Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb, 1803. A FRAGMENT. WHEN, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice If that with honour fail to crown my clay, 1803. REPLY TO SOME VERSES OF J. M. B. PIGOT, ESQ., ON THE CRUELTY OF HIS MISTRESS. WHY, Pigot, complain Of this damsel's disdain, Yet, believe me, a sigh Will never obtain a coquette. * "No lengthen'd scroll of virtue and renown." Private volume, and first edition of Hours of Idleness. +"By that remember'd, or for e'er forgot."- Private volume. ↑ Printed in the private volume only. Would you teach her to love? She shortly will smile, And then you may kiss your coquette. For such are the airs Of these fanciful fairs, Soon takes an effect, Dissemble your pain, And seem her hauteur to regret; If still, from false pride, Who will melt with your fire, And laugh at the little coquette. For me, I adore Some twenty or more, And love them most dearly; but yet, I'd abandon them all, Did they act like your blooming coquette. No longer repine, Adopt this design, And break through her slight-woven net; Away with despair, No longer forbear, To fly from the captious coquette. Then quit her, my friend! Your bosom defend, Ere quite with her snares you're beset. Should lead you to curse the coquette. October 27th, 1806. TO THE SIGHING STREPHON. * YOUR pardon, my friend, If my rhymes did offend, Your pangs to remove, Since your beautiful maid No more I your folly regret ; Yet still, I must own, I should never have known From your verses, what else she deserved; Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate, As your fair was so devilish reserved. Since the balm-breathing kiss, Can such wonderful transports produce; When your lips once have met," My counsel will get but abuse. You say, when "I rove, I've loved a good number, Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change. I will not advance, By the rules of romance, Or drive me to dreadful despair. * These stanzas were only printed in the private volume. While my blood is thus warm To mix in the Platonists' school; Was my passion so pure, Thy mistress would think me a fool. And if I should shun Whose image must fill my whole breast And sigh but for her What an insult 't would be to the rest! * This motto was inserted in the first edition of Hours of Idleness. Mild Charity's glow, Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Where this virtue is felt, And its dew is diffused in a Tear. The man doom'd to sail The soldier braves death, For a fanciful wreath In Glory's romantic career; When in battle laid low, If with high-bounding pride When, embracing the maid, Sweet scene of my youth! Seat of Friendship and Truth, For a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour To my Mary no more, My Mary to Love once so dear, I remember the hour She rewarded those vows with a Tear. By another possest, May she live ever blest! Her name still my heart must revere: What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear. |