- My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
- While comments of your praise richly compil’d,
- Reserve their character with golden quill,
- And precious phrase by all the Muses fil’d.
- I think good thoughts, whilst others write good words,
- And like unlettered 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.