"Do more bewitch me than when art/is too precise in every part" (979). This line is from "Delight in Disorder" by Robert Herrick. The pattern of this poem is a sonnet, but one that Shakespeare would write, not like a normal sonnet. The man in the poem is talking about how a woman looks. He describes everything about her in the first 12 lines. Then, in the last two he says that when there is a little bit of disarray to something, in this case a woman, it is much more beautiful that perfection. I think I agree with him. When things are too perfect, they're almost off-putting in a way. When there's a flaw, it becomes much more approachable and comparable to ourselves.