Sonnet to Dr. Harington

Harmonious friend! to whom my honor'd Muse Is eager to declare how much she owes, Accept, and with indulgent eye peruse Her hasty verse, impatient to disclose How from your aid her new attraction flows. Cold as the figure of unfinish'd clay, Which by Prometheus' plastic hand arose, My lifeless song in half existence lay: I could not add the spark of heav'nly flame: To harmony's high sphere I dar'd not stray To steal from thence—but in this languid frame You pour, without a theft, the vital ray: Your generous art the quick'ning spirit gives, And by your tuneful fire the Ballad lives.