Hark how the gladded Nymphs rejoyce, And with a gracefull voice, Commend _Apollo’s_ Choice. The gladded Nymphs their Guardian Angel greet, And chearfully her name repeat, And chearfully admire and praise, The Loyal musick of her layes; Whilst they securely sit, Beneath the banners of her wit, And scorn th’ill-manner’d Ignorance of those, Whose Stock’s so poor they cannot raise To their dull Muse one subsidy of praise, Unless they’re dubb’d the Sexes foes, These squibbs of sense themselves expose. Or if with stolen light They shine one night, The next their earth-born Lineage shows, They perish in their slime, And but to name them, wou’d defile _Astræa’s_ Rhime. IV. But you that would be truely wise, And vertues fair _Idea_ prize; You that would improve In harmless Arts of not indecent Love: Arts that _Romes_ fam’d Master never taught, Or in the Shops of fortune’s bought. Would you know what Wit doth mean, Pleasant wit yet not obscene, The several garbs that Humours wear, The dull, the brisk, the jealous, the severe? Wou’d you the pattern see Of spotless and untainted Loyalty, Deck’t in every gracefull word That language that afford; Tropes and Figures, Raptures and Conceits that ly, Disperst in all the pleasant Fields of poesie? Reade you then _Astræa’s_ lines, ‘Tis in those new discover’d Mines, Those golden Quarries that this Ore is found With which in Worlds as yet unknown _Astræa_ shall be crown’d. VII. And you th’ Advent’rous sons of fame, You that would sleep in honours bed With glorious Trophies garnished; You that with living labours strive Your dying Ashes to survive; Pay your Tributes to _Astræa’s_ name, Her Works can spare you immortality, For sure her Works shall never dye. Pyramids must fall and Mausolean Monuments decay, Marble Tombs shall crumble into dust, Noisie Wonders of a short liv’d day, That must in time yield up their Trust; And had e’er this been perisht quite Ith’ ruines of Eternal night, Had no kind Pen like her’s, In powerfull numbers powerfull verse, Too potent for the gripes of Avaritious fate, To these our ages lost declar’d their pristine State. VIII.