My Lord, These are the gloves that I did mention Last night, and 'twas with the intention That you should give me thanks and wear them, For I most willingly can spare them. When you this packet first do see, "Damn me!" cry you, "she has writ to me. I had better be at Bretby still Than troubled with love against my will. Besides, this is not all my sorrow: She writ today, she'll come tomorrow." Then you consider the adventure And think you never shall content her. But when you do the inside see, You'll find things are but as they should be, And that 'tis neither love nor passion, But only for your recreation. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HAMATREYA by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE ORPHAN BOY'S TALE by AMELIA OPIE BARS FIGHT, AUGUST 28, 1746 by LUCY TERRY WRITTEN IN IRELAND by MARY (CUMBERLAND) ALCOCK THE FASHIONS, 1806 by LEWIS BEACH THOUGHTS AFTER VIRGIL by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB VALEDICTORY; THE SCHOLAR TO THE ASHES OF HIS LIBRARY by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB A LETTER, ON HIS DEPARTURE FORM LONDON; TO R.L., ESQ. by JOHN BYROM |