English poem
TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUL MISS......,
by Thomas Moore
In wedlock a species of lottery lies, Where in blanks and in prizes we deal; But how comes it that you, such a capital prize, Should so long have remained in the wheel?
If ever, by Fortune's indulgent decree, To me such a ticket should roll, A sixteenth, Heaven knows! were sufficient for me; For what could I do with the whole?