And humbly begs Destruction from your eye;
When your own arts he takes, and speaks in smiles,
With Softness woos, and with a Voice beguiles;
Does it not move your pity and disdain,
Such flow'ry passion, and such mincing pain;
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Your various Follies you with anger scan,
So shewn by one whom Nature meant for Man.
E'en so do we our faults in you despise,
And Vice has double malice in those Eyes.