DORIS
Thy love, fair nymph, that courts thee on this plain,
As shepherds say and all the world can tell,
Is that foul rude Sicilian Cyclop-swain;
A shame, sweet nymph, that he with thee should mell.
GALATEA
Smile not, fair Doris, though he foul do seem,
Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace;
He's worth my love, and so I him esteem,
Renowned by birth, and come of Neptune's race,
Neptune that doth the glassy ocean tame,
Neptune, by birth from mighty Jove which came.
DORIS
I grant an honour to be Neptune's child,
A grace to be so near with Jove allied.
But yet, sweet nymph, with this be not beguiled;
Where nature's graces are by looks decried,
So foul, so rough, so ugly as a clown,
And worse than this, a monster with one eye!
Foul is not gracèd, though it wear a crown,
But fair is beauty, none can that deny.
GALATEA
Nor is he foul or shapeless as you say,
Or worse; for that he clownish seems to be,
Rough, satyr-like, the better he will play,
And manly looks the fitter are for me.
His frowning smiles are gracèd by his beard,
His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one.
This me contents, and others make afeard.
He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none.
DORIS