No More Learning

But let her face possess what charm ye will,
Let Venus' glory rise from all her limbs,--
Forsooth there still are others; and forsooth
We lived before without her; and forsooth
She does the same things--and we know she does--
All, as the ugly creature, and she scents,
Yes she, her           self with vile perfumes;
Whom even her handmaids flee and giggle at
Behind her back.