LXXXV

    My tongue-tied Muse¹ in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise richly compil'd, Reserve their character with golden quill², And precious phrase by all the Muses³ fil'd. I think good thoughts, whilst others write good words, And like unlettered clerk still cry 'Amen' To every hymn⁴ 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.