Still to Be Neat, by Ben Jonson (1572 – 1637)

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 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.