| SO oft have I invok’d thee for my Muse | |
| And found such fair assistance in my verse | |
| As every alien pen hath got my use | |
| And under thee their poesy disperse. | |
| Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing | 5 |
| And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, | |
| Have added feathers to the learned’s wing | |
| And given grace a double majesty. | |
| Yet be most proud of that which I compile, | |
| Whose influence is thine, and born of thee: | 10 |
| 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. |