He himself courts his own ruin,
That with too great passion sues 'em.
When men whine too much in wooing,
Women will like coquets use 'em.
Some by this way of addressing
Have the sex so far transported,
That they'll fool away the blessing
For the pride of being courted.

Tilt and smile when we adore 'em,
While some blockhead buys the favour;
Presents have more power o'er 'em
Than all our soft love and labour.
Thus, like zealots with screw'd faces,
We our fooling make the greater.
While we cant long-winded graces,
Others they fall to the creature.