With pain I’ve seen, these wrangling wits among,
Faith’s weak defenders, passionate and young;
Weak thou art not, yet not enough on guard,
Where wit and humour keep their watch and ward:
Men gay and noisy will o’erwhelm thy sense,
Then loudly laugh at truth’s and thy expense;
While the kind ladies will do all they can
To check their mirth, and cry, ‘The good young man!’
“Prudence, my Boy, forbids thee to commend
The cause or party of thy noble friend;