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And then will she his heart beguile,

By God and all the saints the while

Swearing that only he at last

Hath all her scruples overpast,

And cries: “Fulfilled is now your hope,

But, by the faith I owe the Pope,

I yield to you for love alone,

Through presents had you never won

My virgin heart; the man lives not

Who e’er through gifts my love had got,

You only have full favour found

Of all the host that fluttered round.

Ah! wicked one, who knew to pitch

The note that might my soul bewitch.”

And then, the dotard to deceive,

Sweet clips and kisses should she give.

But, if she follows my advice,

She boldly will demand her price,

And is a fool unless she win

All that he hath outside his skin,

For she the best beloved will be

Who strips a man most ruthlessly.

The more that women make men pay,

The more, far more, beloved are they;

For that which lightly is obtained,

Is never looked upon when gained

Above the value of a straw,

A thing of nought, a mere gewgaw.

But if a worthless thing cost much,

That a man holds with hardfist clutch.

To fleece a gull may many aid:

Her valets, and her chambermaid,