Byron's Poetical Works, Volume 1

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.]