Analysis of Peinture. A Panegyrick To The best Picture Of Friendship, M



If Pliny, Lord High Treasurer of al
Natures exchequer shuffled in this our ball,
Peinture her richer rival did admire,
And cry'd she wrought with more almighty fire,
That judg'd the unnumber'd issue of her scrowl,
Infinite and various as her mother soul,
That contemplation into matter brought,
Body'd Ideas, and could form a thought.
Why do I pause to couch the cataract,
And the grosse pearls from our dull eyes abstract,
That, pow'rful Lilly, now awaken'd we
This new creation may behold by thee?

To thy victorious pencil all, that eyes
And minds call reach, do bow.  The deities
Bold Poets first but feign'd, you do and make,
And from your awe they our devotion take.
Your beauteous pallet first defin'd Love's Queen,
And made her in her heav'nly colours seen;
You strung the bow of the Bandite her son,
And tipp'd his arrowes with religion.
Neptune as unknown as his fish might dwell,
But that you seat him in his throne of shell.
The thunderers artillery and brand,
You fancied Rome in his fantastick hand;
And the pale frights, the pains, and fears of hell
First from your sullen melancholy fell.
Who cleft th' infernal dog's loath'd head in three,
And spun out Hydra's fifty necks? by thee
As prepossess'd w' enjoy th' Elizian plain,
Which but before was flatter'd in our brain.
Who ere yet view'd airs child invisible,
A hollow voice, but in thy subtile skill?
Faint stamm'ring Eccho you so draw, that we
The very repercussion do see.
  Cheat-HOCUS-POCUS-Nature an assay
O' th' spring affords us: praesto, and away!
You all the year do chain her and her fruits,
Roots to their beds, and flowers to their roots.
Have not mine eyes feasted i' th' frozen Zone
Upon a fresh new-grown collation
Of apples, unknown sweets, that seem'd to me
Hanging to tempt as on the fatal tree,
So delicately limn'd I vow'd to try
My appetite impos'd upon my eye?
  You, sir, alone, fame, and all-conqu'ring rime,
File the set teeth of all-devouring time.
When beauty once thy vertuous paint hath on,
Age needs not call her to vermilion;
Her beams nere shed or change like th' hair of day,
She scatters fresh her everlasting ray.
Nay, from her ashes her fair virgin fire
Ascends, that doth new massacres conspire,
Whilst we wipe off the num'rous score of years,
And do behold our grandsire[s] as our peers;
With the first father of our house compare
We do the features of our new-born heir:
For though each coppied a son, they all
Meet in thy first and true original.
  Sacred! luxurious! what princesse not
But comes to you to have her self begot?
As, when first man was kneaded, from his side
Is born to's hand a ready-made-up bride.
He husband to his issue then doth play,
And for more wives remove the obstructed way:
So by your art you spring up in two noons
What could not else be form'd by fifteen suns;
Thy skill doth an'mate the prolifick flood,
And thy red oyl assimilates to blood.
  Where then, when all the world pays its respect,
Lies our transalpine barbarous neglect?
When the chast hands of pow'rful Titian
Had drawn the scourges of our God and man,
And now the top of th' altar did ascend
To crown the heav'nly piece with a bright end;
Whilst he, who in seven languages gave law,
And always, like the Sun, his subjects saw,
Did, in his robes imperial and gold,
The basis of the doubtful ladder hold.
O Charls! a nobler monument than that,
Which thou thine own executor wert at!
When to our huffling Henry there complain'd
A grieved earl, that thought his honor stain'd:
Away (frown'd he), for your own safeties, hast!
In one cheap hour ten coronets I'l cast;
But Holbeen's noble and prodigious worth
Onely the pangs of an whole age brings forth.
Henry! a word so princely saving said,
It might new raise the ruines thou hast made.
  O sacred Peincture! that dost fairly draw,
What but in mists deep inward Poets saw;
'Twixt thee and an Intelligence no odds,
That art of privy council to the gods!
By thee unto our eyes they do prefer
A stamp of their abstracted character;
Thou, that in frames eternity dost bind,
And art a written and a body'd mind;
To thee is ope the Juncto o' th' abysse,
And its conspiracy detected is;
Whilest their cabal thou to our sense dost show,
And in thy square paint'st what they threat below.
  Now, my best Lilly, let's walk hand in hand,
And smile at this un-understanding land;
Let them their own dull counterfeits adore,
Their rainbow-cloaths admire, and no more.
Within one shade of thine more substance is,
Than all their va


Scheme ABXCAXDDEEFF GXHHIIJJKKLLKKFFMMNXFFFOPPXIFFQQRRXJOOCCSSTTBNXDUUOOXXVVWWJXXXYYZZ1 1 2 2 3 3 XXXXYY4 4 CC5 5 G6 7 7 LL8 8 6 X
Poetic Form
Metre 1101110011 10101001101 101010101 01111101010 110110101 100010010101 101001101 101001101 1111110100 00111101101 111010101 1101010111 11010010111 0111110100 1101111101 01111100101 111010111 01000111 110110101 01111010 1010111111 1111101111 01010001 11010111 0011010111 111101001 111101011101 011110111 11100011111 11011100101 1111110100 010110111 111111111 01001011 1101010110 11110111001 1101110001 1111010111 111110111101 0101111 1100111111 1011110101 1100011111 110010111 110110111 10111101001 110111111 111101010 011111111111 11100101 11010011010 01111100010 111101111 01011011101 10110110101 11010110111 11110111 1011010100 100100111 1111110101 111111111 1111010111 1101110111 01110100101 1111111011 1111111011 11111011 0111111 1111011101 110110001 10111110 11010110101 010111110101 110111011 11101010011 011011101 1011010001 0101010101 1101010011 1111010011 1110110101 011111101 0111111101 011101101111 111000101 101111111 1001110101 111101111 110111101 1101110101 1101010011 1111010101 11101011101 011110100 1101010011 010100011 1111011111 0101000101 11011110111 00111111101 1111011101 011110101 111111001 11101011 0111111101 1111
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,364
Words 798
Sentences 35
Stanzas 2
Stanza Lengths 12, 94
Lines Amount 106
Letters per line (avg) 33
Words per line (avg) 8
Letters per stanza (avg) 1,735
Words per stanza (avg) 400
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

4:10 min read
65

Richard Lovelace

Richard Lovelace was an English poet more…

All Richard Lovelace poems | Richard Lovelace Books

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