Reply To Some Verses Of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq. On The Cruelty Of His Mistress
Why, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?
For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.
Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove;
At first she may frown in a pet;
But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile,
And then you may kiss your coquette.
For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs,
They think all our homage a debt:
Yet a partial neglect soon takes an effect,
And humbles the proudest coquette.
Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain,
And seem her hauteur to regret;
If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny,
That yours is the rosy coquette.
If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride,
This whimsical virgin forget;
Some other adiaiire, who will melt with your fire,
And laugh at the little coquette.
For me I adore some twenty or more,
And love them most dearly but yet
Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all,
Did they act like your blooming coquette.
No longer repine, adopt this design,
And break through her slight-woven net;
Away with despair, no longer forbear
To fly from the captious coquette.
Then quit her, my friend your bosom defend,
Ere quite with her snares you're beset;
Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by the smart,
Should lead you to curse the coquette.
Related quotes
The man who loves a coquette
Why lost man
Your heart is sour with complain
Over this pretty damsel’s distain
Why thus let your despair
Yields hellish chest tare
For months you may fret
But this will not get you your coquette
Ah! How can you teach her to love
Frustration compel you to ask
As time runs out to spin and to rove
It is not easy and simple task
At first they all frown like a house pet
But leave her alone for a while
She shortly will show you her smile
And you may sit or stroll by your coquette
For such are the fickle airs
Of love and flirt mingling in fanciful fairs
In king’s palace or in a cave-man lair
They all think our homage is merely in debt
Fulfill it with projection
Without a touch of neglect
And as you show your strive for perfection
Soon takes the effect
And humbles down the proudest coquette
Dismantle your thick thought brain
Dissemble your pain
And lengthen your chain
Let her think she is using you
False or true
Let her self conviction be in taking advantage
It will all be to your vantage
And show her what a banter she may regret
If now you sigh
She can no longer deny
And you may caper in your coquette chamber
And still if out of false women pride
Your panting pangs she may deride
Be brave and full of thoughts and conceit
The trail is on; hold the raging thorns tight
Let not this untutored whimsical girl forget
That you have other admirers
Who would melt in your fire
That no one but you
Who can quench their burning desire
And thus laugh at you little coquette
Take an advice from me I adore
Some twenty or even more
And loved them most dearly but yet
Though my heart they captured in an enthrall
I will abandon them all
Did they act like your capricious coquette
Young loves’ woes no time now to think
If your love to your arms you want to bring
Idol thoughts will make you sink
With no solution or a link
No longer repine
Adopt this design
And break through her defiance fence
No longer despair
No longer anguish care
Now you may kiss your captious coquette
copy rights 2010
Coquette
(Green, Kahn, Lombardo)
Hear me, why you keep fooling, little coquette, making fun of the one who loves you?
Breaking hearts you are ruling, little coquette, true hearts tenderly dreaming of you.
Someday you'll fall in love as I fell in love with you.
Maybe the one you love will just be fooling too.
And when you are alone with all your regrets, you know, my little coquette, I love you.
Mm, someday you'll fall in love as I fell in love with you.
Now, maybe the one you love will just be fooling too.
And when you are alone with all your regrets, oo-oo,
now, you know, my little coquette, I love you.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Sighing Strephon
Your pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did offend;
Your pardon, a thousand times o'er:
From friendship I strove your pangs to remove,
But, I swear, I will do so no more.
Since your beautiful maid your flame has repaid,
No more I your folly regret
She's now most divine, and I bow at the shrine
Of this quickly reformed coquette.
Yet still, I must own, I should never have known
From your verses what else she deserved;
Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so devilish reserved.
Since the baim-br'eathing 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. You Say,
'When I rove, I know nothing of love;'
'Tis true, 'I am given to range;
If I rightly remember, I've loved a good number,
Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change
I will not advance, by the rules of romance,
To humour a whimsical fair;
Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't affright,
Or drlve me to dreadful despair.
While my blood is thus warm I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonists' school;
Of this l am sure, was my passion so pure,
Thy mistress would think me a fool.
