Tho' Artimesia talks, by Fits, Of Councils, Classicks, Fathers, Wits; Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke: Yet in some Things methinks she fails, 'Twere well if she would pare her Nails, And wear a cleaner Smock. Haughty and huge as High-Dutch Bride, Such Nastiness and so much Pride Are odly join'd by Fate: On her large Squab you find her spread, Like a fat Corpse upon a Bed, That lies and stinks in State. She wears no Colours (sign of Grace) On any Part except her Face; All white and black beside: Dauntless her Look, her Gesture proud, Her Voice theatrically loud, And masculine her Stride. So have I seen, in black and white A prating Thing, a Magpy height, Majestically stalk; A stately, worthless Animal, That plies the Tongue, and wags the Tall, All Flutter, Pride, and Talk. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OSCAR HUMMEL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HENRY MOORE'S STATUE AT LINCOLN CENTER by KAREN SWENSON PLEASURE MIXED WITH PAIN by THOMAS WYATT SHELLEY'S SKYLARK by THOMAS HARDY AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN REDBEAST by SAMUEL ROGERS |