_Impertinence, my Sex’s shame,_ _That has so long my Life pursu’d,_ _You with such Modesty reclaim,_ _As all the Women has subdu’d._ _To so Divine a Power what must I owe,_ _That renders me so like the perfect You?_ _That conversable Thing I hate,_ _Already, with a just Disdain,_ _That prides himself upon his Prate,_ _And is, of Words, that Nonsense, vain:_ _When in your few appears such Excellence,_ _As have reproach’d, and charm’d me into Sense._ _For ever may I list’ning sit,_ _Tho’ but each Hour a Word be born;_ _I would attend the coming Wit,_ _And bless what can so well inform._ _Let the dull World henceforth to Words be damn’d;_ _I’m into nobler Sense than Talking sham’d._ I believe you are so good a Lover, as to be of my Opinion; and that you will neither force your self against Nature, nor find much occasion to lavish out those excellent things that must proceed from you, whenever you speak. If all Women were like me, I should have more reason to fear your Silence than your Talk: for you have a thousand ways to charm without speaking, and those which to me shew a great deal more Concern. But, _Damon_, you know the greatest part of my Sex judge the fine Gentleman by the Volubility of his Tongue, by his Dexterity in Repartee, and cry--_Oh! he never wants fine things to say: He’s eternally talking the most surprizing things._ But, _Damon_, you are well assur’d, I hope, that _Iris_ is none of these _Coquets_: at least, if she had any spark of it once in her Nature, she is by the excellency of your contrary Temper taught to know, and scorn the folly: And take heed your Conduct never give me cause to suspect you have deceiv’d me in your Temper. TWELVE o’.LOCK. _Complaisance._ Nevertheless, _Damon_, Civility requires a little Complaisance after Supper; and I am assur’d, you can never want that, tho’ I confess, you are not accus’d of too general a Complaisance, and do not often make use of it to those Persons you have an Indifference for: tho’ one is not the less esteemable for having more of this than one ought: and tho’ an excess of it be a Fault, ‘tis a very excusable one. Have therefore some for those with whom you are: You may laugh with ‘em, drink with ‘em, dance or sing with ‘em; yet think of me. You may discourse of a thousand indifferent things with ‘em; and at the same time still think of me. If the Subject be any beautiful Lady, whom they praise, either for her Person, Wit, or Virtue, you may apply it to me: And if you dare not say it aloud, at least, let your Heart answer in this language: _Yes, the fair Object, whom you praise,_ _Can give us Love a thousand ways;_ _Her Wit and Beauty charming are;_ _But still my_ Iris _is more fair._