George Gordon Noel Byron

A thirst for gold,
The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm
The meanest hearts.

A thirst for gold,
The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm
The meanest hearts.

A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.

A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.

Some are soon bagg'd but some reject three dozen.
'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals
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Some are soon bagg'd but some reject three dozen.
'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals
And wild dismay, o'er every angry cousin
(Friends of the party) who begin accusals,
Such as--"Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosen
Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals
To his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I pray,
Look yes least night, and yet say No to-day?"

And one by one in turn, some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

And one by one in turn, some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

From thy own smile I snatched the snake.

From thy own smile I snatched the snake.