Satiric, The Sex (Childe Harold, Canto ii. Stanza 34.)
NOT much he kens, I ween, of woman’s breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs;
What careth she for hearts when once possess’d?
Do proper homage to thine idol’s eyes,
But not too humbly, or she will despise
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes:
Disguise ev’n tenderness, if thou art wise;
Brisk Confidence still best with woman copes;
Pique her and soothe in turn, soon Passion crowns thy hopes.
I hate him, because he’s right.
ORDERS: Today, I need to be soothed. Do you hear me, lover-mine? 😉