My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still
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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,
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And, like unlettered clerk, still cry 'Amen'
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polished form of well-refinèd pen.
Hearing you praised, I say, ''Tis so, 'tis true,'
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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;
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Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.