THE CHARMS of MELODY, SONG 39

Though prudence may press me, And duty distress me, Against inclination, O what can they do! No longer a rover, His follies are over, My heart, my fond heart says, my Henry is true.

The bee, thus, as changing, From sweet to sweet ranging, A rose should he light on, ne'er wishes to stray: What raptures! possessing In one ev'ry blessing, Till, torn from her bosom, he flies far away.