Tho' Artemisia talks, by fits, br Of councils, classics, fathers, wits; br Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke; br Yet in some things methinks she fails, br 'Twere well if she would pare her nails, br And wear a cleaner smock. br br Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride, br Such nastiness, and so much pride br Are oddly join'd by fate: br On her large squab you find her spread, br Like a fat corpse upon a bed, br That lies and stinks in state. br br She wears no colours (sign of grace) br On any part except her face; br All white and black beside: br Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, br Her voice theatrically loud, br And masculine her stride. br br So have I seen, in black and white br A prating thing, a Magpye hight, br Majestically stalk; br A stately, worthless animal, br That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, br All flutter, pride, and talk.