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.