Did heaven lack a goddess you might limn
A fairer than a Venus for the place.
Speak on. Tell me her sum to the last doit.
The balance of a hair—a smile unborn—
I'd not strike off.
Aris. [Coldly] You know her worth, my lord.
Dion. Nay, the appraising eye when fixed too near
The thing it loves distorts the sweet proportion.
You can adjust your gaze, take stand to bring
Her beauty to perfection's single-point.