And if I should shun every woman for one,
Whose image must fill my whole breast--
Whom I must prefer, and sigh but for her--
What an insult 'twould be to the rest!
ow, Strephon, good bye, I cannot deny
Your passion appears most absurd;
Such love as you plead is pure love indeed,
For it only consists in the word.
A coquette is like a recruiting sergeant, always on the lookout for fresh victims.
quote by Douglas Jerrold
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I don't like to talk much with people who always agree with me. It is amusing to coquette with an echo for a little while, but one soon tires of it.
quote by Thomas Carlyle
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Popularity, I have always thought, may aptly be compared to a coquette - the more you woo her, the more apt is she to elude your embrace.
quote by John Tyler
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Misfortune's Usherettes!
Even when their happy,
It's with sour vinaigrette's
-Wailing and crying…
With packets of cigarette's
This leaves me to reflect
Why all these Juliette's
Whisper and misdirect…
Pretending, their sweet-
Misfortune's usherettes!
Why do they harbour deceit?
With a smile, select!
Of course it's a movie show
A drive in nymphet!
I only wish I brought a wetsuit…
And, had done with, regret
But their airs like morning,
Reveal a flowers coquette
A burning passion, longing…
No Adam of Eden shall nearer forget.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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I gave my soul to you
I gave my soul to you
And a man from a boy thou made
A cold heart into a warm heart
And thou gave it back, and with it thou stayed
Real artists create real life
Thou painted my soul's flesh with such a delicate stroke
And sowed the beauty thy hand doth pick
And love in us both thou awoke
A million miles away, thou art still in me
Thy echoes I hear, thy silhouette I see
In every wind blow in front of every sunset
Loving thee I'll never regret
My sweet love, my lady coquette
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Thy timid love, a coquette dabbed shy
Thy timid love, a coquette dabbed shy
Thy blue animates, thy emerald jewel
Which plays its color in both thy eye
To the heart of love, of a love named fool
The man I call myself for loving you
With all my sense I follow thy trance
A kaleidoscope of color, my love pursue
Thy eyes that move, thy eyes that dance
But so coy, so tender, so shy, thou art
Never loved, like thy love should be
A vivid beauty shielding a hidden heart
I can see beauty but I cannot find thee
Disclosed behind a veil of blue and green
The shy love of beautiful eyes love's majestic queen.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Romance Point [3]
ROMANCE POINT [3]
esspeecee … [12.10.08]
O floral bed
En-bosom the,
Foot marks indelibly
-of her.
Bohemian me
Know well,
She’ll efface
Like a
Spry shadow.
Her balmy
Coquette feet will
Gush out,
But to -
Dumfound me
Achefully.
O floral bed
En-bosom foot prints,
My-
Romance Point
For an image
In my sterile cache.
End up
Game of romance
Before the mellow light
O you not
My Romance Point.
Copyright reserved by the Author
.
poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
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Morning
The mist has left the greening plain,
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain,
The coquette rose awakes again
Her lovely self adorning.
The Wind is hiding in the trees,
A sighing, soothing, laughing tease,
Until the rose says "Kiss me, please,"
'Tis morning, 'tis morning.
With staff in hand and careless-free,
The wanderer fares right jauntily,
For towns and houses are, thinks he,
For scorning, for scorning.
My soul is swift upon the wing,
And in its deeps a song I bring;
Come, Love, and we together sing,
"'Tis morning, 'tis morning."
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Hendecasyllabics
O you chorus of indolent reviewers,
Irresponsible, indolent reviewers,
Look, I come to the test, a tiny poem
All composed in a metre of Catullus,
All in quantity, careful of my motion,
Like the skater on ice that hardly bears him,
Lest I fall unawares before the people,
Waking laughter in indolent reviewers.
Should I flounder awhile without a tumble
Thro' this metrification of Catullus,
They should speak to me not without a welcome,
All that chorus of indolent reviewers.
Hard, hard, hard it is, only not to tumble,
So fantastical is the dainty meter.
