There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip; Nay, her foot speaks.

Here comes the lady. O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.

And the prettiest foot! Oh, if a man could but fasten his eyes to her feet, as they steal in and out, and play at bo-peep under her petticoats!

The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands & feet Proportion.

It is a suggestive idea to track those worn feet backward through all the paths they have trodden ever since they were the tender and rosy little feet of a baby, and (cold as they now are) were kept warm in his mother's hand.

And feet like sunny gems on an English green.