Now here we should distinguish; for howe'er Kisses, sweet words, embraces, and all that, May look like what it is--neither here nor there,[gi] They are put on as easily as a hat, Or rather bonnet, which the fair sex wear, Trimmed either heads or hearts to decorate, Which form an ornament, but no more part Of heads, than their caresses of the heart. XV. A slight blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind Of gentle feminine delight, and shown More in the eyelids than the eyes, resigned Rather to hide what pleases most unknown, Are the best tokens (to a modest mind)[gj] Of Love, when seated on his loveliest throne, A sincere woman's breast,--for over-_warm_ Or over-_cold_ annihilates the charm. XVI. For over-warmth, if false, is worse than truth; If true, 't is no great lease of its own fire; For no one, save in very early youth, Would like (I think) to trust all to desire, Which is but a precarious bond, in sooth, And apt to be transferred to the first buyer At a sad discount: while your over chilly Women, on t' other hand, seem somewhat silly. XVII. That is, we cannot pardon their bad taste, For so it seems to lovers swift or slow, Who fain would have a mutual flame confessed, And see a sentimental passion glow, Even were St. Francis' paramour their guest, In his monastic concubine of snow;--[336] In short, the maxim for the amorous tribe is Horatian, "_Medio tu tutissimus ibis_."[337] XVIII. The "tu" 's _too_ much,--but let it stand,--the verse Requires it, that's to say, the English rhyme, And not the pink of old hexameters; But, after all, there's neither tune nor time In the last line, which cannot well be worse,[gk] And was thrust in to close the octave's chime: I own no prosody can ever rate it As a rule, but _Truth_ may, if you translate it. XIX. If fair Gulbeyaz overdid her part, I know not--it succeeded, and success Is much in most things, not less in the heart Than other articles of female dress. Self-love in Man, too, beats all female art;[gl] They lie, we lie, all lie, but love no less: And no one virtue yet, except starvation, Could stop that worst of vices--propagation. XX. We leave this royal couple to repose: A bed is not a throne, and they may sleep, Whate'er their dreams be, if of joys or woes: Yet disappointed joys are woes as deep As any man's clay mixture undergoes. Our least of sorrows are such as we _weep_; 'T is the vile daily drop on drop which wears The soul out (like the stone) with petty cares.[gm] XXI.