Theophila Or Loves Sacrifice. A Divine Poem. Written by E. B. Esq; Several Parts thereof set to fit Aires by Mr J. Jenkins |
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For the much Honoured AUTHOR.
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 | Theophila |  |
xxxix
For the much Honoured AUTHOR.
The winged Intellect once taught to fly
By Art and Reason, may be bold to pry
Into the Secrets of a wandring Star,
Although its Motions be irregular:
And from the Smiles and Glances that those bright
Corrivals cast, that do embellish Night,
Guesse darkly at, though not directly know,
The various Changes that fall here below.
And perching on the high'st Perimeter,
May finde the Distances of every Sphere,
Which in full Orbs do move, tunicled so
That the lesse Spheres within the greater go,
As Cell in Cell, spun by the dying Flie;
Or Ball in Ball, turn'd in smooth Ivorie.
Each hath a Prince circled upon a Throne,
In a refulgent Habitation.
Only the Constellations seem to be
Like Nobles, in an Aristocrasie.
Their milkie Way like Innocence, and thus
Should all great Actions be Diaphanous.
But the great Monarch, Light, disposes All:
His Stores are Magazine, and Festivall:
And by his Pow'r Earths Epicycle may
Move in a silver Sphere, as well as They.
Else, her poor little Orb appears to be
A very Point to their Immensitie.
Thus strung, like Beads, They on their Centers move;
But the great Center of this All, is Love.
By Art and Reason, may be bold to pry
Into the Secrets of a wandring Star,
Although its Motions be irregular:
And from the Smiles and Glances that those bright
Corrivals cast, that do embellish Night,
Guesse darkly at, though not directly know,
The various Changes that fall here below.
And perching on the high'st Perimeter,
May finde the Distances of every Sphere,
Which in full Orbs do move, tunicled so
That the lesse Spheres within the greater go,
As Cell in Cell, spun by the dying Flie;
Or Ball in Ball, turn'd in smooth Ivorie.
Each hath a Prince circled upon a Throne,
In a refulgent Habitation.
Only the Constellations seem to be
Like Nobles, in an Aristocrasie.
Their milkie Way like Innocence, and thus
Should all great Actions be Diaphanous.
But the great Monarch, Light, disposes All:
His Stores are Magazine, and Festivall:
And by his Pow'r Earths Epicycle may
Move in a silver Sphere, as well as They.
Else, her poor little Orb appears to be
A very Point to their Immensitie.
Thus strung, like Beads, They on their Centers move;
But the great Center of this All, is Love.
xl
Though the brute Creatures by the height of Sense
Foretell their calm and boystrous Influence,
Yet to finde out their Motions is Mans part,
Not by the help of Nature, but of Art,
Which rarifies the Soul, and makes it rise,
And sees no farther than that gives it Eyes.
And by that Prospect will directly tell
What Regions stoop to every Parallel.
Which Cities furred are with Snow, which lie
Naked, and scorcht under Heav'ns Canopie.
How Men, like Cloves stuck in an Orenge, stand
Still upright, with their Feet upon the Land.
And where the Seas oppos'd to us do flow,
Yet quench they not that Heat where Spices grow.
Foretell their calm and boystrous Influence,
Yet to finde out their Motions is Mans part,
Not by the help of Nature, but of Art,
Which rarifies the Soul, and makes it rise,
And sees no farther than that gives it Eyes.
And by that Prospect will directly tell
What Regions stoop to every Parallel.
Which Cities furred are with Snow, which lie
Naked, and scorcht under Heav'ns Canopie.
How Men, like Cloves stuck in an Orenge, stand
Still upright, with their Feet upon the Land.
And where the Seas oppos'd to us do flow,
Yet quench they not that Heat where Spices grow.
It sees fair Mornings rising Neck beset
With orient Jems, like a rich Carcanet.
Who every Night doth send her Beams to spie
In what dark Caves her golden Treasures lie:
And there they brood and hatch the callow Race,
Till they take wing, and fly in every place.
With orient Jems, like a rich Carcanet.
Who every Night doth send her Beams to spie
In what dark Caves her golden Treasures lie:
And there they brood and hatch the callow Race,
Till they take wing, and fly in every place.
It sees the frozen Firre shrouding its Arms,
While Cocus Trees are courted with blest Charms,
That swell their pregnant Womb: whose Issue may
Sweeten our World, but that they die by th' Way.
While Cocus Trees are courted with blest Charms,
That swell their pregnant Womb: whose Issue may
Sweeten our World, but that they die by th' Way.
