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THE GIFT.

TO

Eris, in Bow Street, Covent Garden.

SAY, ruel 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 prize

The gift who slights the giver?

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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 shortlived offerings but disclose

A 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.

STANZAS ON WOMAN.

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray, What charm can sooth her melancholy,

What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom-is, to die.

LINES,

INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE OF APRIL 3, 1800.

E’en have you seen, bathed in the morning dew,

The budding rose its infant bloom display; When first its virgin tints unfold to view,

It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day.

So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came,

Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek; I gazed, I sigh’d, I caught the tender flame,

Felt the fond pang, and droop'd with passion weak. SONG,

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OH

“ SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.”

Ah me! when shall I marry me?
Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me.
He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.

But I will rally and combat the ruiner :
Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover:
She that gives all to the false one pursuing her,

kes but a penitent, and loses a lover.

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