Those Ladies, Sir, We Virtuosa's Call Poem by Edward Benlowes

Those Ladies, Sir, we Virtuosa's call,
But Copies are to this Original;
Whose charming Empire of her Grace does Sense
Astonish by a Super--Excellence.
And, like as Midas Touch made Gold: So, thus
Theophila's Touch may make Theophilus.

Zeuxes cull'd out Perfections of each sort
For his Pandora; yet did All come short
As far of This Embellishment as She
Had been limn'd out in Paintings Infancie.
For, Magisterial Virtue draws no Grace
From Corp'ral Limbs, or Features of the Face.

Here Heav'n--born Suadas, Star--like, gild each Dresse
Of the Bride Soul espous'd to Happinesse.
Here Pietie informs Poetick Art;
As All in All, and all in every Part.
For All These dy'd not with fam'd Cartwright, though
A Score of Poets joyn'd to have it so.