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To leap, and bound, and pounce, and spring,

So woman deems that everything

She knows in self-same way, nor aught

Believes she needeth to be taught,

But acts as she is led by will,

And right or wrong, or good or ill

Doth, as it entereth her head,

By foolish whim and fancy led;

Rarely it haps she doeth right,

But woe betide the witless wight

Who counsels her.

This habit she

Learned of no master, naturally

’Twas born in her, and those who choose

To blame or ’monish women, lose

Their love outright.

And thus it goes,

It seems to me, with your sweet Rose,

Dear friend, you freely would resign

All that you have without repine

To win possession.

When at last

Into your loving care hath past

This precious gem, and happiness

Smileth upon you and doth bless

Your soul in perfect wise, the flower

Kind Heaven hath placed within your power

Guard tenderly, and you therein

Such joy shall have as few men win,

For though through fourteen cities ye

Should search, you ne’er its peer shall see.