on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with his deep sighs; But all this is but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to berhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not the morning’s eye, ’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow.