Still to Be Neat

By Ben Johnson (1572-1637)


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.