The Gift
To Iris, In Bow Street, Convent Garden Say, 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 prize The gift, who slights the giver? A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, My rivals give and let 'em; If gems, or gold, impart a joy, I'll give them when I get 'em. I'll give but not the full-blown rose, Or rose-bud more in fashion; Such short-liv'd 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.
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"To Iris, In Bow Street, Convent Garden..."
"The Gift" is a quintessential example of Oliver Goldsmith's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...