But indeed
If ever I would have mine drawn to th’ life,
I’d have a painter steal it at such a time
I were devoutly kneeling at my prayers;
There’s then a heavenly beauty in ’t; the soul
Moves in the superficies.”
The poet shows one of his habitual weaknesses here in being so far tempted by the chance of saying a pretty thing as to make somebody say it who naturally would not. There is really a worse waste than had it been thrown away. I am inclined to think men as vain about their portraits as Leonora makes women to be, or else the story of Cromwell’s wart would not be so famous. However, Contarino goes away satisfied with the result of his embassy, saying to himself:—
“She has got some intelligence how I intend to marry
Her daughter, and ingenuously perceived
That by her picture, which I begged of her,