In hopes still to o’ertake the skipping Light,
The Vapour dances in his dazzled Sight,
Till spent, it leaves him to eternal Night.
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Pleasure allures, and when the Fops escape,
’Tis not that they’re belov’d, but fortunate;
And therefore what they fear, at Heart they hate.
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Perhaps my Muse were fitter for this Part;
For I profess I can be very smart
On Wit, which I abhor with all my Heart.
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