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NO t to oblige Lncafia by my voice,Toboaft my fete, or juftifie my choice,Is this defign’d 5 but pity docs ,engage M y Pen to refcue the declining Age. For fince ’tis grown in fafhion to be bad, And to be vain or angry, proud or mad, (W hile in their Vices only Men agree J Is thought the only modern Gallantry ; How would (orae brave Examples check the crimes, And both reproch, and yet reform, the Times ? Nor can Morality it felf reclaim Th* apofiate W orld like my Lttcpfias name .• Lucafia, whofe rich Soul had it been known In that Time th’ Ancients call'd the Golden one, W hen Innocence and Greatncfs were the fame, And Men no battels knew but in a game, Chufing what Nature, not what Art,prefers i Poets were Judges, Kings Philosophers ; Even then from her the W ife would copies draw, And fhe to th’ infept W orld hadgiv'n a Law. That Souls were made o f Number could not be An Obfervation, but a Prophecy. It meant Lucafia, whofe harmonious ftate The Spheres and Mufes only imitate. But as then Mufick is beft undcrfiood, When every Chord's examin’d and found goöd ; So what in others Judgment is and W ill, In her is the fame even Reafon ftiii. And as fome Colour various feenas, but yet ’Tis but our difFrence in confidering i t : So fhe now light, and then does light djfpence, But is one fhiniflg Orb o f Excellence :