IN BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
21 lines✦
ay, cruel Iris, pretty rake,Dear mercenary beauty,What annual offering shall I make,Expressive of my duty? My heart, a victim to thine eyes,Should I at once deliver--Say, would the angry fair-one prizeThe gift, who slights the giver? A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,My rivals give; and let them:If gems or gold impart a joy,I’ll give them--when I get them. I’ll give--but not the full-blown rose,Or rose-bud, more in fashion--Such short-liv’d offerings but discloseA transitory passion-- I’ll give thee something yet unpaid,Not less sincere than civil:I’ll give thee--ah! too charming maid,I’ll give thee to the devil! [Illustration: THE LOGICIANS REFUTED]
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