This Shadow, overshadowed, is a Tipe
Of my full Selfe; if you (who see't) are ripe
To Iudge of Art, behold: a twofold grace
In one Small Draught; my Fortune, and my Face;
Tis all the Pencill could; for only Men
Can draw their inward Selves, wth their owne Pen;

But our Pens flatter; and wee stranglie raise
False beauties, in the mind; as in the face
The mercinarie Hand; and sometime put
A gracefull mole, for a dull morphewed Spot;
Soe neare, is man himself; that to his owne
Self, he dissembles, and will not be knowne;

Thus wee deluded are; yet, let me Say;
If wee know not our selves; none other may: