True poets but paint the charms which all eyes behold.

The vicious would be vicious without them." "My lord Media," impetuously resumed Yoomy, "I am sensible of a thousand sweet, merry fancies, limpid with innocence; yet my enemies account them all lewd conceits." "There be those in Mardi," said Babbalanja, "who would never ascribe evil to others, did they not find it in their own hearts; believing none can be different from themselves." "My lord, my lord!" cried Yoomy.

"The air that breathes my music from me is a mountain air! Purer than others am I; for though not a woman, I feel in me a woman's soul." "Ah, have done, silly Yoomy," said Media.

"Thou art becoming flighty, even as Babbalanja, when Azzageddi is uppermost." "Thus ever: ever thus!" sighed Yoomy.

"They comprehend us not." "Nor me," said Babbalanja.