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     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      Soon takes an effect,     And humbles the proudest coquette. 4.      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. 5.      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. 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,     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.