| Come, gentle muse, and once more lend thine aid, | |
| O bring thy succor to a humble maid! | |
| How often dost thou liberally dispense | |
| To our dull breast thy quick’ning influence! | |
| By thee inspired, I ’ll cheerful tune my voice, | 5 |
| And love and sacred friendship make my choice. | |
| In my pleased bosom you can freely pour, | |
| A greater treasure than Jove’s golden shower. | |
| Come now, fair muse, and fill my empty mind, | |
| With rich ideas, great and unconfin’d. | 10 |
| Instruct me in those secret arts that lie | |
| Unseen to all but to a poet’s eye. | |
| O let me burn with Sappho’s noble fire, | |
| But not like her for faithless man expire. | |
| And let me rival great Orinda’s fame, | 15 |
| Or like sweet Philomela’s 1 be my name. | |
| Go lead the way, my muse, nor must you stop | |
| Till we have gain’d Parnassus’ shady top: | |
| Till I have view’d those fragrant soft retreats, | |
| Those fields of bliss, the muses’ sacred seats. | 20 |
| I ’ll then devote thee to fair virtue’s fame, | |
| And so be worthy of a poet’s name. | |
