For some had absent lovers, all had friends;
The earth has nothing like a she epistle,
And hardly Heaven—because it never ends—
I love the mystery of a female missal,
Which, like a creed, ne’er says all it intends,
But full of cunning as Ulysses’ whistle,
When he allured poor Dolon:—you had better
Take care what you reply to such a letter.