Reply to Some Verses of J. M. B. Pigot, Esq., on the Cruelty of His Mistress

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 incens'd by the smart,
Should lead you to _curse_ the _coquette_.