t with thy golden rayes
Reveal'st the variant colours of the world,
Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'st
The glorious parts of faire _Lucilia_:
Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares,
And fix them there as an eternall light
For Lovers to adore and wonder at:
And this (long since) the high Gods would have done,
But that they could not bring it back againe
When they had lost so great divinitie.

_Lu_. You paint your flattering words, [Lord] _Lassinbergh_,
Making a curious pensill of your tongue;
And that faire artificiall hand of yours
Were fitter to have painted heavens faire storie
Then here to worke on Antickes and on me.
Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle)
Are glad to be a mercinary Painter.

_Lass_. A Painter, faire _Luci[li]a_? Why, the world
With all her beautie was by painting made.
Looke on the heavens colour'd with golden starres,
The firmamentall ground of it all blew:
Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes,
The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth:
Looke on the sommer fields adorn'd with flowers,--
How much is natures painting honour'd there?
Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore,
Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne,
Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles:
Looke on that little world, the twofold man,
Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still,
And see what azure vaines in stream-like forme
Divide the Rosie beautie of the skin.
I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts,
The severall colours of the Elements,
Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietie
In making all things by their colours knowne.
And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine,
In all things she hath made is a meere Painter.

[_She kisses her hand_.

[_Lu_.] Now by this kisse, th'admirer of thy skill,
Thou art well worthie th'onor thou hast given
(With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art,
Of which my beauties can deserve no part.

_Lass_. From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearst
Thy severall parts, if I uniting all
Had figur'd there the true _Lucilia_,
Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine Art
And devout people would from farre repaire,
Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice,
Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves.
Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold,
Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye;
Here, underneath this little Rosie bush,
Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it;
Here _Cupid_ (ha