"Still to Be Neat"
by
Ben Jonson
Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed;
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though
art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing,
hair as free;
Such sweet
neglect more taketh me
Then all th'
adulteries of art.
They strike mine eyes, but not my
heart.