Be seldom sour, or your Friends will fly
From the hung Forehead and the scornful Eye:
Nor, like  in the Morning kind,
And soft as Summer or the western Wind:
But round ere night her giddy Passions wheel,
She'll clap the Door against your parting Heel.
An even Temper will be sure to please,
With cool Reflexion and a chearful Ease.