They will deny, and dare thee to maintain;
And thus will triumph o’er thy eager youth,
While thou wilt grieve for so disgracing truth. 
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;
What are his praises worth, who must be known,
To take a Patron’s maxims for his own? 
When ladies sing, or in thy presence play,
Do not, dear John, in rapture melt away;
’Tis not thy part, there will be list’ners round,
To cry Divine! and dote upon the sound;
Remember, too, that though the poor have ears,
They take not in the music of the spheres;
They must not feel the warble and the thrill,
Or be dissolved in ecstasy at will;
Beside, ’tis freedom in a youth like thee
To drop his awe, and deal in ecstasy! 
   “In silent ease, at least in silence, dine,
Nor one opinion start of food or wine: 
Thou knowest that all the science thou can boast,
Is of thy father’s simple boil’d or roast;
Nor always these; he sometimes saved his cash,
By interlinear days of frugal hash: 
Wine hadst thou seldom; wilt thou be so vain
As to decide on claret or champagne? 
Dost thou from me derive this taste sublime,
Who order port the dozen at a time? 
When (every glass held precious in our eyes)
We judged the value by the bottle’s size: 
Then never merit for thy praise assume,
Its worth well knows each servant in the room. 
   “Hard, Boy, thy task, to steer thy way among
That servile, supple, shrewd, insidious throng;
Who look upon thee as of doubtful race,
An interloper, one who wants a place: 
Freedom with these, let thy free soul condemn,
Nor with thy heart’s concerns associate them. 
   “Of all be cautious—­but be most afraid
Of the pale charms that grace My Lady’s Maid;
Of those sweet dimples, of that fraudful eye,
The frequent glance designed for thee to spy;
The soft bewitching look, the fond bewailing sigh: 
Let others frown and envy; she the while
(Insidious syren!) will demurely smile;
And for her gentle purpose, every day
Inquire thy wants, and meet thee in thy way;
She has her blandishments, and, though so weak,
Her person pleases, and her actions speak: 
At first her folly may her aim defeat;
But kindness shown, at length will kindness meet: 
Have some offended? them will she disdain,
And, for thy sake, contempt and pity feign;
She hates the vulgar, she admires to look
On woods and groves, and dotes upon a book;
Let her once see thee on her features dwell,