Wherefore slight me not wholly, nor believe me
Too presumptuous, indolent reviewers.
O blatant Magazines, regard me rather -
Since I blush to belaud myself a moment -
As some rare little rose, a piece of inmost
Horticultural art, or half-coquette-like
Maiden, not to be greeted unbenignly.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Chastity, a myth
A prey of the pursuit
Or a pawn of the assault
Though one may fall,
The one is not unchaste.
A victim of the molestation
Or a ruin of the rape
Though one is made,
The one is not unchaste.
A model, a nude
Or love embrace on stage,
Though one may do,
The one is not unchaste.
Enough to be a coquette,
No need of adultery,
One practices infidelity.
Tumbles down the chastity.
Never in nakedness,
Never in sexy touch,
But only secret relation,
Chastity is tarnished.
Seduction of mind,
Followed or not by
Seduction of body
Tells upon ones chastity.
Whoever lived
That has lived not
Without the seduction of mind?
Then where is the chastity?
Chastity is a myth
Without a pith.
09.11.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Wooing
A YOUTH went faring up and down,
Alack and well-a-day.
He fared him to the market town,
Alack and well-a-day.
And there he met a maiden fair,
With hazel eyes and auburn hair;
His heart went from him then and there,
Alack and well-a-day.
She posies sold right merrily,
Alack and well-a-day;
But not a flower was fair as she,
Alack and well-a-day.
He bought a rose and sighed a sigh,
'Ah, dearest maiden, would that I
Might dare the seller too to buy!'
Alack and well-a-day.
She tossed her head, the coy coquette,
Alack and well-a-day.
'I'm not, sir, in the market yet,'
Alack and well-a-day.
'Your love must cool upon a shelf;
Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf,
I'm yet too young to sell myself,'
Alack and well-a-day.
The youth was filled with sorrow sore,
Alack and well-a-day;
And looked he at the maid once more,
Alack and well-a-day.
Then loud he cried, 'Fair maiden, if
Too young to sell, now as I live,
You're not too young yourself to give,'
Alack and well-a-day.
The little maid cast down her eyes,
Alack and well-a-day,
And many a flush began to rise,
Alack and well-a-day.
'Why, since you are so bold,' she said,
'I doubt not you are highly bred,
So take me!' and the twain were wed,
Alack and well-a-day.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Dell And I
In a mansion grand, just over the way,
Lives bonny, beautiful Dell;
You may have heard of this lady gay,
For she is a famous belle.
I live in a low cot opposite,
You never have heard of me;
For when the lady moon shines bright,
Who would a pale star see?
But ah, well, ah, well! I am happier far than Dell,
As strange as that may be.
Dell has robes of the richest kind-
Pinks and purples and blues.
And she worries her maid and frets her mind
To know which one to choose.
Which shall it be now, silk or lace?
In which will I be most fair?
She stands by the mirror with anxious face,
And her maid looks on in despair.
Ah, well, ah, well! I am not worried, you see, like Dell,
For I have but
one
to wear.
Dell has lovers of every grade,
Of every age and style;
Suitors flutter about the maid,
And bask in her word and smile.
She keeps them all, with a coquette's art,
As suits her mood or mirth,
And vainly wonders if in one heart
Of all true love has birth.
Ah, well, ah, well! I never question myself like Dell,
For I
know
a true heart's worth.
Pleasure to Dell seems stale and old,
Often she sits and sighs;
Life to me is a tale untold,
Each day is a glad surprise.
Dell with marry, of course, some day
After her belleship is run;
She will cavil the matter in worldly way
And wed Dame Fortune's son.
But, ah, well, sweet to tell, I shall not dally and choose like Dell,
For I love and am loved by-
one
.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him
Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him--
Tell him the page I didn't write;
Tell him I only said the syntax,
And left the verb and the pronoun out.
Tell him just how the fingers hurried
Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow-
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,
So you could see what moved them so.
'Tell him it wasn't a practised writer,
You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
Tell him--No, you may quibble there,
For it would split his heart to know it,
And then you and I were silenter.
