To a Lady Dancing at a Ball

The Muse appears, all Airy, in my view,
The Muse appears, and Dances, Bright, like you,
Like you, she fleets, and in my fancy flies,
All Wing'd, and gliding fast thro' azure Skies.
Loe! She descends, and hither darts her way,
Like Sun-beams swiftly bright —
All Lust'rous clear, and flashing on the Day.
With moving Air, like thee she passes now,
Welcome, my Muse — oh! Not the Muse — 'tis thou.
Forgive me, Virgin, I mistook the fair,
Only thy self could with thy self compare.
You are my Muse, 'tis you, 'tis you inspire,
While your each motion Fans the kindling Fire.
My tuneful Notions rise surprizing new,
At once you Dance, and give the Musick too.
O that my Verse could run on Feet like thine,
My numbers then, would grow, like thee, Divine.
So true you move, yet with such swift surprize,
Tho' rising still, none can perceive you rise.
Stay, British Daphne, 'tis not Sol pursues,
Winning too fast the race, the prize you lose.
My […] Thoughts in vain to reach you strive,
Stay, thou hast won the Laurel, yet alive
Take the reward, the Poets Crown's your due,
Both Crowns and Hearts all must submit to you.
O if to thee a fate like Daphne's fell,
How would the Wreath be priz'd —
How would all write, and how would I excel!