Artemisia
IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. EARL OF DORSET
Though Artemisia talks, by fits,Of councils, classics, fathers, wits;Reads Malebranche, 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 prideAre oddly 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 whiteA prating thing, a magpie height,Majestically stalk;A stately, worthless animal,That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,All flutter, pride, and talk.
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