Bruno, 'Twere a gospel to tell us what you do seek for. Scipio. Sirs, I seek to be rid of you; therefore, farewell. Bruno. This fellow must be whipt. Felice. For being witty? It is very true His words are fitted for the barest need, His jests being like himself, but scantly clad, Of aspect somewhat sour; but this I see Plain-speaking blunts much sharper wits than we. Bruno. I relish not such Spartan-tongued conversers. The Prince approaches, and in company. Enter Rupert and Cinthio. Rupert. Ah! do you jest with Scipio? Know him, friends, A fellow of a right good stinging wit; Who will not spare a king for sordid ends, But utter all his mind whoe'er he hit. This shepherd here is of a different sort; His present speech will certify you so.-- Cinthio, my mistress is the sole resort, And temple of the graces; in her grow A spring of beauties; and Pandora's dower By heritage she wears even at this hour. Cinthio. I am a lowly youth, and love a maid More high than I am low, and oh, so fair! Her brow might lend the noonday heaven aid To shine upon the world with richer glare; Her eyebrows are twin rainbows; and her eyes Peered suns, excelling all that ever shone, For they illuminate bright red-rose skies Of cheeks celestial with a day-long dawn: Day being ended, scarcely night's blue veils, Her fringed eyelids, can enshroud their beams: Setting or rising radiance never fails To mark their absence in the land of dreams. Sweet cups of perfumed flowers her nostrils be: No bees suck there; the odour makes them faint. Her little chin is bent with dimples three Beneath rich fruit her summer blood does paint With brighter hues than apples on their trees: Alas, to me they are forbidden fruit, Dearer than apples of Hesperides, And guarded by as dragonish a brute. And when her lips do ope they show her teeth Like pearly seeds in sliced pomegranate Breathing an air that balmily agreeth With that delicious fruit. O hapless fate, That orchards up such dainties to be tasted! Were I their keeper they should not be wasted. Felice. Who may this wild hyperbolist be? Scipio. A shepherd who feeds his sheep upon Parnassus. He gets admission to the chimney-corner at the Castalian Inn, being very thick with the Muses, and a minion of mine host, Apollo. Rupert. In very sooth the damsel of your heart Seems but a copy of my peerless love, Fashioned by nature's self-admiring art, Which yet has failed to equal what it strove, My goddess' perfect, yet extempore, beauty: Whereby this breathing picture, uttered now, Far short, as you will swear--a lover's duty-- Of its exalted theme, must languish low Beneath the high original I praise, By two detractions of her copied grace. Your miniature you finished with her chin; Look you, where you desisted, I'll begin. Her neck into her bosom coyly glides;