The Poetry Corner

Clerimont's Song

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 arts 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.