They
metamor-
phos'd &
the Scene
chang'd,
she calls
Astrĉa &
the Gol-
den age. |
Die all, that can remain of you, but stone,
And that beseen awhile, and then be none.
Now, now, descend you both belov'd of Jove,
And of the good on earth no less the love;
Descend you long long wish'd, and wanted pair,
And as your softer times divide the air,
So shake all clouds off with your golden hair;
For spight is spent: the iron-age is fled,
And, with her power on earth, her name is dead.
1 A S T R Ĉ A. 2 A G E. descending.
1, 2. And are we then,
To live agen,
With men?
1. Will Jove such pledges to th' earth restore
As Justice? 2. Or the purer ore?
P A L L A S.
Once more.
A S T R Ĉ A. A G E.
2. But do they know,
How much they owe,
below?
1. And will of grace receive it, not as due?
P A L L A S.
If not they harm themselves, not you.
A S T R Ĉ A. A G E.
1 True. 2 True.
Q U I R E.
Let narrow Natures (how they will) mistake,
The great should still be good for their own sake.
|
They are
descended |
P A L L A S.
Welcome to earth and raign.
A S T R Ĉ A. A G E.
But how without a train
Shall we our state sustain?
|
She calls
the Poets. |
P A L L A S.
Leave that to Jove: therein you are
No little part of his Minerva's care.
Expect a while,
You far fam'd spirits of this happy Isle,
That, for your sacred songs have gain'd the stile
Of Phbus sons: whose notes the air aspire
Of th' old Ĉgyptian, or the Thracian lyre,
That Chaucer, Gower, Lidgate, Spencer hight,
Put on your better flames, and larger light,
To wait upon the age that shall your names
new nourish,
Since vertue prest shall grow, and buried arts
shall flourish.
Poets descend.
2 We come. 2 We come.
4 Our best of fire
Is that which Pallas doth inspire.
P A L L A S.
Then see you yonder souls, set far within the shade,
And in Elisian bowers the blessed seats do keep,
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That for their living good now semy-gods are made.
And went away from earth, as if but tam'd with sleep:
These we must joyn to wake; for these are of the strain
That justice dare defend, and will the age sustain.
Q U I R E.
Awake, awake, for whom these times were kept,
O wake, wake, wake, as you had never slept,
Make hast and put on air, to be their guard,
Whom once but to defend, is still reward.
P A L L A S.
Thus Pallas throws a lightning from her shield.
The Scene
of light
discovered
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Q U I R E.
To which let all that doubtful darkness yeild.
1 A S T R Ĉ A. 2 A G E.
1 Now peace. 2 And love. 1 Faith. 2 Joys.
1, 2. All all increase.
P O E T S.
2 And strife, 2 And hate, 2 And fear, 2 And
pain, 4 All cease.
P A L L A S.
No tumour of an iron vain.
The causes shall not come again.
Q U I R E.
But, as of old, all now be gold.
Move, move then to these sounds.
And, do, not only, walk your solemn rounds,
But give those light and ayry bounds,
That fit the Genii of these gladder grounds,
The first dance, after which, P A L L A S.
Already? Do not all things smile?
A S T R Ĉ A.
But when they have enjoy'd a while,
The ages quickning power:
A G E.
That every thought a seed doth bring,
And every look a plant doth spring,
And every breath a flower:
P A L L A S.
Then earth unplough'd shall yield her crop,
Pure honey from the oak shall drop,
The fountain shall run milk:
The thistle shall the lilly bear,
And every bramble roses wear,
And every worm make silk.
Q U I R E.
The very shrub shall balsame sweat,
And Nectar melt the rock with heat,
Till earth have drunk her fill:
That she no harm uweed may know,
Nor barren Ferne, nor Mandrake low,
Nor Minerall to kill.
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