Virtue runs before the muse br And defies her skill, br She is rapt, and doth refuse br To wait a painter's will. br br Star-adoring, occupied, br Virtue cannot bend her, br Just to please a poet's pride, br To parade her splendor. br br The bard must be with good intent br No more his, but hers, br Throw away his pen and paint, br Kneel with worshippers. br br Then, perchance, a sunny ray br From the heaven of fire, br His lost tools may over-pay, br And better his desire.