LXXVIII

    So oft have I invoked¹ thee for my Muse², And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use And under thee their poesy disperse³. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Have added feathers to the learned's wing And given grace a double majesty⁴. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine, and born of thee： In others' works thou dost but mend the style, And arts with thy sweet graces graced be； But thou art all my art, and dost advance As high as learning, my rude ignorance.