"It is not enough in this late year of grace To answer fools with their own foolishness-- Rather with your best wisdom. You will need Your folly to perplex some wiser head. And so my maxim is, whatever least Women expect, that thing will serve you best. Thus, with young souls in their first unfledged years, Ask their opinion as philosophers: Consult their knowledge in the ways of life. The repute of sin will please a too chaste wife. Your deference keep for harlots: these you touch Best by your modesty, which makes them blush. With a proud beauty deal out insolence, And bear her fence down with a stronger fence. She will be angry, but a softer cheek Turn to the smiter who has proved her weak. And so with wisdom: meet it with surprise, Laugh at it idly gazing in its eyes, Leave it no solid ground for its fair feet, And lead it lightly where love's waters meet. Even virtue--virtue of the noblest type, The fair sad woman, whose romance is ripe, Needs but a little knowledge to be led, Perhaps less than the rest if truth be said. You must not parley with her. Words are vain, And you might wake some half forgotten pain. Avoid her soul. It is a place too strong For your assaulting, and a siege were long. Others have failed before it. Touch it not, But march beyond, nor fire a single shot. The fields of pleasure less defended lie: These are your vantage-ground for victory. Strike boldly for possession and command; An hour may win it, if you hold her hand. I knew one once:"... I would have stopped him here But for the shame which held me prisoner; And his undaunted reassuring smile, Commanding confidence. "I knew once on a while," He said, "a woman whom the world called proud, A saintly soul, untouched by the vain crowd, Who had survived all battle, siege, and sack, Love ever led with armies at his back, Yet fell at last to the mere accident Of a chance meeting, for another meant: Her lover had not dared it, had he known, But faces in the dark are all as one. You know the rhyme." But at this point I rose, Fearing what worse his folly might disclose, And having learned my lesson of romance, A sadder man and wiser for the chance, Bade him good night: (it was in truth good-bye, For pretexting next morning some small lie Of business calling me in haste to town, I fled the house). He looked me up and down, Yawned, rose to light his candle at the lamp, Pressed with warm hand my own hand which was damp, And as he sauntered cheerily to bed, I heard him sing--they linger in my head-- The first staves of a ballad, then the fashion With the young bloods who shape their love and passion At the music-halls of the Metropolis; What I remember of the song was this: