The Louer extolleth the singular beautie of his Ladie

LEt Myron muse at Natures passing might,
And quite resigne his pieuish Painters right:
For sure he can not frame hir featurde shape
That for hir face excels the Gréekish rape.
Let Zeuxis Grapes not make him proude at all,
Though Fowles for them did skyr against a wall:
For if hée should assay my Loue to paint,
His Art would fayle, his cunning fist would faint.
Let Praxitell presume with Pensill rude
Base things to blaze the people to delude:
Hir featurde limmes to drawe let him not dare
That with the fayre Diana may compare.
Though Venus forme Apelles made so well,
As Creece did iudge the Painter to excell:
Yet let not that enbolde the Gréeke to graue
Hir shape, that beauties praise deserues to haue.
For Nature when she made hir, did entende
To paint a péece that no man might amende:
A paterne for the reast that after shoulde
Be made by hande, or cast in cunning moulde.