Esop. Why, truly, I would have Patience a Day or two, if there was as much Probability of my being your new Gallant, as perhaps there may be of changing your old one.
Dor. She shall give you fair Play for't, Sir; Opportunity and Leave to prattle, and that's what carries most Women in our Days. Nay, she shall do more for you: You shall play with her Fan; squeeze her little Finger; buckle her Shoe; read a Romance to her in the Arbour; and saunter in the Woods on a Moonshiny Night. If this don't melt her, she's no Woman, or you're no Man——
Esop. I'm not a Man to melt a Woman that Way: I know myself, and know what they require. 'Tis thro' a Woman's Eye you pierce her Heart; and I've no Darts can make their Entrance there.
Dor. You are a great Statesman, Sir; but I find you know little of our Matters. A Woman's Heart is to be enter'd forty Ways. Every Sense she has about her keeps a Door to it. With a Smock-face, and a Feather, you get in at her Eyes. With powerful Nonsense, in soft Words, you creep in at her Ears. An essenc'd Peruke, and a sweet Handkerchief, lets you in at her Nose. With a Treat, and a Box full of Sweetmeats, you slip in at her Mouth: And if you wou'd enter by her Sense of Feeling, 'tis as beaten a Road as the rest. What think you now, Sir? There are more Ways to the Wood than one, you see.
Esop. Why, you're an admirable Pilot; I don't doubt but you have steer'd many a Ship safe to Harbour: But I'm an old stubborn Seaman; I must sail by my own Compass still.
Euph. And by your Obstinacy lose your Vessel.
Esop. No: I'm just ent'ring into Port; we'll be married to-morrow.
Euph. For Heaven's sake defer it some Days longer; I cannot love you yet; indeed, I cannot.
Esop. Nor never will, I dare swear.