My Lesbia, I will not deny,
— Bewitches me completely;
She has the usual beaming eye,
— And smiles upon me sweetly:
But she has an unseemly way
Of contradicting what I say.

And, though I am her closest friend,
— And find her fascinating,
I cannot cordially commend
— Her method of debating:
Her logic, though she is divine,
Is singularly feminine.

Her reasoning is full of tricks,
— And butterfly suggestions,
I know no point to which she sticks,
— She begs the simplest questions;
And, when her premises are strong,
She always draws her inference wrong.

Broad, liberal views on men and things
— She will not hear a word of;
To prove herself correct she brings
— Some instance she has heard of;
The argument ad hominem
Appears her favorite strategem.

Old Socrates, with sage replies
— To questions put to suit him,
Would not, I think, have looked so wise
— With Lesbia to confute him;
He would more probably have bade
Xantippe hasten to his aid.

Ah! well, my fair philosopher,
— With clear brown eyes that glisten
So sweetly, that I much prefer
— To look at them than listen,
Preach me your sermon: have your way,
The voice is yours, whate'er you say.