It sees the Seasons lying at the Door,
Some warm and wanton, and some cold and poor;
And knows from whence they come, both foul & fair,
And from their Presence gilds, or soils the Air.
Some warm and wanton, and some cold and poor;
And knows from whence they come, both foul & fair,
And from their Presence gilds, or soils the Air.
It sees plain Natures Face, how rude it looks
Till it be polished by Men and Books;
And most of her dark Secrets can discover
To open View of an industrious Lover.
Till it be polished by Men and Books;
And most of her dark Secrets can discover
To open View of an industrious Lover.
xli
What ever under Heav'ns great Throne we prize
Or value, in Arts Chamber-practise lies.
But when before the Almighty Judge he come
To speak of Him, my Oratour is dumb.
Or value, in Arts Chamber-practise lies.
But when before the Almighty Judge he come
To speak of Him, my Oratour is dumb.
Go then, thou silent Soul, present thy Plea
By the fair Hand of sweet Theophila.
Hap'ly thy harsh and broken Strains may rise
In the Perfume of her sweet Sacrifice:
And if by this Accesse thou find'st a Way
To th' highest Throne, alas! what canst thou say?
What can the Bubble (though its Breath it bring
Upon the gliding Stream) say of the Spring?
Can the proud painted Flow'r boast that it knows
The Root that bears it, and whereon it grows?
Or can the crawling Worm, though ne're so stout,
With its Meandrings finde the Center out?
Can Infinite be measur'd by a Span?
And what art thou, lesse than all these, ô Man?
By the fair Hand of sweet Theophila.
Hap'ly thy harsh and broken Strains may rise
In the Perfume of her sweet Sacrifice:
And if by this Accesse thou find'st a Way
To th' highest Throne, alas! what canst thou say?
What can the Bubble (though its Breath it bring
Upon the gliding Stream) say of the Spring?
Can the proud painted Flow'r boast that it knows
The Root that bears it, and whereon it grows?
Or can the crawling Worm, though ne're so stout,
With its Meandrings finde the Center out?
Can Infinite be measur'd by a Span?
And what art thou, lesse than all these, ô Man?
Man is a thing of nought! yet from Above
There beams upon his Soul such Raies of Love,
As may discover by Faiths Optick, where
The burning Bush is, though not see Him there.
The meekest Man on Earth did only see
His Shadow shining there, it was not He.
And if that great Soul, who with holy Flame,
And ravisht Spirit to the Third Heav'n came,
Saw Things unutterable, What can We
Expresse of those Things that we ne're did see?
The Senses strongest Pillars cannot bear
The Weight of the least grain of Glory there.
No more then where to bound, or comprehend
Infinitie, they can Begin, or End.
There beams upon his Soul such Raies of Love,
As may discover by Faiths Optick, where
The burning Bush is, though not see Him there.
The meekest Man on Earth did only see
His Shadow shining there, it was not He.
And if that great Soul, who with holy Flame,
And ravisht Spirit to the Third Heav'n came,
Saw Things unutterable, What can We
Expresse of those Things that we ne're did see?
The Senses strongest Pillars cannot bear
The Weight of the least grain of Glory there.
No more then where to bound, or comprehend
Infinitie, they can Begin, or End.
xlii
Since then the Soul is circumscrib'd within
The narrow Limits of a tender Skin;
Let us be Babes in Innocence, and grow
Strong upwards, and more weak to things below.
By sacred Chymistrie, the Spirit must
Ascend and leave the Sediment to Dust.
The narrow Limits of a tender Skin;
Let us be Babes in Innocence, and grow
Strong upwards, and more weak to things below.
By sacred Chymistrie, the Spirit must
Ascend and leave the Sediment to Dust.
This Cordial is distilled from the Eyes,
And we must sprinkle it on th' Sacrifice:
Offered i'th Virtue of Theoph'las Name,
Which must be to it Holocaust and Flame.
Then, wing'd with Zeal, we may aspire to see
The hallow'd Oracles exprest by Thee,
Who art Loves Flamen, and with Holy Fire
Refin'st thy Muse, to make her mount the Higher.
And we must sprinkle it on th' Sacrifice:
Offered i'th Virtue of Theoph'las Name,
Which must be to it Holocaust and Flame.
Then, wing'd with Zeal, we may aspire to see
The hallow'd Oracles exprest by Thee,
Who art Loves Flamen, and with Holy Fire
Refin'st thy Muse, to make her mount the Higher.
ARTH. WILSON.
| Theophila | |