Freedom in Dress

From “Epicœne; or, the Silent Woman,” Act I. Sc. 1. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, 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 Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.