The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne, Burn’d on the water; the poop was beaten gold, Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that The winds were love-sick with them, the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggar’d all description; she did lie In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue, O’er-picturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature; on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour’d fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid did.
Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, Act II Scene II
ceu solium splendens, cymba in qua desidet illa ignivomis flammis fluminis urit aquas. aureola est puppis, perfragrans purpura veli, auraque cuncta calet languida amore fero. palmula et argento pallebat plurima puro; omnis et e calami carmine mota simul. tacta brevi remis, remos cito lympha secuta est, contingi rursus remigio cupiens. illa sub auratis aulaeis aurea fusa; depingi dictis sed satis illa nequit. scis Venerem in tabulis naturam vincere vafris: ast ab regina vincitur illa Venus. sunt pueri pulchra facie parvisque lacunis. quisque habitu nitido nempe videtur Amor. subrident semper varias vibrantque tabellas. hi circum dominam stant teneram teneri. illius os perque hos ventis frigetque caletque; infectum faciunt quod pariter faciunt. [End Page 71]