as if that glorious face of thine
Were tawnyed underneath the torrid Line:
How is thy Picture altred! How ill us'd
By our neglects! How slubberd! How abus'd!
Her Cedar Frame's disioynted, warp'd and broke;
Her curious Tablet's tainted with the smoke:
The Objects both offensive, and the savor;
Retaining neither Beauty, nor thy Favour:
Lord, let not thy displeased eye forsake
Thy handy-worke; for the bad keepers sake:
Behold it still; and what thou seest amisse,
Passe by: Thinke what it was; not what it is:
What though her beauty and her colours fade?
Remember; O, 'twas like thee when 'twas made.
There is a great Apelles that can lim
With thy owne Pencell; we have sought to Him:
His skilfull hand will wash off all the soyle,
And clense thy Picture with his sacred Oyle:
Hee'l mak't more faire then 'twas; at least, the same;
Hee'l mend the Tablet, and renew the Frame:
Till then; be pleas'd to let thy Picture be
Acknowledg'd thine: 'Twas made for none but Thee.