The old man had his words yet between his teeth, when there passed just by us a lady of pleasure, of so excellent a shape and garb, that it was impossible to see her without a passion for her, and no less impossible to look upon anything else, so long as she was to be seen. They that had seen her once were to see her no more, for she turned her face still to new-comers. Her motion was graceful and free. One while she’d stare ye full in the eyes, under colour of opening her hood, to set it in better order. By and by she’d steal a look at ye with one eye, and a side face, from the corner of her visor, like a witch that’s afraid to be known when she comes from a caterwaul. And then out comes the delicate hand, and discovers the more delicious neck, and breasts, to adjust the handkercher or the scarf, or to remove some other grievance that made her ladyship uneasy. Her hair was most artificially disposed into careless rings; and the best red and white in nature was in her cheeks, if that of her lips and teeth did not exceed it. In a word, all she looked upon was her own; and this was the vision for my money, from all the rest. As she was marching off, I could not choose but take up a resolution to follow her. But my old man laid a block in the way, and stopped me at the very starting; which was an affront to a man that was both in love and in haste, that might very well stir his choler. “My officious friend,” said I, “he that does not love a woman sucked a sow. And questionless, he must be either blind or barbarous that’s proof against the charms of so divine a beauty. Nor would any but a sot let slip the blessed opportunity of so fair an encounter. A handsome woman? why, what was she made for, but to be loved? And he that has her, has all that’s lovely or desirable in nature. For my own part, I would renounce the world for the fellow of her, and never desire anything either beyond her, or beside her. What lightning does she carry in her eyes! What charms, and chains in her looks, and motions, for the very souls of her beholders! Was ever anything so clear as her forehead? or so black as her eyebrows? One would swear that her complexion had taken a tincture of vermilion and milk: and that nature had brought her into the world with pearl and rubies in her mouth. To speak all in little, she’s the masterpiece of the creation, worthy of infinite praise, and equal to our largest desires and imaginations.”