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777. A PSALM OR HYMN TO THE GRACES.
Glory be to the Graces!
That do in public places
Drive thence whate'er encumbers
The list'ning to my numbers.
Honour be to the Graces!
Who do with sweet embraces,
Show they are well contented
With what I have invented.
Worship be to the Graces!
Who do from sour faces,
And lungs that would infect me,
For evermore protect me.
That do in public places
Drive thence whate'er encumbers
The list'ning to my numbers.
Honour be to the Graces!
Who do with sweet embraces,
Show they are well contented
With what I have invented.
Worship be to the Graces!
Who do from sour faces,
And lungs that would infect me,
For evermore protect me.
778. A HYMN TO THE MUSES.
Honour to you who sit
Near to the well of wit,
And drink your fill of it.
Glory and worship be
To you, sweet maids, thrice three,
Who still inspire me,
And teach me how to sing
Unto the lyric string
My measures ravishing.
Then while I sing your praise,
My priesthood crown with bays
Green, to the end of days.
Near to the well of wit,
And drink your fill of it.
Glory and worship be
To you, sweet maids, thrice three,
Who still inspire me,
And teach me how to sing
Unto the lyric string
My measures ravishing.
Then while I sing your praise,
My priesthood crown with bays
Green, to the end of days.
