XXXIV.

Not much he kens, I ween, of Woman's breast, Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs; What careth she for hearts when once possessed? Do proper homage to thine Idol's eyes; But not too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise ev'n tenderness, if thou art wise; Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes:[er] Pique her and soothe in turn--soon Passion crowns thy hopes.