Now let me sing, how she, who wounds your mind, With art, may be to cure your wounds inclined. Young nobles, to my laws attention lend; And all you, vulgar of my school, attend. First then believe, all women may be won; Attempt with confidence, the work is done. The grashopper shall first forbear to sing In summer season, or the birds in spring, Than women can resist your flattering skill; Even she will yield, who swears she never will. To secret pleasure both the sexes move; But women most, who most dissemble love. 'Twere best for us, if they would first declare, Avow their passion, and submit to prayer. The cow, by lowing, tells the bull her flame; The neighing mare invites her stallion to the game. Man is more temperate in his lust than they, And more than women can his passion sway. Biblis, we know, did first her love declare, And had recourse to death in her despair. Her brother she, her father Myrrha sought, And loved, but loved not as a daughter ought. Now from a tree she stills her odorous tears, Which yet the name of her who shed them bears. In Ida's shady vale a bull appeared, White as the snow, the fairest of the herd; A beauty-spot of black there only rose, } Betwixt his equal horns and ample brows; } The love and wish of all the Cretan cows. } The queen beheld him as his head he reared, And envied every leap he gave the herd; A secret fire she nourished in her breast, And hated every heifer he caressed. A story known, and known for true, I tell; Nor Crete, though lying, can the truth conceal. She cut him grass; (so much can Love command,) She stroked, she fed him with her royal hand; Was pleased in pastures with the herd to roam; And Minos by the bull was overcome. Cease, queen, with gems t'adorn thy beauteous brows; The monarch of thy heart no jewel knows. Nor in thy glass compose thy looks and eyes; Secure from all thy charms thy lover lies: Yet trust thy mirror, when it tells thee true; Thou art no heifer to allure his view. Soon would'st thou quit thy royal diadem To thy fair rivals, to be horned like them. If Minos please, no lover seek to find; If not, at least seek one of human kind. The wretched queen the Cretan court forsakes; In woods and wilds her habitation makes: She curses every beauteous cow she sees; Ah, why dost thou my lord and master please! And think'st, ungrateful creature as thou art, With frisking awkwardly, to gain his heart! She said, and straight commands, with frowning look, To put her, undeserving, to the yoke; Or feigns some holy rites of sacrifice, And sees her rival's death with joyful eyes: Then, when the bloody priest has done his part, Pleased, in her hand she holds the beating heart;