To Miss M— B.

NO more sorrows, no more cares,
 Tune my lyre to chearful airs. 
Now so happy, now so gay,
 'Tis for — this my lay. 
While the nymphs with pleasure twine,
 With each flower that decks the spring,
 The gay garland for the brow,
 Few amongst them sweet as you;
 May the nymph for him design'd,
 Ever faithful, ever kind;
 Sweet and chearful, may she be;
 Temper and good sense like thee.