My tongue-tied Muse in manners
holds her still,
While comments
of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their
character with golden quill
And precious
phrase by all the Muses
filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write
good words,
And like unletter'd clerk
still cry 'Amen'
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you
praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,'
And to the most
of praise add something more;
But that is in
my thought,
whose love
to you,
Though words
come hindmost,
holds his rank before.
Then others
for the breath of words
respect,
Me
for my dumb thoughts,
speaking in effect.
