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My tongue-tied Muse | in man|ners holds | her
still,
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While com|ments of | your praise | richly |
compiled,
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Reserve | thy char|acter | with gold|en quill,
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And pre|cious phrase | by all | the Mus|es filed.
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I think | good* thoughts,| whilst oth|ers write |
good* words,
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And like | unlet|tered clerk | still cry | Amen,
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To eve|ry hymn | that ab|le spirit | affords,
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In pol|ished form | of well-|refin|ed pen.
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Hearing | you praised,| I say | tis so,| tis
true,
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And to | the most | of praise | add some|thing more;
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But that | is in | my thought,| whose love | to
you
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(Though words | come hind|most)^holds | his rank
| before,
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Then oth|ers, for | the breath | of words |
respect,
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Me for | my dumb | thoughts, speak/ing in |
effect.