Titian, as is well known, “displayed a singular mastery in the representation of nude womanly forms, and in this the witchery of his colouring is manifested with fullest power.”[72] Many instances of this are to be found in his works. Two are presented by the renowned Venus-figures at Florence, and by the beautiful Danae at Naples. The Cambridge gallery contains the Venus in whose form the Princess Eboli is said to have been portrayed, playing the lute, and having Philip of Spain seated at her side. In the Bridgewater gallery are two representations of Diana in the bath,—the one having the story of Actæon, and the other discovering the guilt of Calisto; and in the National Gallery are a Bacchus and Ariadne, and also a good copy, from the original at Madrid, of Venus striving to hold back Adonis from the chase. To these we may add the Arming of Cupid, in the Borghese palace at Rome, in which he quietly permits Venus to bind his eyes, while another Cupid whispering leans on her shoulder, and two Graces bring forward quivers and bows. It is to such a School of Painting, or to such a master of his art, that Shakespeare alludes, when, in the Induction scene to the _Taming of the Shrew_, Christopher Sly is served and waited on as a lord:— _Sec. Serv._ Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch thee straight Adonis painted by a running brook. And Cytherea all in sedges hid, Which seem to move and wanton with her breath, Even as the waving sedges play with wind. _Lord._ We’ll show thee Io as she was a maid, And how she was beguiled and surprised, As lively painted as the deed was done. _Third Serv._ Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds, And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.” Among Shakespeare’s gifts was also the power to appreciate the charms of melody and song. Their influence he felt, and their effect he most eloquently describes. He speaks of them with a sweetness, a gentleness, and force which must have had counterparts in his own nature. As in the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, act ii. sc. 1, line 148, vol. ii. p. 215, when Oberon bids Puck to come to her,— “Thou rememberest Since once I sat upon a promontory, And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin’s back, Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, That the rude sea grew civil at her song, And certain stars shot madly from their spheres To hear the sea-maid’s music.” And again, in the _Merchant of Venice_, act v. sc. 1, lines 2 and 54, vol. ii. p. 360, how exquisite the description!— “When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, And they did make no noise.” Lorenzo’s discourse to Jessica is such as only a passion-warmed genius could conceive and utter:—