Inscription to Miss Wingfield of Shrewsbury

Oft, when thy hands shall slip this rosy string,
Her may its nets to thy remembrance bring,
Who, as she wove them, still invok’d for thee
A fate from care, regret, and anguish free;
Each night, that health and peace may seal thine eyes,
Each morning prove a harbinger of joys,
That life, which must pass on, may glide, the while,
Mild as thy glance and cheering as thy smile!