Pope gives us a savage sketch of a certain Artemisia, a woman who loves to parade her learning. She name-drops philosophers, chatters about councils and classics, yet can't be bothered to trim her nails or put on clean linen. The speaker finds her blend of arrogance and squalor grotesquely comic, comparing her to a massive, haughty German bride and then to a fat corpse sprawled on a bed, rotting in ceremonial dignity. She paints only her face, leaving the rest of her a study in unwashed black and white. Her stare is bold, her gestures imperious, her voice theatrically loud, and she walks with a swaggering, mannish stride. The final image cuts deepest: she's nothing but a magpie—a prating, strutting thing, all flutter and noise, stately yet worthless. The mood is one of disgusted amusement, a cold-eyed mockery that invites you to laugh at a person too proud to notice how repulsive she really is.
Artemisia. — Summary
IMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. EARL OF DORSET
Though Artemisia talks, by fits, Of councils, classics, fathers, wits; Reads Malebranche, Boyle, and Locke: Yet in some things methinks she fails-- 'Twere well if she would pare her nails, And wear a cleaner smock.
Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride, Such nastiness, and so much pride Are oddly join'd by fate: On her large squab you find her spread, Like a fat corpse upon a bed, That lies and stinks in state.
She wears no colours (sign of grace) On any part except her face; All white and black beside: Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, Her voice theatrically loud, And masculine her stride.
So have I seen, in black and white A prating thing, a magpie height, Majestically stalk; A stately, worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk.