Prosp. Imagine something between young men and angels; Fatally beauteous, and have killing eyes; Their voices charm beyond the nightingale's; They are all enchantment: Those, who once behold them, Are made their slaves for ever.
Hip. Then I will wink, and fight with them.
Prosp. 'Tis but in vain; They'll haunt you in your very sleep.
Hip. Then I'll revenge it on them when I wake.
Prosp. You are without all possibility of revenge; They are so beautiful, that you can ne'er attempt, Nor wish, to hurt them.
Hip. Are they so beautiful?
Prosp. Calm sleep is not so soft; nor winter suns, Nor summer shades, so pleasant.
Hip. Can they be fairer than the plumes of swans? Or more delightful than the peacock's feathers? Or than the gloss upon the necks of doves? Or have more various beauty than the rainbow?— These I have seen, and, without danger, wondered at.
Prosp. All these are far below them: Nature made Nothing but woman dangerous and fair. Therefore if you should chance to see them, Avoid them straight, I charge you.