Of all the Creatures Nature does provide,
To stock the World from Ignorance to Pride;
Of all that from her various Bosom spring,
A Beau I think the oddest kind of thing;
A selfish Compound, singular, and Vain,
Half Ass, half Puppet, and the least of Man;
One that seems just for Nature’s Pastime made,
A Gawdy Carcass, with an Empty Head;
Whose only Knowledge lies in modish Dress,
And seldom looks much further than his Glass. 
A Creature only Govern’d by his Will;
And never Reads above a Taylors Bill;
A Wretch extreamly Whimsical and Proud,
Stiff in Opinion, Talkative and Loud;
And that which most Compleatly Arms the Fool,
Is, That the Fop’s Emphatically dull. 
That such, Melissa, may Address, ’tis true,
Write a soft Song, or senseless Billetdoux,
But ’tis Themselves they Admire in’t, not You: 
And she that’s basely Yok’d with one of these,
Must e’en be Wedded to his Vanities;
Doat on a Thing that scarce deserves a Name,
While he with Slights rewards her Vertuous Flame: 
For tell me, can he less Indifferent prove,
Who thinks no Woman can Deserve his Love? 
No, no, Melissa, never think he can;
For if you do, you’re Cozen’d in your Man.

Self-Affectation sways his little Sense;
Nought but Himself he Loves, and Ignorance. 
By fatal Chance, if such a Man you Wed,
Better, Melissa, thou had’st Dy’d a Maid: 
Ev’n such a Lover, were a Plague too great;
From such a Husband, Guard me, Oh my Fate!

Shun too, my Dear, the Lewder Wits o’ th’ Town,
As watchfully as they’d avoid a Dun. 
For such a Man too soon wou’d let you see,
Lewdness and Marriage do but ill Agree. 
Oft at the Theatre such Sparks I’ve seen, }
With Rakish Looks, half Drunk, come Reeling in; }
Tossing their Wigs, their Backs against the Scene. }
Regardless of the Play (a Mark of Wit)
Bow to some Lewd Companion in the Pit. 
Take Snuff, fling round, in the Side-Box be seen,
Whisper a Mask, and then Retire again,
To some Lov’d Tavern, where’s their chief Delight, }
There in Debaucheries they spend the Night, }
Then Stagger homeward by the Morning Light. }

Thus the Extravagant squanders his Estate,
Scarce e’er Consid’ring till it be too late: 
And then a Wife must Cure the dang’rous Sore,
A Fortune too, his Acres must Restore;
The Woman Found, is by Addresses won;
They’re married:  He’s profuse, and she’s undone. 
The Wound once heal’d, he soon forgets the Pain,
And takes the Trade of Lewdness up again: