From Tamburlaine the Great, Part One ("What is Beauty? saith my sufferings, then")

What is Beauty? saith my sufferings then,If all the pens that poets ever heldHad fed the feeling of their master's thoughts,And every sweetness that inspired their hearts,Their minds, and muses on admired themes,If all the heavenly quintessence they stillFrom their immortal flowers of Poesy,Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceiveThe highest reaches of a human wit,If these had made one poem's periodAnd all combined in Beauty's worthiness,Yet should there hover in their restless headsOne thought, one grace, one wonder at the least,Which into words no virtue can digest.