Nor yet for that which I should call my art,
The cold calm power to see how fair you look.
I come to you; I leave you not, to write
Or paint. You are, I am: let Rubens there
Paint us!
Con. So, best!
Nor. I understand your soul,
You live, and rightly sympathize with life,
With action, power, success. This way is straight;
And time were short, beside, to let me change