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 unlettered clerk still cry "Amen"
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polished 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.