Classic Poem

The youth had wit himself, and could afford
A witty neighbour his good word.
Though scandal was his joy, he would not swear:
An oath had made the ladies stare.
At them he duly dress'd, but without passion:
His only mistress was the fashion.
His verse with fancy glitter'd, cold and faint;
His prose with sense correctly quaint.
Trifles he lov'd; he tasted arts:
At once a fribble and a man of parts.