And warm and soften for the plastic hand,
Till, in each well-form’d feature of the face,
He can the work of his creation trace,
So may the future husband here survey
The mind he models—if he wills, he may.
Women, dear Richard, born to be controlled,
Yet love the ensign of the power to hold,
And would the power itself—but, this deny,
And they with meek, well-order’d minds comply;
Tyrants, no doubt, if you resign the sway—