1.
Oh! well I know your subtle Sex,
Frail daughters of the wanton Eve, -
While jealous pangs our Souls perplex,
No passion prompts you to relieve.
2
From Love, or Pity ne'er you fall,
By 'you', no mutual Flame is felt,
"Tis Vanity, which rules you all,
Desire alone which makes you melt.
3
I will not say no 'souls' are yours,
Aye, ye have Souls, and dark ones too,
Souls to contrive those smiling lures,
To snare our simple hearts for you.
4
Yet shall you never bind me fast,
Long to adore such brittle toys,
I'll rove along, from first to last,
And change whene'er my fancy cloys.
5
Oh! I should be a 'baby' fool,
To sigh the dupe of female art -
Woman! perhaps thou hast a 'Soul',
But where have 'Demons' hid thy 'Heart'?
January, 1807.
Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.
