I was a king, as this crest shows; but a filthy life Cast me down from that height and made me an unclean bird.

I was a king—my crown bears witness— But my filthiness has brought me to this.

Their blindness is every bit as great and apparent as their weakness and infatuation—or rather, it is an inseparable companion and a usual sign of it. Love is blind, as the saying goes. Cupid is blind, and so are all his followers.

Whoever loves a frog thinks that frog is Diana.

Every lover admires his mistress, though in herself she may be utterly misshapen, ugly, wrinkled, pimply, pale, red, yellow, tanned or tallow-faced; have a swollen face like a juggler’s platter, or a thin, lean, pinched face; have blemishes on her face; be crooked, dried up, bald, goggle-eyed, bleary-eyed or staring like a squeezed cat; always hold her head crookedly; look heavy, dull and hollow-eyed, with black or yellow around her eyes; or be cross-eyed, sparrow-mouthed, Persian hook-nosed, with a sharp fox’s nose, a red nose, a great flat Chinese nose, “a snub and spreading nose,” a nose like a promontory; have jutting teeth, rotten teeth, black, uneven or brown teeth; beetling brows, a witch’s beard, breath that stinks throughout the room and a nose that drips winter and summer;

with a Bavarian goitre beneath her chin, a sharp chin, hanging ears and a long crane’s neck that also stands crookedly; “with hanging breasts,” her teats like two double-sized jugs—or, at the opposite extreme, no breasts at all; have fingers swollen with blood, filthy long untrimmed nails, scabby hands or wrists, tanned skin, a rotten body and a crooked back; stoop, limp, turn her feet out; be as slim in the middle as a cow at the waist; have gouty legs, ankles bulging over her shoes, stinking feet and lice; be an outright changeling, a monster, a malformed changeling, her whole body reeking;

have a harsh voice, uncouth gestures and an ugly walk; be a huge virago or an ugly little creature, a sluggish lump, a fat lumbering woman, a squat bundle, a long lean bag of bones, a skeleton or a sneaking thing (“if anything is hidden, imagine it better”); and in your judgement look like a turd in a lantern, someone you could not fancy for the world, but hate and loathe, in whose face you would spit or whose bosom you would blow your nose in—“a cure for love” to another man—a dowdy, a slattern, a scold, a nasty, rank hussy, stinking like a ram, filthy and beastly, perhaps unchaste, obscene, low, beggarly, rude, foolish, ignorant, perverse, a daughter of Irus, sister of Thersites, pupil of Grobian: once he loves her, he admires her despite all this, noticing none of these faults or imperfections of body or mind.

These very things delight him, as Agna’s nasal polyp delighted Balbinus.

He would rather have her than any woman in the world. If he were a king, she alone would be his queen, his empress. If only he had the wealth and treasure of both the Indies to bestow upon her, a shipload of diamonds, a chain of pearls, a jewelled necklace—a pair of calfskin gloves costing fourpence would be more fitting—or some such trinket to send as a love-token! She would have it with all his heart. He would spend tens of thousands of crowns for her sake. Venus herself, Panthea, Cleopatra, Tarquin’s Tanaquil, Herod’s Mariamne or Mary of Burgundy, if she were alive, could not match her.

She will surpass the face of Tyndareus’s daughter, Which set dreadful wars in motion.

Let Paris himself judge: renowned Helen falls short. That Rhodopean Phyllis, Larissaean Coronis, Babylonian Thisbe, Polyxena, Laura, Lesbia and the rest—your imagined ladies were never as beautiful as she is.

Whatever there is of gentleness, charm, grace and wit, You embody, a living Pandora of all the gods.

Whatever is pretty, pleasant, witty, good, Whatever Pandora possessed, she surpasses.

I used to say that the beauty of Diana of the crossroads was nothing.

Diana could not compare with her, nor Juno, Minerva or any goddess. Thetis’s feet were bright as silver, Hebe’s ankles clearer than crystal, Aurora’s arms rosy as the rose, Juno’s breasts white as snow; Minerva was wise, Venus beautiful. But what of that? Come to me, my sweet one. She is everything in one:

Celia laughing Is Venus; walking, Juno; speaking, Minerva.

Fairest of the fair, surpassing beauty itself.

Ephemerus in Aristaenetus so admires his mistress’s fine qualities that he proclaims them and challenges all comers on her behalf. “Whoever has seen the beauties of the East or West, let them come from every quarter, all of them, and say truthfully whether they ever saw beauty as excellent as this.” A fellow in Petronius cries out that no tongue can describe or express his lady’s lovely appearance: “Whatever you say will fall short.”

No tongue can describe her perfections; On each part of her all tongues could dwell.

Most of your lovers share his disposition and opinion. She is “second to none,” a rare creature, a phoenix, the sole ruler of his thoughts, queen of his desires, his only delight—as the lovesick sea-god Triton now sings with feeling:

Fair Leucothe pleases me, and dark Melaene pleases me, But Galatea alone pleases me far more than all the rest.

Fair Leucothe and dark Melaene please me well, But Galatea far surpasses all the rest.

All the flattering praises, metaphors and extravagant comparisons with the best things in the world, all the most glorious names—everything, I say, that is pleasant, lovable, sweet, delightful and delicious—are too little for her: