Still to be neat, still to be drest

STILL to be neat, still to be drest,As you were going to a feast;Still to be powdered, still perfum'dLady, 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 th' adulteries of art;They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

1810 Edition.