Exquisite Laura! with thy pouting lip,
And the arch smile that makes me constant so—
Tempting me still like a dull bee to sip
The flower I should have left so long ago—
Beautiful Laura! who art just so fair
That I can think thee lovely when alone,
And still art not so wonderfully rare
That I could never find a prettier one—
Spirited Laura! laughing, weeping, crying
In the same breath, and gravest with the gay—
So wild, that Cupid ever shoots thee flying,
And knows his archery is thrown away—
Inconstant as I am, I cannot yet
Break thy sweet fetter, exquisite coquette!