Classic Poem

Not to obleige Lucasia by my voice,
To boast my fate, or Justify my choice,
Is this design'd; but pitty does engage
My pen to rescue the declining age
For since tis grown in fashion to be bad,
And to be vain or angry, proud or mad,
(While in their vices onely men agree)
Is thought the onely modern gallantry;
How would some brave example check the Crimes,
And both reproach and yet reform the times?
Nor can morallity it self reclaime
Th'apostate world like my Lucasia's name.
Lucasia, whose rich soule had it been known
In that time th'ancients call'd the golden One,
When inocence and greatness were the same,
And men no battells knew but in a game,
Choosing what nature, not what art prefers;
Poets were Judges, Kings Philosophers;
Ev'n then from her the wise would coppys draw,
And she to th'infant=World had given Law.
That souls were made of number could not be
An observation, but a prophesy.
It meant Lucasia, whose harmonious state
The spheares and muses faintly imitate
But as then Musique is best understood
When every chord's examin'd and found good:
So what in others Judgement is, and will,
In her is the same even reason still.
And as some collour various seems, but yet
'Tis but our difference in considering it:
So she now life, and then doth light dispence,
But is one shining orb of Excellence;
And that so piercing, when she Judgement takes,
She doth not search, but intuition makes:
And her discoverys more easy are
Then Cesar's conquest in his Pontique war.
As bright and vigorous, her beams are pure,
And in their own rich candour so secure,
That had she liv'd when Legends were devis'd,
Rome had been Just, and she been cannoniz'd
Nay innocence it self less cleare must be,
If inocence be any thing but she.
For vertue's so congeniall to her mind,
That Liquid things, or friends, are less combin'd;
So that in her that Sage his wish had seen,
And Vertue's self had personated been
Now as distilled simples doe agree,
And in the Lembique loose Variety;
So vertue, though in scatter'd pieces 'twas,
Is by her mind made one rich usefull masse
Nor doth discretion put religion down,
Nor hasty Zeale usurp the Judgment's Crowne:
Wisedome and friendship have one single throne,
And make another friendship of their own
Each severall piece darts such fierce pleasing rays,
Poetique lovers would but wrong in prayse.
All hath proportion, all hath comelyness,
And her humility alone excess.
Her modesty doth wrong a worth so great,
Which calumny it self would nobler treat:
While true to friendship's and to nature's trust,
To her own merits onely, shee's unjust.
But as divinity we best declare
By sounds as broken as our notions are;
So to acknowledge such vast eminence,
Imperfect wonder's all our eloquence
No pen Lucasia's glorys can relate,
But they admire best who dare imitate.