Such is your cold coquette, who can’t say “No,”
And won’t say “Yes,” and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow—
Then sees your heart wrecked, with an inward scoffing.
This works a world of sentimental woe,
And sends new Werters yearly to their coffin;
But yet is merely innocent flirtation,
Not quite adultery, but adulteration.