To Mr. William Mason, on His Excellent Short-Hand
In a smooth train thy mystick figures flow,
And swiftest gales of eastern winds out-go.
Thy pen our words paints with the nicest care,
Before the fleeting voice dissolves in air:
Flying it draws the image of the mind,
Nor one idea wandring leaves behind.
Faithful as echo thy rare art is found,
Preserves the sense as it returns the sound.
And swiftest gales of eastern winds out-go.
Thy pen our words paints with the nicest care,
Before the fleeting voice dissolves in air:
Flying it draws the image of the mind,
Nor one idea wandring leaves behind.
Faithful as echo thy rare art is found,
Preserves the sense as it returns the sound.
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