When the tabors played their best,
And the dancers were not slow,
"Love me" sounded like a jest,
Fit for "yes" or fit for "no."
Thus the sin is on us both;
Was the dance a time to woo?
Wooer light makes fickle troth—
Scorn of me recoils on you.
Learn to win a lady's faith
Nobly, as the thing is high—
Bravely, as in fronting death,
With a virtuous gravity.
Lead her from the painted boards—
Point her to the starry skies—
Guard her by your truthful words,
Pure from courtship's flatteries.
By your truth she shall be true—
Ever true, as wives of yore,
And her "yes" once said to you,
Shall be yes for evermore.