To Miss M— B.

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.