Thy Love, fair Nymph! that courts thee on this plain, As shepherds say, and all the World can tell, Is that foul rude Sicilian Cyclop-swain. A shame, sweet Nymph, that he with thee should mell [mix]!
Galatea.
Smile not, fair Doris! though he foul do seem. Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace! He's worth my love, and so I him esteem. Renowned by birth, and comes of Neptune's race. Neptune, that doth the glassy ocean tame; Neptune, by birth from mighty Jove which came.
Doris.
I grant an honour to be Neptune's child; A grace to be so near with Jove allied: But yet, sweet Nymph! with this be not beguiled; Where Nature's graces are by looks descried. So foul, so rough, so ugly-like a Clown; And worse than this, a Monster with one eye. Foul is not gracèd, though it wear a Crown! But fair is Beauty. None can that deny.
Galatea.
Nor is he foul, or shapeless, as you say Or worse: for that he clownish seems to be. Rough, Saytr-like, the better he will play: And manly looks the fitter are for me. His frowning smiles are gracèd by his beard: His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one. This me contents; and others makes afeard. He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none. With one eye.
Doris.
Nay, then I see, sweet Nymph: thou art in love; And loving, doat'st; and doating, dost commend Foul to be Fair. This oft do Lovers prove. I wish him fairer, or thy love an end!