ever _Reads_ above a _Taylors Bill_;
A Wretch extreamly _Whimsical_ and _Proud_,
Stiff in _Opinion, Talkative_ and _Loud_;
And that which most Compleatly Arms the _Fool_,
Is, That the _Fop's_ Emphatically dull.
That such, _Melissa_, may Address, 'tis true,
Write a soft _Song_, or senseless _Billetdoux_,
But 'tis _Themselves_ they _Admire_ in't, not _You_:
And she that's basely Yok'd with one of these,
Must e'en be Wedded to his _Vanities_;
Doat on a _Thing_ that scarce deserves a Name,
While he with _Slights_ rewards her Vertuous Flame:
For tell me, can he less _Indifferent_ prove,
Who thinks no Woman can Deserve his Love?
No, no, _Melissa_, never think he can;
For if you do, you're Cozen'd in your Man.

Self-Affectation sways his little Sense;
Nought but _Himself_ he Loves, and _Ignorance_.
By fatal Chance, if such a Man you Wed,
Better, _Melissa_, thou had'st Dy'd a Maid:
Ev'n such a Lover, were a Plague too great;
From such a Husband, Guard me, Oh my Fate!

Shun too, my Dear, the _Lewder Wits_ o' th' Town,
As watchfully as they'd avoid a Dun.
For such a Man too soon wou'd let you see,
_Lewdness_ and _Marriage_ do but ill Agree.
Oft at the Theatre such Sparks I've seen, }
With _Rakish Looks, half Drunk_, come Reeling in; }
Tossing their _Wigs_, their _Backs_ against the Scene. }
Regardless of the Play (a Mark of Wit)
Bow to some Lewd Companion in the Pit.
Take Snuff, fling round, in the Side-Box be seen,
Whisper a Mask, and then Retire again,
To some Lov'd _Tavern_, where's their chief Delight, }
There in Debaucheries they spend the Night, }
Then Stagger homeward by the Morning Light. }

Thus the Extravagant squanders his Estate,
Scarce e'er Consid'ring till it be too late:
And then a _Wife_ must Cure the dang'rous Sore,
A _Fortune_ too, his _Acres_ must Restore;
The Woman Found, is by Addresses won;
They're _married_: He's _profuse_, and she's _undone_.
The Wound once heal'd, he soon forgets the Pain,
And takes the Trade of _Lewdness_ up again:
In Vicious Days and Nights his Life is spent;
The _Pleasure_ his, but her's the _Punishment_;
For now the Heav'n she Dreamt of, proves her Hell,
Whose only _Fault_ was Loving him too well.
Pensive all Day she sits; all Night alone;
She does her slighted Love, but more his Loss bemoan.
By kind Endearments Fraught with Innocence,
She strives to soften his Impenitence;
Fain wou'd she turn him from the winding Maze,
Win