Volume I Part 81 (1/2)
Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung, Not she denied him with unholy tongue; She, while apostles shrank, could dangers brave, Last at the cross and earliest at the grave.
Eaton Stannard Barrett [1786-1820]
WOMAN
There in the fane a beauteous creature stands, The first best work of the Creator's hands, Whose slender limbs inadequately bear A full-orbed bosom and a weight of care; Whose teeth like pearls, whose lips like cherries, show, And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow.
From the Sanskrit of Calidasa
SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS From ”Epicoene”
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 the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Ben Jonson [1573?-1637]
DELIGHT IN DISORDER
A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher: A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly: A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat: A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility: Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.
Robert Herrick [1591-1674]
A PRAISE OF HIS LADY
Give place, you ladies, and begone!
Boast not yourselves at all!
For here at hand approacheth one Whose face will stain you all.
The virtue of her lively looks Excels the precious stone; I wish to have none other books To read or look upon.
In each of her two crystal eyes Smileth a naked boy; It would you all in heart suffice To see that lamp of joy.
I think Nature hath lost the mould Where she her shape did take; Or else I doubt if Nature could So fair a creature make.
She may be well compared Unto the Phoenix kind, Whose like was never seen nor heard, That any man can find.
In life she is Diana chaste, In truth Penelope; In word and eke in deed steadfast.
What will you more we say?
If all the world were sought so far, Who could find such a wight?