Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/104

64 Your pain seem'd so great,

I pitied your fate,

As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd.

4.

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 abuse.

5.

You say, "When I rove,"

"I know nothing of love;"

'Tis true, I am given to range;

If I rightly remember,

I've lov'd a good number;

Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.

6.

I will not advance,

By the rules of romance,

To humour a whimsical fair;