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LXXXV.
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.
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