But best of all is that fine book of the
Ars Amatoria that Ovid has set aside for the consideration of dyes,
perfumes, and pomades. Written by an artist who knew the allurement of
the toilet and understood its philosophy, it remains without rival as
a treatise upon Artifice. It is more than a poem, it is a manual; and
if there be left in England any lady who cannot read Latin in the
original, she will do well to procure a discreet translation. In the
Bodleian Library there is treasured the only known copy of a very
poignant and delightful rendering of this one book of Ovid's
masterpiece. It was made by a certain Wye Waltonstall, who lived in
the days of Elizabeth, and, seeing that he dedicated it to `the
Vertuous Ladyes and Gentlewomen of Great Britain,' I am sure that the
gallant writer, could he know of our great renaissance of cosmetics,
would wish his little work to be placed once more within their reach.
`Inasmuch as to you, ladyes and gentlewomen,' so he writes in his
queer little dedication, `my booke of pigments doth first addresse
itself, that it may kisse your hands and afterward have the lines
thereof in reading sweetened by the odour of your breath, while the
dead letters formed into words by your divided lips may receive new
life by your passionate expression, and the words marryed in that Ruby
coloured temple may thus happily united, multiply your contentment.
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