Daphne

Daphne knows, with equal ease,

How to vex, and how to please;

But the folly of her sex

Makes her sole delight to vex.

Never woman more devised

Surer ways to be despised;

Paradoxes weakly wielding,

Always conquer'd, never yielding.

To dispute, her chief delight,

Without one opinion right:

Thick her arguments she lays on,

And with cavils combats reason;

Answers in decisive way,

Never hears what you can say;

Still her odd perverseness shows

Chiefly where she nothing knows;

And, where she is most familiar,

Always peevisher and sillier;

All her spirits in a flame

When she knows she's most to blame.

  Send me hence ten thousand miles,

From a face that always smiles:

None could ever act that part,

But a fury in her heart.

Ye who hate such inconsistence,

To be easy, keep your distance:

Or in folly still befriend her,

But have no concern to mend her;

Lose not time to contradict her,

Nor endeavour to convict her.

Never take it in your thought,

That she'll own, or cure a fault.

Into contradiction warm her,

Then, perhaps, you may reform her:

Only take this rule along,

Always to advise her wrong;

And reprove her when she's right;

She may then grow wise for spight.

  No—that scheme will ne'er succeed,

She has better learnt her creed;

She's too cunning and too skilful,

When to yield, and when be wilful.

Nature holds her forth two mirrors,

One for truth, and one for errors:

That looks hideous, fierce, and frightful;

This is flattering and delightful:

That she throws away as foul;

Sits by this to dress her soul.

  Thus you have the case in view,

Daphne, 'twixt the Dean and you:

Heaven forbid he should despise thee,

But he'll never more advise thee.