_King_. Enough! the vast idea fills my soul.
I see them--yes, I see them now before me:
The monstrous, ugly, barb'rous sons of whores.
But ha! what form majestick strikes our eyes?
[1]So perfect, that it seems to have been drawn
By all the gods in council: so fair she is,
That surely at her birth the council paused,
And then at length cry'd out, This is a woman!

[Footnote 1: Mr Lee hath stolen this thought from our author:

This perfect face, drawn by the gods in council,
Which they were long a making.--_Luc. Jun. Brut_.

--At his birth the heavenly council paused,
And then at last cry'd out, This is a man!

Dryden hath improved this hint to the utmost perfection:

So perfect, that the very gods who form'd you wonder'd
At their own skill, and cry'd, A lucky hit
Has mended our design! Their envy hindered,
Or you had been immortal, and a pattern,
When Heaven would work for ostentation sake,
To copy out again.--_All for Love_.

Banks prefers the works of Michael Angelo to that of the gods: