To thee, dear Jane, with joy I send,
The tribute of a bridal Friend.
Of late I'm grown, quite grave and stupid,
A traitor to the laws of Cupid;
Defy his pow'r, and pointed darts,
With which he wounds poor mortals hearts:
So send to thee this magic charm;
Grant that the spell thy fancy warm.
If nine times drawing thro' the ring,
Can any solid comforts bring,
This may afford a pleasing dream,
Compos'd of Love; delightful theme!
Create a Swain sincere and just,
On whom thou may'st with safety trust;
Yet pleasing, lively, witty, smart,
A Man, quite after thine own heart.
This World is but a dream throughout,
We wake, and our mistakes find out;
Our hopes high rais'd, and prospects bright,
Vanish like visions from the sight,
May they to thee be verified,
By being soon an happy bride!