(Ibid.)
O vanity,
How are thy painted beauties doted on,
By light and empty idiots! How pursued
With open and extended appetite!
How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath,
Raised on their toes to catch thy airy forms,
Still turning giddy, till they reel like drunkards,
That buy the merry madness of an hour,
With the long irksomeness of following time!
(Ibid.)
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep....
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver,
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever.
(Acte V, sc. iii.)
[169]: A celebration of Charis. Miscellaneous poems.
[170]: Masque of Beauty.