9.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,
Many will throng, to sigh like me, love!
More constant they may prove, indeed;
Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

[1806.]

TO WOMAN.

WOMAN! experience might have told me i
That all must love thee, who behold thee :
Surely experience might have taught

Thy firmest promises are nought;

ii.

But, plac'd in all thy charms before me,

All I forget, but to adore thee.

Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,

When join'd with hope, when still possessing;

But how much curst by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,

i. Surely, experience.-[4to]

ii. A woman's promises are naught.—[4to]

iii. Here follows, in the Quarto, an additional couplet:
Thou whisperest, as our hearts are beating,
"What oft we've done, we're still repeating,"

ii.

Or sparkles black, or mildly throws

A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 'twill last for ay,

When, lo! she changes in a day.

This record will for ever stand, i.

"Woman, thy vows are trac'd in sand." 1

i. This Record will for ever stand

That Woman's vows are writ in sand.—[4to]

1. The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.

[The last line is not "almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb," but an adaptation of part of a stanza from the Diana of Jorge de Montemajor—

Southey, in his Letters from Spain, 1797, pp. 87-91, gives a specimen of the Diana, and renders the lines in question thus

"And Love beheld us from his secret stand,

And mark'd his triumph, laughing, to behold me, To see me trust a writing traced in sand,

To see me credit what a woman told me."

Byron, who at this time had little or no knowledge of Spanish literature, seems to have been struck with Southey's paraphrase, and compressed the quatrain into an epigram.]

SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age
Has swept immoral raillery from the stage;
Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit,
Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ;
Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek,
Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek;
Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim,
And meet indulgence-though she find not fame.
Still, not for her alone, we wish respect,i
Others appear more conscious of defect:
To-night no vet'ran Roscii you behold,

In all the arts of scenic action old;

i. But not for her alone.—[4to]

1. ["I enacted Penruddock, in The Wheel of Fortune, and Tristram Fickle, in the farce of The Weathercock, for three nights, in some private theatricals at Southwell, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition."-Diary; Life, p. 38. The prologue was written by him, between stages, on his way from Harrogate. On getting into the carriage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion, "Now, Pigot, I'll spin a prologue for our play ;" and before they reached Mansfield he had completed his task,-interrupting only once his rhyming reverie, to ask the proper pronunciation of the French word début; and, on being told it, exclaiming, 'Aye, that will do for rhyme to new."--Life, p. 39. "The Prologue was spoken by G. Wylde, Esq."-Note by Miss E. PIGOT.]

66

No COOKE, no KEMBLE, can salute you here,
NO SIDDONS draw the sympathetic tear;
To-night you throng to witness the début

Of embryo Actors, to the Drama new :
Here, then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try;
Clip not our pinions, ere the birds can fly:
Failing in this our first attempt to soar,
Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more.

Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays,
Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise;
But all our Dramatis Personæ wait,

In fond suspense this crisis of their fate.
No venal views our progress can retard,
Your generous plaudits are our sole reward;
For these, each Hero all his power displays,"
Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze :
Surely the last will some protection find? ii.
None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind:
While Youth and Beauty form the female shield,
The sternest Censor to the fair must yield.iv.
Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail,
Should, after all, our best endeavours fail;
Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live,
And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.

i. For them each Hero.-[4to]

ii. Surely these last.-[4to]

iii. Whilst Youth.-[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]
iv. The sternest critic.—[4to]

iii.

TO ELIZA.

I.

ELIZA!1 what fools are the Mussulman sect,

Who, to woman, deny the soul's future existence; Could they see thee, Eliza! they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.ii.

2.

Had their Prophet possess'd half an atom of sense,'

iii.

He ne'er would have woman from Paradise driven; Instead of his Houris, a flimsy pretence,iv.

With woman alone he had peopled his Heaven.

3.

Yet, still, to increase your calamities more,"

vi.

Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit, He allots one poor husband to share amongst four! With souls you'd dispense; but, this last, who could

bear it?

i. To Miss E. P.-[4to]

To Miss .-[P. on V. Occasions.]

ii. Did they know but yourself they would bend with respect,
And this doctrine must meet

iii. But an atom of sense.-[4to]
iv. But instead of his Houris.-[4to]

v. But still to increase.-[4to]

vi. He allots but one husband.-[4to]

-[MS. Newstead.]

1. [The letters "E. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 26 (British Museum). The initials stand for Miss Elizabeth Pigot.]