Simplex Munditiis by Ben Jonson (1572-1637) Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdr'd, 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 th' adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.