 | Philosophicall fancies |  |
78
A Dialogue between the Body, and the Minde.
I write, and write, and't may be never read;
My Bookes, and I, all in a Grave lye dead.
No Memory will build a Monument,
Nor offer Praise unto the Soules content.
But howsoever, Soule, lye still at rest,
To make thy Fame to live, have done the best.
For all the Wit that Nature to me gave,
I set it forth, for to adorne thy Grave.
But if the Ruines of Oblivion come,
Tis not my fault, for what I can, is done.
For all the Life that Nature to me lends
About thy worke, and in thy Service spends.
But if thou thinkst, I take not paines, pray speake,
Before we part, my Body is but weak.
My Bookes, and I, all in a Grave lye dead.
No Memory will build a Monument,
Nor offer Praise unto the Soules content.
But howsoever, Soule, lye still at rest,
To make thy Fame to live, have done the best.
For all the Wit that Nature to me gave,
I set it forth, for to adorne thy Grave.
But if the Ruines of Oblivion come,
Tis not my fault, for what I can, is done.
For all the Life that Nature to me lends
About thy worke, and in thy Service spends.
But if thou thinkst, I take not paines, pray speake,
Before we part, my Body is but weak.
79
Braine thou hast done thy best, yet thou mightst go
To the Grave Learned, their subtle tricks to know:
And aske them, how such Fame they do beget,
When they do write, but of anothers Wit.
For they have little of their owne, but what
They have from others Braines, and Fancies got.
Body.
O Soule! I shall not need to take such paines,
The labour will be more then all the gaines:
For why! the World doth cosen and so cheat,
By railing at those Authors Wits they get;
Muffling & hiding of their Authors face,
By some strange Language, or by some disgrace.
Their Wit into an Anagram they make,
That Anagram for their owne Wit they take.
80
And so of Strangers make a Commonweale.
Tell to the World they are true Natives bred,
When they were borne all in another Head.
And with translating Wit they march along,
With understanding praise they grow so strong,
That they do rule, by conquering Fames great Court:
From whence they send out all their false report.
This is the way my Soule that they do use,
By different Language do the World abuse.
Therefore lye still thou troubled restless Spirit,
Seek not for Fame, unlesse thou hast a Merit.
Soule.
Body, when thou art gone, then I dye too,
Unlesse some great Act in thy life thou do:
81
To set my Fame at a great Merits price.
Body.
Alas, what can I do to make thee live,
Unlesse some wise Instructions thou canst give?
Can you direct me to some Noble Act,
Wherein Vain-glory makes no false Compact?
Can you direct me which way I shall take,
Those that are in distress, happy to make?
Soule.
No, that's unpossible, unlesse all hearts
Could be divided into equall parts.
Body.
Then prethee be content, seek thou no more;
Tis Fortune makes the World to worship, and adore.
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