I know not what part of you to praise the most. Your head? But oh the eyes! Your eyes? But oh your cheeks! Your cheeks? But your lips entice me and with a wondrous passion they consume me – closed indeed for modesty's sake, yet open to exhale sweet breath. If you go further and take your clothes off, I suppose that there is a radiance as of lightning. O Pheidias and Lysippus and Polycleitus, how much too soon you ceased to be! Surely you would not have made any other statue in preference to hers. - Exceeding loveley is your hand, lovel the breadth of your bosom, lovely the symmetry of your belly. As to what remains, I know not in what terms to describe it. Even were Priam's son the judge, your beauty still contests the prize. Ah! What is is to become of me? Shall I praise this? No, surely that is better. Shall I adjudge the prize to that? No, for assuredly this lures me back again. Let me touch it, and I will give my decision.
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