Woman, who is an arrant Bird of Night,
Bold in the dusk, before a Fool’s dull sight,
Must fly, when Reason brings the glaring Light.
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But the kind easie Fool, apt to admire
Himself, trusts us, his Follies all conspire
To flatter his, and favour our Desire.
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Heavy to apprehend; tho’ all Mankind
Perceive us false, the Fop, himself, is blind.
Who, doating on himself,—
Thinks every one that sees him of his Mind.
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