I know there are some fools that care

Not for the body, so the face be fair;

Some others, too, that in a female creature

Respect not beauty, but a comely feature;

And others, too, that for those parts in sight

Care not so much, so that the rest be right.

Each man his humour hath, and, faith, ’tis mine

To love that woman which I now define.

First I would have her wainscot foot and hand

More wrinkled far than any pleated band,

That in those furrows, if I’d take the pains,

I might both sow and reap all sorts of grains:

Her nose I’d have a foot long, not above,

With pimples embroider’d, for those I love;

And at the end a comely pearl of snot,

Considering whether it should fall or not:

Provided, next, that half her teeth be out,

Nor do I care much if her pretty snout

Meet with her furrow’d chin, and both together

Hem in her lips, as dry as good whit-leather:

One wall-eye she shall have, for that’s a sign

In other beasts the best: why not in mine?

Her neck I’ll have to be pure jet at least,

With yellow spots enamell’d; and her breast,

Like a grasshopper’s wing, both thin and lean,

Not to be toucht for dirt, unless swept clean:

As for her belly, ’tis no matter, so

There be a belly, and a cunt below;

Yet, if you will, let it be something high,

And always let there be a timpany.

But soft! where am I now? here I should stride,

Lest I fall in, the place must be so wide,

And pass unto her thighs, which shall be just

Like to an ant’s that’s scraping in the dust:

Into her legs I’d have love’s issues fall,

And all her calf into a gouty small:

Her foot both thick and eagle-like display’d,

The symptoms of a comely, handsome maid.

As for her parts behind, I ask no more:

If they but answer those that are before,

I have my utmost wish; and, having so,

Judge whether I am happy, yea or no.