Текст оригинала на английском языке
Daphne knows, with equal ease, How to vex, and how to please; But the folly of her sex Makes her sole delight to vex. Never woman more devised Surer ways to be despised; Paradoxes weakly wielding, Always conquer'd, never yielding. To dispute, her chief delight, Without one opinion right: Thick her arguments she lays on, And with cavils combats reason; Answers in decisive way, Never hears what you can say; Still her odd perverseness shows Chiefly where she nothing knows; And, where she is most familiar, Always peevisher and sillier; All her spirits in a flame When she knows she's most to blame. Send me hence ten thousand miles, From a face that always smiles: None could ever act that part, But a fury in her heart. Ye who hate such inconsistence, To be easy, keep your distance: Or in folly still befriend her, But have no concern to mend her; Lose not time to contradict her, Nor endeavour to convict her. Never take it in your thought, That she'll own, or cure a fault. Into contradiction warm her, Then, perhaps, you may reform her: Only take this rule along, Always to advise her wrong; And reprove her when she's right; She may then grow wise for spight. No—that scheme will ne'er succeed, She has better learnt her creed; She's too cunning and too skilful, When to yield, and when be wilful. Nature holds her forth two mirrors, One for truth, and one for errors: That looks hideous, fierce, and frightful; This is flattering and delightful: That she throws away as foul; Sits by this to dress her soul. Thus you have the case in view, Daphne, 'twixt the Dean and you: Heaven forbid he should despise thee, But he'll never more advise thee.
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