A SONG. (What! put off with One Denial)

What! put off with One Denial? And not make a Second Tryal? You might see my Eyes consenting, All about me was relenting: Women oblig'd to dwell in Forms, Forgive the Youth who boldly storms.

Lovers, when you Sigh and Languish; When you tell us of your Anguish; To the Nymph you'll be more pleasing, When those Sorrows you are reasing: We love to try how far Men dare, And never wish the Foe should spare.