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.
The ideal present throughout Jonson’s poem is his preference over a woman who appears naturally, without make-up, and is accepting of her flaws. Compared to the polished woman who fears her imperfections. 
 These polished women, though they may appear more attractive on the surface, will only capture Jonson’s eyes compared to the natural woman they his heart desires.
Simplex Munditiis Still to be neat