Impromptu, An

May you, fraught with ev'ry grace,
All the charms of mind and face,
Ripen fair in wisdom's beam;
Thine the bliss that poets dream.
Happier still thy prospects shine,
And each wish fulfill'd be thine!

Riches make them wings and fly;
Envy blasts the buds of joy;
Deadly pangs may youth invade,
When the rosy cheek must fade;
Only virtue can impart
Our defence — it soothes the heart,
Death disarms, or blunts his dart.
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