[See duplicate ending from this point on the next pages.]
127.
Away, Terpsichore, light Muse, away!
And come, Urania, Prophetess divine!
Come, Muse of Heaven, my burning thirst allay!
Even now, for want of sacred drink, I pine:
In heavenly moisture dip this pen of mine,
And let my mouth with nectar overflow,
For I must more than mortal glory show!
128.