What Constructions a Man may put upon a Smile, and in what Cases a
  Frown goes for nothing.

  On what Occasions a sheepish Look may do Service, _&c_.

As a farther Proof of his Skill, he has also sent me several Maxims in Love, which he assures me are the Result of a long and profound Reflection, some of which I think my self obliged to communicate to the Publick, not remembering to have seen them before in any Author.

  ’There are more Calamities in the World arising from Love than from
  Hatred.

  ’Love is the Daughter of Idleness, but the Mother of Disquietude.

  ’Men of grave Natures (says Sir Francis Bacon) are the most
  constant; for the same Reason Men should be more constant than Women.

  ’The Gay Part of Mankind is most amorous, the Serious most loving.

  ’A Coquet often loses her Reputation, whilst she preserves her Virtue.

  ’A Prude often preserves her Reputation when she has lost her Virtue.

  ’Love refines a Man’s Behaviour, but makes a Woman’s ridiculous.

  ’Love is generally accompanied with Good-will in the Young, Interest
  in the Middle-aged, and a Passion too gross to Name in the Old.

  ’The Endeavours to revive a decaying Passion generally extinguish the
  Remains of it.

  ’A Woman who from being a Slattern becomes over-neat, or from being
  over-neat becomes a Slattern, is most certainly in Love.

I shall make use of this Gentleman’s Skill as I see Occasion; and since I am got upon the Subject of Love, shall conclude this Paper with a Copy of Verses which were lately sent me by an unknown Hand, as I look upon them to be above the ordinary Run of Sonneteers.

The Author tells me they were written in one of his despairing Fits; and I find entertains some Hope that his Mistress may pity such a Passion as he has described, before she knows that she is herself Corinna.

  ’Conceal, fond Man, conceal the mighty Smart,
  Nor tell_ Corinna she has fir’d thy Heart. 
  In vain would’st thou complain, in vain pretend
  To ask a Pity which she must not lend. 
  She’s too much thy Superior to comply,
  And too too fair to let thy Passion dye. 
  Languish in Secret, and with dumb Surprize
  Drink the resistless Glances of her Eyes. 
  At awful Distance entertain thy Grief,
  Be still in Pain, but never ask Relief. 
  Ne’er tempt her Scorn of thy consuming State;
  Be any way undone, but fly her Hate. 
  Thou must submit to see thy Charmer bless
  Some happier Youth that shall admire her less;
  Who in that lovely Form, that Heavenly Mind,
  Shall miss ten thousand Beauties thou could’st find;
  Who with low Fancy shall approach her Charms,
  While half enjoy’d she sinks into his Arms. 
  She knows not, must not know, thy nobler Fire,
  Whom she, and whom the Muses do inspire;
  Her Image only shall thy Breast employ,
  And fill thy captiv’d Soul with Shades of joy;
  Direct thy Dreams by Night, thy Thoughts by Day;
  And never, never, from thy Bosom stray.’ [2]