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

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Your pain seem'd so great,
I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd.


Since the balm-breathing kiss[1]
Of this magical Miss,
Can such wonderful transports produce;[2]
Since the "world you forget,
When your lips once have met,
My counsel will get but abuse.


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;[3]
Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.


I will not advance,[4]
By the rules of romance,

To humour a whimsical fair;
  1. But since the chaste kiss.—[4to]
  2. Such wonderful.—[4to]
  3. I've kissed a good number.—[4to] But——
  4. I ne'er will advance.—[4to]