Tho' you may boast you're fairer than the rest,
And brag how many Triumphs you have gain'd,
Yet shall your Beauty ne'er my Soul molest,
Since by your Sex I've been so much disdain'd:
He who is often driven to Despair;
Becomes at last regardless of the Fair.

Know Celia then, I'll scorn as well as you,
And never more to Woman-kind submit;
Your Tyrant-Graces can't my Heart subdue,
Nor can you conquer with your pow'rful Wit;
I'm now secure from all Love's cruel Harms,
And have prepar'd against them Counter-charms.

They who have follow'd long Love's idle Trade,
And do on all they see dote and admire;
Will, when repuls'd, find Passion quite decay'd,
And so contemn what once they did desire:
This common Tale, alas! few can prevent,
We first must sin, before we can Repent.