In stature you are a Giantess: and your Tailor
Takes measure of you with a Jacobs Staff,
Or he can never reach you, this by the way
For your large size: now, in a word or two,
To treat of your Complexion were decorum:
You are so far from fair, I doubt your Mother
Was too familiar with the Moor that serv'd her,
Your Limbs and Features I pass briefly over,
As things not worth description; and come roundly
To your Soul, if you have any; for 'tis doubtful.