“ ‘Oh raise, fair nymph, your beauteous face above The waves, nor scorn my presents and my love. Come, Galatea, come, and view my face; I late beheld it in the watery glass, And found it lovelier than I fear’d it was. Survey my towering stature, and my size: Not Jove, the Jove you dream that rules the skies, Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread: My locks (the plenteous harvest of my head) Hang o’er my manly face, and dangling down, As with a shady grove, my shoulders crown: Nor think, because my limbs and body bear A thickset underwood of bristling hair, My shape deform’d; what fouler sight can be Than the bald branches of a leafless tree? Foul is the steed without a flowing mane, And birds without their feathers and their train. Wool decks the sheep, and man receives a grace From bushy limbs, and from a bearded face: My forehead with a single eye is fill’d, Round as a ball, and ample as a shield; The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun, Is nature’s eye, and she’s content with one: Add, that my father sways your seas, and I,