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.

But the kind easie Fool, apt to admire
Himself, trusts us, his Follies all conspire
To flatter his, and favour our Desire.

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.