Read it through once

Duk. But she did scorne a present that I sent her, Val. A woman somtime scorns what best co[n]tents her. Send her another: neuer giue her ore, For scorne at first, makes after-loue the more. If she doe frowne, 'tis not in hate of you, But rather to beget more loue in you. If she doe chide, 'tis not to haue you gone, For why, the fooles are mad, if left alone. Take no repulse, what euer she doth say, For, get you gon, she doth not meane away. Flatter, and praise, commend, extoll their graces: Though nere so blacke, say they haue Angells faces, That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, If with his tongue he cannot win a woman