. a plague of her autumnal face, her pieced beauty! there's no man can be admitted till she be ready, now-a-days, till she has painted, and perfumed, and washed, and scoured, but the boy here; and him she wipes her oiled lips upon, like a sponge. i have made a song (i pray thee hear it) on the subject. [page sings. 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; l they strike mine'eyes,.not.]y heart. truc. and i am clearly on the other side: i love a good e dressing before any beauty o' the world. oh, a woman is then! like a delicate garden; nor is there one kind of it; she may vary every hour; take often counsel of her glass, and choose the best. if she have good ears, shew them; good hair, lay it out; good legs, wear short clothes; a good hand, discover it often: practice any art to mend breath, cleanse teeth, repair eye-brows paint, and profess it.