spectacled

All tongues speak of him , and the blearèd sights
Are spectacled to see him . Your prattling nurse
Into a rapture lets her baby cry
While she chats him . The kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram ’bout her reechy neck ,
Clamb’ring the walls to eye him . Stalls , bulks ,
windows
Are smothered up , leads filled , and ridges horsed
With variable complexions , all agreeing
In earnestness to see him . Seld-shown flamens
Do press among the popular throngs and puff
To win a vulgar station . Our veiled dames
Commit the war of white and damask in
Their nicely-gauded cheeks to th’ wanton spoil
Of Phoebus’ burning kisses . Such a pother ,
As if that whatsoever god who leads him
Were slyly crept into his human powers
And gave him graceful posture .