She hugs thee close, and kisses thee to buy:-- 'Tis what I want, and 'tis a pen'orth too; In many years I will not trouble you.-- If you complain you have no ready coin; No matter, 'tis but writing of a line, A little bill, not to be paid at sight; Now curse the time when thou wert taught to write! She keeps her birth-day; you must send the chear; And she'll be born a hundred times a year. With daily lies she dribs thee into cost; That ear-ring dropt a stone, that ring is lost. They often borrow what they never pay, Whate'er you lend her, think it thrown away. Had I ten mouths and tongues to tell each art, All would be wearied ere I told a part. By letters, not by words, thy love begin; And ford the dangerous passage with thy pen. If to her heart thou aim'st to find the way, Extremely flatter, and extremely pray. Priam by prayers did Hector's body gain; Nor is an angry God invoked in vain. With promised gifts her easy mind bewitch; For e'en the poor in promise may be rich. Vain hopes awhile her appetite will stay, 'Tis a deceitful, but commodious way. Who gives is mad; but make her still believe 'Twill come, and that's the cheapest way to give. E'en barren lands fair promises afford; But the lean harvest cheats the starving lord. Buy not thy first enjoyment, lest it prove Of bad example to thy future love: But get it gratis, and she'll give thee more, For fear of losing what she gave before. The losing gamester shakes the box in vain, And bleeds, and loses on, in hopes to gain. Write then, and in thy letter, as I said, Let her with mighty promises be fed. Cydippe by a letter was betrayed, Writ on an apple to the unwary maid. She read herself into a marriage-vow; (And every cheat in love the gods allow.) Learn eloquence, ye noble youth of Rome; It will not only at the bar o'ercome: Sweet words the people and the senate move; But the chief end of eloquence is love. But in thy letter hide thy moving arts; Affect not to be thought a man of parts. None but vain fools to simple women preach; A learned letter oft has made a breach. In a familiar style your thoughts convey, And write such things as present you would say; Such words as from the heart may seem to move; 'Tis wit enough, to make her think you love. If sealed she sends it back, and will not read, Yet hope, in time, the business may succeed. In time the steer will to the yoke submit; In time the restive horse will bear the bitt; Even the hard plough-share use will wear away, And stubborn steel in length of time decay. Water is soft, and marble hard; and yet We see soft water through hard marble eat. Though late, yet Troy at length in flames expired; And ten years more Penelope had tired. Perhaps thy lines unanswered she retained;