But whosoever you are who have a care to retain the fair, cause her to believe that you are enchanted with her beauty. If she is in Tyrian costume, praise the dress of Tyrian hue; [945] if she is in that of Cos, [946] consider the Coan habit as becoming. Is she arrayed in gold, let her be more precious in your eyes than gold itself: if she wears a dress of felt, [947] praise the felt dress that she wears. Does she stand before you in her tunic, exclaim, "You are setting me on fire;" [948] but entreat her, with a voice of anxiety, to beware of the cold. Is the parting of her hair nicely arranged; praise the parting of it; has she curled her hair by aid of the fire: curled locks, do you prove the attraction. As she dances, admire her arms, her voice as she sings; and use the words of one complaining because she has left off. Her very embraces [949] you may commend, on the points that please yourself; and with murmuring accents you may signify your delight. Though she be more fierce than the grim Medusa; to her lover she will become gentle and kind. Only, take you care that you be not discovered to be a deceiver in these expressions; and by your looks do not contradict your words. If devices are concealed, they are of use; when discovered, they cause shame, and deservedly remove confidence for all future time. Often, at the approach of autumn (when the year is most beauteous, and the filled grape is growing red with its purple juice; at the time when at one moment we are chilled with cold, at another we are melted with heat), through the varying temperature a languor takes possession of the body. She, indeed, may be in good health; but if, through illness she keeps her bed, and, ailing, feels the bad effects of the weather, then let your love and affection be proved to the fair; then sow, that hereafter with the sickle of abundance you may reap. Let no disgust at her malady, that renders her so cross, come upon you: by your hands too, let whatever she will permit, be done. And let her see you as you weep; and be not tired of giving her kisses; and with her parched lips let her dry up your tears. Make many a vow for her cure, but all before her: and as often as she will permit, be seeing pleasant visions to tell her of. Let the old woman come, [950] too, to purify her couch and chamber; and in her palsied hand let her carry before her the sulphur and the eggs. In all these things there will be traces of a pleasing attention; for many a one has this road proved a path to another man's will. But still, let not loathing on the part of the sick fair be the result of your officiousness; let there be certain limits shown in your careful attentiveness. Do not you forbid her food, nor administer the cups with the bitter draught; let your rival mingle those.