A Fond Athenian Mother brought 
A Sculptor to indulge her Thought, 
 And carve her Only Son; 
Who to such strange perfection wrought, 
That every Eye the Statue caught 
 Nor ought was left undone. 

A youthful Smile adorn'd the Face, 
The polish gave that Smile a Grace; 
 And through the Marble reigns 
(Which well the Artist's Skill cou'd trace, 
And in their due Positions place) 
 A Thread of purple Veins. 

The Parasites about it came, 
(Whose Praises were too large to name) 
 And to each other said; 
The Man so well had reach'd his Aim, 
Th' Original cou'd o'er it claim 
 Only a native Red. 

Mean while a Sage, amidst the Croud, 
Thus, with a Precept wise and loud, 
 Check'd the Vain-glorious Boy; 
By telling him, who now grew proud, 
That tho' with Beauty 'twas endow'd, 
 The Figure was a Toy: 

Of no Advantage to the State, 
'Twou'd neither combate, nor debate, 
 But idly stand alone; 
Bids him beware, whilst Men create 
In Stone thus his Resemblance great, 
 He proves not like the Stone.