Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd, Lady, it is to be presum'd, 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 Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
After he had administer'd a dose Of snuff mundungus to his nose; And powder'd th' inside of his skull, Instead of th' outward jobbernol, He shook it with a scornful look On th' adversary, and thus he spoke.
Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast, Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd. Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.Ben Jonson
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