Let mild good humour beam in you,
Aided by virtues magic pow’r.
These, lasting beauties will create,
These, give new lustre to the eye;
The cheeks bright bloom reanimate,
And plant the rose that ne’er will die.
Thus, lovely maid, where’er you rove,
’Cross verdant hill, or fragrant dale,
Make the gay flowrets of the grove,
More useful than to scent the gale.