FAIR One, to you this Monitor I send;
pardon your officious Friend:
You think your Conduct merits only Praise,
But out-law'd Poets censure whom they please:
Thus we begin — your Servant has been told,
That you, (despising Settlements and Gold)
Determine  witty, young and gay,
To have and hold for ever and for ay;
And view that Person as your mortal Foe,
Who dares object against your charming Beau;
But now to furnish Metre for my Song,
Let us suppose  may be wrong:
'Tis true, you're lovely; yet the learn'd aver,
That even Beauties like the rest may err.
I know, to shun, you hold it as a Rule,
The arrant Coxcomb and the stupid Fool:
No such is  he has Wit — 'tis true,
Enough,  to impose on you:
Yet such a Wit you'll, by Experience, find
Worse than a Fool that's complaisant and kind:
It only serves to gild his Vices o'er,
And teach his Malice how to wound the more.