The Sonnets

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,

While comments of your praise richly compilʼd,

Reserve their character with golden quill,

And precious phrase by all the Muses filʼd.

I think good thoughts, whilst others write good words,

And like unlettered clerk still cry ‘Amen’

To every hymn that able spirit affords,

In polishʼd form of well-refined pen.

Hearing you praised, I say ‘ʼtis so, ʼtis 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.