Satire should, like a polished razor keen, Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen. - Mary Wortley Montagu

But the fruit that can fall without shaking
Indeed is too mellow for me.

Cease, fond shepherd! Cease desiring What you never must enjoy;
She derides your vain aspiring, She, to all your sex is coy.Cunning Damon once pursued her, Yet she never would incline;
Strephon too, as vainly wooed her, Though his flocks are more than thine.At Diana’s shrine, aloud, By the zone around her waist,
Thrice she bowed, and thrice she vowed, Like the Goddess, to be chaste.

Good madam, when ladies are willing, A man must needs look like a fool;
For me I would not give a shilling For one who would love out of rule.You should leave us to guess by your blushing, And not speak the matter so plain;
’Tis our’s to write and be pushing, ’Tis yours to affect disdain.That you’re in a terrible taking, By all these sweet oglings I see,
But the fruit that can fall without shaking, Indeed is too mellow for me.