She would be nimbler lying with a man.
And when one sweetly sings, then straight I long,
To quaver on her lips even in her song;
Or if one touch the lute with art and cunning,
Who would not love those hands[254] for their swift running?
And her I like that with a majesty,
Folds up her arms, and makes low courtesy.30
To[255] leave myself, that am in love with all,
Some one of these might make the chastest fall.
If she be tall, she's like an Amazon,