_Cynth._ Are not we Cynthia? and shall earth display Brighter than us and force untimely day? What daring flames beam such illustrious light, Enforcing darkness from the claim of night? Up, Ariadne, thy clear beauty rouse, Thou Northern Crown to lusty Bacchus' spouse, Let's mix our glories to outblaze your flame; To be outshone is Heaven's and great hearts' shame. Look down; know'st them? See how their fronts rebate Splendour like Jove and beauty worth our state! Hath our bright brother, the fair Lord of days, Into their eyes shed his us-dark'ning rays? Or hath some daring spirit forgot Jove's ire And to grace them stol'n his celestial fire? We are not Phoebe, this is not Heaven's story; Place gives not worth, but worth gives place his glory. In the midst of this speech Ariadne rose from the bottom of the room, mounted upon a cloud which waved up until it came near Cynthia, where resting Ariadne spake thus:-- _Ariad._ Can our chaste queen, searching Apollo's sister, Not know those stars that in yon valley glister? Is virtue strange to heaven? Can Cynthia Not know the goodly-form'd Pasithea? She who loves greatness to be greatly good, Knowing fair'st worth from virtue springs, not blood; Whose graceful just proportion is held such That what may be judge[d] beauty must have touch And proof from hers: yet this her least of grace (Which is the most in most)--her beauty's but the case Of fairest mind: when Fortune gave her eyes, Her worth made Fortune judge she once had eyes. But see a piece that would strike envy blind, Whose face would Furies tame, make monsters kind. He gave her mighty praise and yet no other But that in mind and form she's like her mother: Up, raisèd passion, and with pæans follow Grace of the Muses, daughter of Apollo! O precious selahs' praise thy worth is under; He that would limn thy grace must only wonder. Then views not Cynthia sweet Sophrosyne, Long honour of most rare virginity, But now much happy in her noble choice? In well-link'd nuptials all the gods rejoice. Next learn'd Eulogia, bright in gracious rays, Whose merit faster springeth than my praise; For whoso strives to give her worth fair due, Shall find his praise straight old, her merit new. _Cynth._ But, look, whose eyes are those that shine more clear Than lightning thrown from shield of Jupiter? See, see, how quick fire leaps from forth her eyes Which burn all hearts and warm the very skies. Is't not bright Euthera? _Ariad._ The very same, But her mind's splendour hath a nobler flame. But let the gods Eurythia behold, And let them envy her, face nobly bold, Proportion all proportion, with a mind But like itself, no epithet can find. _Cynth._ Let's visit them and slide from our abode: Who loves not virtue leaves to be a god. Sound, spheres, spread your harmonious breath, When mortals shine in worth gods grace the earth.