With sense enough for half your sex beside,

With just no more than necessary pride;

With Knowledge caught from Nature’s living page,

Politely learn’d, and elegantly sage –

Alas! how piteous, that in such a mind

So many foibles free reception find!

Can such a mind, ye Gods! admit disdain?

Be partial, envious, covetous, and vain?

Unwelcome Truth! to love, to blindness clear!

Yet, Gillman, bear it; — while you blush to hear:

That in your gentle breast Disdain can dwell,

Let knavery, meanness, pride that feel it, tell!

With partial eye a friend’s defects you see,

And look with kindness on my faults and me.

And does no Envy that fair mind o’er-shade?

Does no short sigh for greater wealth invade;

When silent merit wants the fostering meed,

And the warm wish suggests the virtuous deed?

Fairly the charge of Vanity you prove,

Vain of each Virtue of the friends you love.

What charms, what arts of Magic have conspir’d

Of power to make so many faults admir’d?