Son, if a maiden love thee, thou shalt appear handsome in her sight; she shall praise thine eyes, and the corners of thy mouth, yea, she shall admire thy hands. Though thou wert even as the orangutan yet shall she paint thee with fancies.
A woman findeth in her last lover much of her first love; but a man seeth his next-to-the-last love, alway.
No man knoweth how another man maketh his love, for women tell not.
Love endeth like the chianti flask, its drops are bitter.
Tell not thy previous loves to a woman, lest she also telleth thee hers.
Hurry not a woman's favor; neither forcer her hastily to surrender to thee. For she goeth into love as she goeth into the waters at the seashore; first a hand and then a lip goeth she in by littles. She diveth not, she leapeth not from the pier; but by gentle shocks and cries of protest she entereth slowly; yet when the waters of love encompass her, then she is supported. She swimmeth in her joy; she floateth on the tide of happiness.
