er of Minos, and already married
To expectation of a royal dower.
But O beware! for, listen what I say,
By strong presentments I have moved thy father
Bating a fair and well intending nay,
To leave thy love to thine unmuffled eye.
This is rare scope, my girl, O use it rarely,
Be slow and nice in thy sweet liberty,
And let discretion honor thee in choice.
For love is like a cup with dregs at bottom!
Hand it with care, and pleasant it shall be--
Snatch it, and thou may'st find its bitterness._
And now, my soon, my all sufficient lord,
How shall I answer old Sir Oracle?
It is too true that I have snatched my love,
And taste already of its bitterness.
But trifle not with love, my sportful Theseus.
Affection, when it bears an outward eye,
Be it of love, or social amity,
Or open-lidded general charity,
Becomes a holy universal thing--
The beauty of the soul, which, therein lodged,
Surpasses every outward comeliness--
Makes fanes of shaggy shapes, and, of the fair,
Such presences as fill the gates of heaven.
Why is the dog, that knows no stint of heart,
But roars a welcome like an untamed bear,
And leaps a dirty-footed fierce caress,
More valued than the sleek smooth mannered cat,
That will not out of doors, whoever comes,
But hugs the fire in graceful idleness?
Birds of a glittering gilt, that lack a tongue,
Are shamed to drooping with the euphony
Of fond expression, and the voice beneath
The russet jacket of the soul of song.
What is that girdle of the Queen of Love,
Wherewith, as with the shell of Orpheus,
Things high and humble, the enthroned gods,
And tenants of the far unvisited huts
Of wildernesses, she alike subdues
Unto the awe of perfect harmony?
What else but sweetness tempered all one way,
And looks of sociable benignity?
Which when she chooseth to be all herself,
She doth put on, and in the act thereof,
Such thousand graces lacquey her about,
And in her smile such plenitude of joy--
The extreme perfection of the divine gods--
Shines affable, as, to partake thereof,
Hath oftentimes set Heaven in uproar.
By these, and many special instances,
It doth appear, or may be plainly shown,
That, of all life, affection is the savor--
The soul of it--and beauty is but dross:
Being but the outer