'Tis theirs, who but to please aspire,
On Fiction to employ the Lyre;
Make Gods and Goddesses display
The Splendor of the Nuptial Day.

To paint thee at the hallow'd Shrine,
A solemn, glorious Scene! be Mine;
Now lightly touch'd--Some other Hour,
(If e'er the Cloud--dispelling Pow'r
Remove the Damps, that chill my Vein)
I'll trace the slight--drawn Lines again;
Warm Col'ring on the Piece bestow,
Till Life shall from the Pencil flow.

Lovely Bride! with Bliss be crown'd,
Diffusing Happiness around:
Beneficent, like Harley, shine;
Like Henrietta, grace your Line.