To seem to save her when she seems to fall.”
“And should make him fall,” cried I. “’Tis not strange
Such onsets numb her senses! Heaven preserve
The world from women rear’d to feel but weak,
Whose whole experience, nurtur’d not to think,
Unfolds in passions pert of wishes dwarf’d,
Afraid of truth and dodging to deceit!
Let loose from home, their thing that ought to think
Is dry and hollow as a sounding-board
Behind a tongue that, like a weather vane,