Is a man blasted or planet-stricken, and is the dog that leads blind
Cupid; when he is at the best his fashion exceeds the worth of his
weight. He is never without verses and musk confects, and sighs to the
hazard of his buttons. His eyes are all white, either to wear the livery
of his mistress' complexion or to keep Cupid from hitting the black. He
fights with passion, and loseth much of his blood by his weapon; dreams,
thence his paleness. His arms are carelessly used, as if their best use
was nothing but embracements. He is untrussed, unbuttoned, and
ungartered, not out of carelessness, but care; his farthest end being
but going to bed. Sometimes he wraps his petition in neatness, but he
goeth not alone; for then he makes some other quality moralise his
affection, and his trimness is the grace of that grace. Her favour lifts
him up as the sun moisture; when she disfavours, unable to hold that
happiness, it falls down in tears. His fingers are his orators, and he
expresseth much of himself upon some instrument. He answers not, or not
to the purpose, and no marvel, for he is not at home. He scotcheth time
with dancing with his mistress, taking up of her glove, and wearing her
feather; he is confined to her colour, and dares not pass out of the
circuit of her memory. His imagination is a fool, and it goeth in a pied
coat of red and white. Shortly, he is translated out of a man into
folly; his imagination is the glass of lust, and himself the traitor to
his own discretion.