Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast:
Still to be poud'red, 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 looke, give me a face,
That makes simplicitie a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' adulteries of art,
That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
THE WEAVER'S SONG
ANONYMOUS
When Hercules did use to spin,
And Pallas wrought upon the loom,
Our trade to flourish did begin,
While conscience went not selling broom;
Then love and friendship did agree
To keep the bands of amity.
When princes' sons kept sheep in field,
And queens made cakes of wheated flour,
The men to lucre did not yield,
Which brought good cheer in every bower;
Then love and friendship ...
But when the Gyants huge and high,
Did fight with spears like weavers' beams,
Then they in iron beds did lye,
And brought poor men to hard extreams;
Yet love and friendship ...
Then David took his sling and stone,
Not fearing great Goliah's strength,
He pierc't his brains, and broke the bone,
Though he were fifty foot of length;
For love and friendship ...
But while the Greeks besiegèd Troy,
Penelope apace did spin;
And weavers wrought with mickle joy,
Though little gains were coming in;
For love and friendship ...