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Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
What though thy sire lament his failing line,
A father's sorrows cannot equal mine!
Though none like thee his dying hour will cheer,
Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here:
But who with me shall hold thy former place ?
Thine image what new friendship can efface ?
Ah none! - a father's tears will cease to flow,
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
To all, save one, is consolation known,
While litary friendship sighs alone.


Let Folly smile, to view the names

Of thee and me in friendship twined;
Yet Virtue will have greater claims

To love, than rank with vice combined.

And though unequal is thy fate,

Since title decked my higher birth ;
Yet envy not this gaudy state ;

Thine is the pride of modest worth.

Our souls at least congenial meet,

Nor can thy lot my rank disgrace;
Our intercourse is not less sweet,

Since worth of rank supplies the place.



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
Will never obtain a coquette.

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.

For such are the airs

Of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our homage a debt ;

Yet a partial neglect

Soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest coquette.

Dissemble your pain,
And lengthen your chain,

And seem her hauteur to regret;

If again you shall sigh,

She no more will deny That yours is the rosy coquette.

If still, 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.

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.

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:

Lest your deep-wounded heart,

When incensed by the smart, Should lead you to curse the coquette.


Your pardon, my friend,

If my rhymes did offend,
Your pardon, a thousand times o'er;

From friendship I strove

Your pangs to remove,
But I swear I will do so no more.

Since your beautiful maid

Your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret;

She's now most divine,

And I bow at the shrine
Of this quickly reformed coquette.

Yet, still, I must own,

I should never have known From your verses, what else she deserved ;

Your pain seemed so great,

I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so devilish reserved.

Since the balm-breathing kiss

Of this magical miss Can such wonderful transports produce ;

Since the “world you forget,

When your lips once have met," My counsel will get but abuso.


when “I rove,
I know nothing of love;"
'Tis true, I am given to range:

If I rightly remember,

I've loved a good number, Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.

I will not advance,

By the rules of romance, To humor a whimsical fair;

Though a smile may delight,

Yet a frown won't affright, Or drive me to dreadful despair.

While my blood is thus warm,

I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonist's school;

Of this I am sure,

Was my passion so pure,
Thy mistress would think me a fool.

And if I should shun

Every woman for one, Whose image must fill my whole breast

Whom I must prefer,

And sigh but for her
What an insult 'twould be to the rest!

Now, Strephon, good bye ;

I cannot deny
Your passion appears most absurd ;

Such love as you plead

Is pure love indeed,
For it only consists in the word.

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