English poem
BALLAD. (The ladies' faces, now adays)
by Anonymous
The ladies' faces, now adays, Are various as their humours, And on complexions oft we gaze, Brought home from the perfumers.
For, hid as it were beneath a cloak, The beauty's false that wins you, Then pardon me, by way of joke, If I prefer my Dingy.
A handkerchief can rub away Your roses and your lilies; The more you rub, the more you may, My Dingy, dingy still is.
Besides, her hair is black as jet, Her eyes are gems from India; Rail as you list then, I shall yet, For joke's sake, love poor Dingy.
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