Ben Jonson (Бен Джонсон)

Still to Be Neat

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 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 make 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. 

1. To the Reader
2. On the Union
3. To Brainhardy
4. To My Book
5. On Lieutenant Shift

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2150

Последние стихотворения

To English version