By Heaven, 'tis false, I am not vain;
And rather would the subject be
Of your indifference, or disdain,
Than wit or raillery.
Take back the trifling praise you give,
And pa** it on some other fool,
Who may the injuring wit believe,
That turns her into ridicule.
Tell her, she's witty, fair, and gay,
With all the charms that can subdue:
Perhaps she'll credit what you say;
But curse me if I do.
If your diversion you design,
On my good-nature you have prest:
Or if you do intend it mind,
You have mistook the jest.