[Page] THE ANSVVER OF Mr. Wallers PAINTER, To His many new ADVISERS.

London, Printed by A. Maxwell 1667.

THE ANSWER OF Mr. WALLER'S PAINTER, To his many new ADVISERS.

GOOD Sirs be civil: Can one man (d'ye think)
As fast lay Colours, as you all spill Ink?
At what a pass am I! a thousand hands
I need, if I must be at all Commands.
Thy sparkling Fancy (Waller) first design'd
A Stately Piece, true Picture of thy Mind.
But (how Conceits engender!) on thy Wit
Each Scribler new Advices doth beget;
And so the Breed's embas'd, that now 'tis grown
Like Royal Blood when mixed with the Clown.
[Page 4] 'Twas racy Wine ran from thy Loyal Quill;
But these their Brandy from its dreggs distill:
Or, like false Vintners, they adulterate
Thy Nectar with a poysonous Sublimate.
Without thy Muse, thy Fancy they purloyn;
And Bastard Cions to thy stock they joyn.
Thus in dead Bodies, Satan acts a soul;
And Virgils self's travesty'd to a Droll.
I shall forswear my Art, if I must be
Thus School'd by Bunglers, whiles I paint for Thee.
Or if I must each new Adviser please;
Jumble our World with the Antipodes;
And mix the Firmament and Stygian Lake;
A Chaos, not a Picture I shall make:
And then, (as he that marr'd a noble Draught,
By alt'ring it as each Spectator taught)
I shall forswear the Piece too, and write by,
This Monster my Advisers made, not I.
However, Sirs, my Colours will not do;
And therefore I must be supply'd by you.
I have no mixtures to paint Treason's Face
So fair, for Loyalty to make it pass.
None that will blemish Princes on report;
Which none dares own, to make the Rabble sport.
Besides, Slander's a fading Colour, though
It stick a while, it will not long do so:
[Page 5] If I make use of that, this I shall have,
When it decays, my work will prove me Knave.
Yea, Princes (Sirs) are Gods, as they'r above;
Though as Men, in a Mortal Sphere they move.
As Gods, 'tis Sacrilegious to present
Them in such Shapes as may bespeak contempt.
And who allows 'em Men, does therewithal
Allow 'em Possibility to fall.
Yet Paint not their Infirmities. Would you
In each foul Posture be expos'd to view?
Baulk not the Noble Rule, and let them have
The charity (at least) that you would crave.
My Colours will not alter Forms of State
After the Whimsies of each Crowing Pate.
What Paint will draw Utopia's? or where
Shall th' Groundwork be for Castles in the Air?
What Colours wears the Man i'th' Moon? who can
Limn an Oceana, or Leviathan?
Rob the Chameleon, Sirs, or Polypus,
For Colours, if you mean t' imploy me thus.
Fie! At the Old Play still! what have we got,
By Rota's, Ballots, and I know not what?
VVho cheats me once, he fools me; but 'tis plain,
I fool my self to deal with him again.
Bought Wit is best, 'tis said; but who buys oft,
Shall never sell it at the rates he bought.
[Page 6] Cast up your Books, (Sirs,) and I dare engage,
Creditors, falls short of the Debtor's Page;
Unhinge not Governments, except you could
Supply us better, e're you change the old.
You would have all amended, so would I;
Yet not deface each Piece where faults I spy.
'Tis true, I could find Colours to expose
Faulty Grandees, and over-paint a Rose.
But this checks me, that (whatsoe're is aim'd)
Few such are mended by being proclaim'd.
Publick disgrace oft smaller sinners scares;
But Vice with greatness arm'd, no Colours fears;
Besides, the Rout grows insolent hereby,
And slights the once disgrac'd Authority.
VVhence, to Paint all our Betters Faults, would be,
To hang up Order in Effigie:
Leave such then, to their Masters, and the Laws;
VVho play with Lions, at last feel their pawes.
But one word more, Sirs; Grant I yield to you,
Am I secure, I have no more to do?
If thus Advices spawn, your three or four
May shortly propagate to half a score;
And those by hundreds multiply'd, may make
A task, Briareus would not undertake.
Besides the Clash; Dash out that line, says one;
Another, Alter this, Let that alone.
[Page 7] So Babels builders mar'd their Tower, and made
An heap unlike the Project that they laid.
Pray leave Advising then, for (never crave it)
No Art can Paint a World as all would have it.
Or, if you're set upon't; to fitt your mind,
I'le tell you where a Painter you may find.
Look out some Canvas-stayner, whose cheap skill
With Rhythmes and Stories Ale-house-walls doth fill.
Such men will do your work best: (sorry Elves)
They paint all Kings and Princes like themselves.
So with Jack-wheels upon their heads, they slander
Arthur, and Godfrey, and great Alexander.
Here David stands with's Harp of whipcord-strings;
And Solomon's Wives, who (sure) lov'd no such things.
Yea Ahab, and Queen Jezabel, who ne're
Painted her self, as she is painted there.
Thus th' Royal Oak in Country Signes is found,
In a Park Copy'd from the Neighbour-Pound:
And Royal Charles his head looks peeping through,
Much in the posture that's the Dawbers due.
Imploy these then, not me; Except you please
To use my Art on your own Visages.
Those, I know who would thank me for; and then
Your Faces might be famous as your Pen.
And (lastly) that done, three large dashes by,
(I doubt) would serve to paint your Destiny.
FINIS.

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