ADMIRATION.
What find I here?
Fair Portia's counterfeit?—What demi-god
Hath come so near creation! Move these eyes!
Or, whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion?—Here are sever'd lips,
Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends.—Here, in her hair,
The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
A golden mesh, t' entrap the hearts of men
Falter than gnats in cobwebs.—But her eyes—
How could he see to do them! having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfinish'd!
HAUGHTINESS.
Make thy demands to those that own thy power!
Know, I am still beyond thee. And tho' fortune
Has strip'd me of this train, this pomp of greatness;
This outside of a king, yet still my soul,
Fix'd high, and on herself alone dependant,
Is ever free and royal: and, even now,
As at the head of battle—does defy thee!
CONTEMPT.
Away! no woman could descend so low,
A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are;
Fit only for yourselves. You herd together;
And when the circling glass warms your vain hearts,
You talk of beauties that you never saw,
And fancy raptures that you never knew.