Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 7.djvu/115

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Lucietta, my deary,
That fairest of faces!
Is made up of kisses;
But, in love, oft the case is
Even stranger than this is—
There's another, that's slyer,
Who touches me nigher,—
A Witch, an intriguer,
Whose manner and figure
Now piques me, excites me,
Torments and delights me—

Cœtera desunt.
[From an autograph MS. in the possession of
Mr. Murray, now for the first time printed.]


Oh, Castlereagh! thou art a patriot now;
Cato died for his country, so did'st thou:
He perished rather than see Rome enslaved,
Thou cut'st thy throat that Britain may be saved!

So Castlereagh has cut his throat!—The worst
Of this is,—that his own was not the first.

So He has cut his throat at last!—He!Who?
The man who cut his country's long ago.

? August, 1822.
[First published, The Liberal, No. I., October 18, 1822, p. 164.]