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Page 20
1.
Why PIGOT, complain,
Of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair, do you fret?
For months you may try,
But believe me a _sigh_,
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_;
But a partial neglect,
Soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest _coquette_.
4.
Dissemble your pain,
And lengthen your chain,
Nor seem her _hauteur_ to _regret_,
If again you shall sigh,
She no more will deny,
That _yours_ is the rosy _coquette_.
5.
But if from false pride,
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,
But form this design,
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.
BYRON, _October_ 27, 1806.
* * * * *
GRANTA, A MEDLEY.
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