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.
From “The Vision of Delight” BREAK, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud, And spread thy purple wings, Now all thy figures are allowed, And various shapes of things; Create of airy forms a stream, It must have blood, and naught of phlegm; And though it be a waking dream, Yet let it like an odor...
From the Greek of Philostratus From “The Forest” DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I ’ll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not...
See the chariot at hand here of Love! Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan, or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty. And, enamored, do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to...
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,...
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor Muse can praise too much.* * * * * Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My...
