George Gordon Noel Byron

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
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Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow,
Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.

Just as old age is creeping on space,
And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day,
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Just as old age is creeping on space,
And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day,
They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,
But in good company--the gout or stone.

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

These two hated with a hate
Found only on the stage.

These two hated with a hate
Found only on the stage.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.