  Thou canst not boast of Fortune's store, My love, while me they wealthy call: But I was glad to find thee poor, For with my heart I'd give thee all, And then the grateful youth shall own, I loved him for himself alone. But when his worth my hand shall gain, No word or look of mine shall show That I the smallest thought retain Of what my bounty did bestow: Yet still his grateful heart shall own, I loved him for himself alone. Richard Brinsley Sheridan |
|
