...human, composed of the proportionality of beautiful members, these beauties are not so mortal, nor so quickly destroyed, as music is; rather they have long permanence, and let themselves be seen and considered, and are not reborn, as music is in much playing; nor do they induce weariness in you — rather they enamour you, and are the cause that all the senses together with the eye would wish to possess them, and it seems they wish to contend in rivalry with the eye. It seems the mouth would wish it for itself within the body; the ear takes pleasure in hearing its beauties; the sense of touch would wish to penetrate it through all its pores; the nose too would wish to receive the air that continually breathes from it. But the beauty of such harmony, time in a few years destroys; which does not happen in such beauty imitated by the painter, because time long preserves it, and the eye, as to its office, takes the true pleasure of such painted beauty as it would in living beauty. It lacks only touch, which makes itself the elder brother in that same moment — which, once it has had its intent, does not impede the reason from considering the divine beauty. And in this case painting, imitated from that beauty, in great part supplies what the discretion of the poet cannot supply; who in this case wishes to make himself equal to the painter, but does not perceive that his words, in making mention of the members of such beauty, time divides one from another, and interposes oblivion, and divides the proportions, which he cannot name without great prolixity. And, not being able to name them, he cannot compose their harmonic proportionality,