That is, we cannot pardon their bad taste,
For so it seems to lovers swift or slow,
Who fain would have a mutual flame confessed,
And see a sentimental passion glow,
Even were St. Francis' paramour their guest,
In his monastic concubine of snow;—[336]In short, the maxim for the amorous tribe is
Horatian, "Medio tu tutissimus ibis."[337]