Page 37

#35 small

Page 37

Transcription:  Fie, Mister Shandy! – What face canst thou hope to find in such a mirror, save thine own?  Dost thou not know, a thousand Beauties may be gathered from a thousand noddles, yet sure as sunrise, still be missing one? Which is, what I might be, that is not comprised under that monarchic head, Beauty.  For women, sir, are not a spiritless Dough, mere matter in shapes pleasing or shapes lumpish, but are ourselves full as hobby-horsical as you, – Like you, by turns parsonical, pharaonical, ironical, and doubtless other things –onical besides, – Are tossed like you without a pause between reason and animal spirits. – The animal spirits at this moment predominating, pray stand a little closer to the Glass, yourself – Closer – Hmm – Closer – Alas! The view is clouded by your eager breath

Materials used: Inkjet cartridge, one sheet of white printer paper and the conjured phantom of Widow Wadman

Other information:


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