'Tis time enough if fiercely curb'd, To say, "She cannot be disturb'd." If your young Mistress be an heiress, 'Jimini!' what a chance then there is. If you don't get five hundred cool When she gets married, you're a fool. Ask where's the mortal can resist her? Though none can, like yourself, assist her, Yet make her fear that still you shan't, Unless you're call'd a '_confidante_.' Put her in mind she's rich enough To please herself,--has got the stuff; Can choose from all mankind her prize, Where'er she deigns to cast her eyes; That friends are apt to feign rebuke For _love_ bestow'd e'en on a Duke; That love's the dearest, sweetest thrall-- Almighty Love is all in all! That worlds of gentlemen complete Would die to languish at her feet; That spite of fortune, or of birth, "Love's--love's a heaven upon earth!" Then a long string of rhymes run o'er From Byron and 'dear Tommy Moore,' Wishing--so much you dote upon 'em-- That you could recollect 'more _on_ 'em.' Then while your rhapsody she blames, Though plain you've set her all in flames, Of which, when giving some intense sign, Tell her you know the sweetest Ensign, "Who'd bleed to death to own her sway Down on his knees, that very day." How to her honour 'twou'd redound, To give him forty thousand pound! Till in the dreams of 'sweet fifteen,' She feels half way to Gretna Green. Take care that ev'ry body know shall The sort of goods at your disposal; How great a favourite you are,-- Consulted with the utmost care. Oft to the Park a visit pay, The fellows will find out the way, And oftentimes, when much distrest, Confide their secrets to _your_ breast; There place a note,--away you bound! And fling it back upon the ground, Unless the truly sapient ninnies Shall with it lodge at least two guineas: Yet still, to make it seem more funny, Pretend you never found the money. You drop the note; your Lady'll find it, Is angry,--deuce a bit you mind it. Then swear, to make the joke the better, You never knew you had the letter; You only just remember this, A saucy fellow snatch'd a kiss, And must, without the 'slightest leave,' Have left it, 'somehow,' in your sleeve. Another way you yet can turn it; She needn't read it,--she can burn it. Not so: she'll just reverse the case, And burn some other in its place,-- Nay, howsoe'er she seem to frown, Swallow it whole, when you've gone down. Follow this rig with each fresh man, As often as you safely can; And make out him who _tips_ the best, More and more handsome than the rest. Indignant seem, if you detect A letter coming indirect: If thus a Footman interfere, Off with him! off! with flea in ear; Call him rogue! villain! 'out of place!'