Look here, upon this picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. See, what a grace was seated on this brow: Hyperions curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill, A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal, To give the world assurance of a man.
O shame! where is thy blush? Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matrons bones, To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, And melt in her own fire: proclaim no shame When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, Since frost itself as actively doth burn, And reason panders will.