Warm thee by Pindar’s fire;
And, tho’ thy nerves be shrunk, and blood be cold,
Ere years have made thee old,
Strike that disdainful heat
Throughout, to their defeat;
As curious fools, and envious of thy strain,
May, blushing, swear no palsy’s in thy brain[62].
But when they hear thee sing
The glories of thy King,
His zeal to God, and his just awe o’er men,