Page 1400 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

PIRITHOUS

When he speaks, his tongue
Sounds like a trumpet; all his lineaments
Are as a man would wish ’em, strong and clean;

He wears a well-steeled axe, the staff of gold; [115]
His age some five-and-twenty.

MESSENGER
There’s another,
A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming
As great as any; fairer promises

In such a body yet I never looked on.

PIRITHOUS

O, he that’s freckle-faced?

MESSENGER
The same, my lord. [120]
Are they not sweet ones?

PIRITHOUS
Yes, they are well.

MESSENGER
Methinks,

Being so few and well disposed, they show
Great and fine art in Nature. He’s white-haired,
Not wanton white, but such a manly colour
Next to an auburn; tough and nimble-set, [125]

Which shows an active soul; his arms are brawny,
Lined with strong sinews; to the shoulder-piece
Gently they swell, like women new-conceived,
Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting

Under the weight of arms; stout-hearted, still, [130]
But when he stirs, a tiger; he’s grey-eyed,
Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp
To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em,

He’s swift to make ’em his; he does no wrongs,