| HOW can my Muse want subject to invent | |
| While thou dost breathe, that pour’st into my verse | |
| Thine own sweet argument, too excellent | |
| For every vulgar paper to rehearse? | |
| O! give thyself the thanks, if aught in me | 5 |
| Worthy perusal stand against thy sight; | |
| For who ’s so dumb that cannot write to thee, | |
| When thou thyself dost give invention light? | |
| Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth | |
| Than those old nine which rimers invocate; | 10 |
| And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth | |
| Eternal numbers to outlive long date. | |
| If my slight Muse do please these curious days, | |
| The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. |