Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/578

540 But 'tis done—all words are idle—

Words from me are vainer still;

But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way without the will.

Fare thee well! thus disunited—

Torn from every nearer tie—

Seared in heart—and lone—and blighted—

More than this I scarce can die. [First draft, March 18, 1816. First printed as published, April 4, 1816.]

A SKETCH.

Honest—honest Iago!

If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee."

in the garret, in the kitchen bred,

Promoted thence to deck her mistress' head;

Next—for some gracious service unexpressed,

And from its wages only to be guessed—