To the Painter, after he had finish'd Dorinda's Picture.

Painter, thou hast perform'd what Man can do,
 Only Dorinda's self more Charms can shew. 
Bold are thy Strokes, and delicate each Touch,
 But still the Beauties of her Face are such
 As cannot justly be describ'd; tho' all
 Confess 'tis like the bright Original. 
In her, and in thy Picture, we may view
 The utmost Nature, or that Art can do,
 Each is a Master-piece, design'd so well
 That future Times may strive to parallel,
 But neither Art nor Nature's able to excel.