[Footnote 1: The motto was prefixed in 'Hours of Idleness'.]
[Footnote 2: Harrow.]
[Footnote 3: Miss Chaworth was married in 1805.]
[Footnote i:
_When with high-bounding pride,
He returns_----.
[4to]]
[Footnote ii:
_And my body shall sleep on its bier_.
[4to. _P. on V. Occasions_.]]
[Footnote iii:
BYRON, October 26, 1806.
[4to]]
REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ.,
ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS. [1]
1.
Why, Pigot, complain
Of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?
For months you may try,
Yet, believe me, a _sigh_ [i]
Will never obtain a _coquette_.
2.
Would you teach her to love?
For a time seem to rove;
At first she may _frown_ in a _pet;_
But leave her awhile,
She shortly will smile,
And then you may _kiss_ your _coquette_.
3.
For such are the airs
Of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our _homage_ a _debt_:
Yet a partial neglect [ii]
Soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest _coquette_.
4.
Dissemble your pain,
And lengthen your chain,
And seem her _hauteur_ to _regret;_ [iii]
If again you shall sigh,
She no more will deny,
That _yours_ is the rosy _coquette_.
5.
If still, from false pride, [iv]
Your pangs she deride,
This whimsical virgin forget;
Some _other_ admire,
Who will _melt_ with your _fire_,
And laugh at the _little coquette_.
6.
For _me_, I adore
Some _twenty_ or more,
And love them most dearly; but yet,
Though my heart they enthral,
I'd abandon them all,
Did they act like your blooming _coquette_.
7.
No longer repine,
Adopt this design, [v]
And break through her slight-woven net!
Away with despair,
No longer forbear
To fly from the captious _coquette_.
8.
Then quit her, my friend!
Your bosom defend,
Ere quite with her snares you're beset:
Lest your deep-wounded heart,
When incens'd by the smart,
Should lead you to _curse_ the _coquette_.