'Tell him night finished before we finished
And the old clock kept neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended--
What could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious
But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow,--happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!'
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Corinna
This day (the year I dare not tell)
Apollo play'd the midwife's part;
Into the world Corinna fell,
And he endued her with his art.
But Cupid with a Satyr comes;
Both softly to the cradle creep;
Both stroke her hands, and rub her gums,
While the poor child lay fast asleep.
Then Cupid thus: 'This little maid
Of love shall always speak and write;'
'And I pronounce,' the Satyr said,
'The world shall feel her scratch and bite.'
Her talent she display'd betimes;
For in a few revolving moons,
She seem'd to laugh and squall in rhymes,
And all her gestures were lampoons.
At six years old, the subtle jade
Stole to the pantry-door, and found
The butler with my lady's maid:
And you may swear the tale went round.
She made a song, how little miss
Was kiss'd and slobber'd by a lad:
And how, when master went to p—,
Miss came, and peep'd at all he had.
At twelve, a wit and a coquette;
Marries for love, half whore, half wife;
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in debt;
Turns authoress, and is Curll's for life.
Her common-place book all gallant is,
Of scandal now a cornucopia;
She pours it out in Atalantis
Or memoirs of the New Utopia.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Latone
Le quinconce, le buis, les ifs et les cyprès,
La rocaille coquette et la vasque pensive
D’où s’épanche ou jaillit l’onde dolente ou vive
Qui fait l’allée en pleurs ou le carrefour frais ;
La fontaine qui jase et le bassin auprès
Qui stagne et que tarit la fissure furtive,
La statue et l’hermès que la mousse enjolive
Et le parc qui finit en lointains de forêts ;
Le Silence qui songe et l’Écho qui recule
Bercent la douceur d’être en ce beau crépuscule
Où, dans le souvenir, tout reste ce qu’il fut,
Et, parmi l’eau verdie où s’effeuille l’automne,
Toujours s’obstine, en or accroupi, le salut
De l’obèse grenouille à la svelte Latone.
poem by Henri de Regnier
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Flirtation
Yes, leave my side to flirt with Maude,
To gaze into her eyes,
To whisper in her ear sweet words,
And low impassioned sighs;
And though she give you glance for glance,
And smile and scheme and plot,
You cannot raise a jealous thought,
I know you love her not.
Now turn to laughing Lulu,
That Witty, gay coquette,
With her teeth of shining pearl,
Her eyes and hair of jet:
With a mirthful smile imprison
Her hand within your own,
And softly press it—what care I?
You love but me alone.
To Ida’s chair you wander,
You’re bending o’er her now,
Until your own dark curls have brushed
Against her queenly brow;
In vain she strives to bind you
With fascinating spell;
For if sharply now I suffer,
You suffer too as well.
This fit of gay coquetry
Is meant, ah! well I know
To avenge my quiet flirting
At our ball a night ago,
With that winning, handsome stranger,—
Remember, Harry dear,
’Twas yourself who introduced him,
Yourself who brought him here.
Let us cease this cruel warfare,
Come back to me again!
Ah, what do we reap from flirting
But heartaches, mutual pain?
You’ll forgive my past shortcomings—
Be tender as of yore
And we both will make a promise
To henceforth flirt no more.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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A Man in Love
L'Homme qui ne se trouve point, et ne se trouvera jamais.
The man who feels the dear disease,
Forgets himself, neglects to please,
The crowd avoids, and seeks the groves,
And much he thinks when much he loves;
Press'd with alternate hope and fear,
Sighs in her absence, sighs when near.
The gay, the fond, the fair, the young,
Those trifles pass unseen along,
To him a pert insipid throng.
But most he shuns the vain coquette;
Contemns her false affected wit:
The minstrel's sound, the flowing bowl,
Oppress and hurt the amorous soul.
'Tis solitude alone can please,
And give some intervals of ease.
He feeds the soft distemper there,
And fondly courts the distant fair;
To balls the silent shade prefers,
And hates all other charms but hers.
When thus your absent swain can do,
Molly, you may believe him true.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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