While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins, no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, which not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath.

The yellow Iachimo gives another thus, when he steals into her bed-
chamber:

--Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! Fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets I That I might touch--
But kiss, one kiss--Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' th' taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see th' enclosed lights now canopied
Under the windows, white and azure, laced
With blue of Heav'ns own tinct--on her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip.

There is a moral sense in the proud beauty of this last image, a
rich surfeit of the fancy,--as that well--known passage beginning,
'Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained, and prayed me oft
forbearance,' sets a keener edge upon it by the inimitable picture
of modesty and self-denial.

The character of Cloten, the conceited, booby lord, and rejected
lover of Imogen, though not very agreeable in itself, and at present