Eul. Pray leave this cynic humour, whilst I sigh
My mistress' praise. Her beauty's past compare:
O, would she were more kind, or not so fair!
Her modest smiles both curb and kindle love.
The court is dark without her: when she rises,
The morning is her handmaid, strewing roses.
About love's hemisphere. The lamps above
Eclipse themselves for shame to see her eyes,
Outshine their chrysolites, and more bless the skies
Than they the earth.
Hir. Give me her name.
Eul. Her body is a crystal cage, whose pure
Transparent mould, not of gross elements
Compacted, but th' extracted quintessence
Of sweetest forms distill'd; whose graces bright
Do live immur'd, but not exempt from sight.
Hir. I prythee, speak her [name].
Eul. Her model is beyond all poets' brains
And painters' pencils: all the lively nymphs,
Syrens, and Dryads are but kitchen-maids,
If you compare. To frame the like Pandore,[274]
The gods repine, and nature would grow poor.
Hir. By love, who is't? hath she no mortal name?
Eul. For here you find great Juno's stately front,
Pallas' grey eye, Venus her dimpled chin,
Aurora's rosy fingers, the small waist
Of Ceres' daughter, and Medusa's hair,
Before it hiss'd.
Hir. O love, as deaf as thou art blind! Good Eulinus,
Call home thy soul, and tell thy mistress' name.
Eul. O strange! what, ignorant still! when as so plainly
These attributes describe her? Why, she is
A rhapsody of goddesses; the elixir
Of all their several perfections. She is
(Now bless your ears!) by mortals call'd Landora.
Hir. What! Landora, the Trinobantic lady?
How grow your hopes? what metal is her breast?