Hidas. I mean that handsome man,
That something more than man I met at door.
Cleo. Here was no handsome man.
Hidas. Come, he's some one
You would preserve in private, but you want
Cunning to do it, and my eyes are sharper
Than yours, and can with one neglecting glance,
See all the graces of a man. Who was't?
Cleo. That went hence now?
Hidas. That went hence now, I, he.
Cleo. Faith here was no such one as your Grace thinks.
Zoylous your Brothers Dwarf went out but now.
Hidas. I think 'twas he: how bravely he past by:
Is he not grown a goodly Gentleman?
Cleo. A goodly Gentleman, Madam?
He is the most deformed fellow i'the Land.
Hidas. Oh blasphemy: he may perhaps to thee
Appear deform'd, for he is indeed
Unlike a man: his shape and colours are
Beyond the Art of Painting; he is like
Nothing that we have seen, yet doth resemble
Apollo, as I oft have fancied him,
When rising from his bed, he stirs himself
And shakes day from his hair.
Cleo. He resembles Apollo's Recorder.