Where centres all of beauty and of grace,
      And where in concord sweet
      Goodness and beauty meet,
    And purity hath fixed its dwelling-place. 
      Creature so heavenly fair,
      May any mortal genius dare,
      Or less than tongue divine,
    To praise in lofty, rare, and sounding line?

ANDREW

    To praise in lofty, rare, and sounding line
      Thy name, gitana bright! 
      Earth’s wonder and delight,
    Worthy above the empyrean vault to shine;
      Fain would I snatch from Fame
      The trump and voice, whose loud acclaim
      Should startle every ear,
    And lift Preciosa’s name to the eighth sphere.

CLEMENT

    To lift Preciosa’s fame to the eighth sphere
      Were meet and fit, that so
      The heavens new joy might know
    Through all their shining courts that name to hear,
      Which on this earth doth sound
      Like music spreading gladness round,
      Breathing with charm intense
    Peace to the soul and rapture to the sense.

It seemed as though the freeman and the captive were in no haste to bring their tuneful contest to conclusion, had not the voice of Preciosa, who had overheard them, sounded from behind in response to theirs.  They stopped instantly, and remained listening to her in breathless attention.  Whether her words were delivered impromptu, or had been composed some time before, I know not; however that may be, she sang the following lines with infinite grace, as though they were made for the occasion.

    While in this amorous emprise
      An equal conflict I maintain,
      ’Tis higher glory to remain
    Pure maid, than boast the brightest eyes.

    The humblest plant on which we tread,
      If sound and straight it grows apace,
      By aid of nature or of grace
    May rear aloft towards heaven its head.

    In this my lowly poor estate,
      By maiden honour dignified,
      No good wish rests unsatisfied;
    Their wealth I envy not the great.

    I find not any grief or pain
      In lack of love or of esteem;
      For I myself can shape, I deem,
    My fortunes happy in the main.

    Let me but do what in me lies
      The path of rectitude to tread;
      And then be welcomed on this head
    Whatever fate may please the skies.

    I fain would know if beauty hath
      Such high prerogative, to raise
      My mind above the common ways,
    And set me on a loftier path.

    If equal in their souls they be,
      The humblest hind on earth may vie
      In honest worth and virtue high
    With one of loftiest degree.

    What inwardly I feel of mine
      Doth raise me all that’s base above;
      For majesty, be sure, and love
    Do not on common soil recline.