Philosophical poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Philosophical poems

by Henry More

More, Henry (1614-1687)

[section]

[epigraph]

[dedication]

A PLATONICK SONG of the SOUL;

THE ORACLE

AN ADDITION of some few smaller POEMS

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

[_]

The pagination of the source document has been followed.

Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius antè
Trita solo, juvat integros accedere fontes.
Lucr.

To his dear Father ALEXANDER MORE ESQUIRE.

A PLATONICK SONG of the SOUL;

Treating, Of The Life of the Soul, Of Her Immortalitie, Of The Sleep of the Soul, Of The Unitie of Souls, and Of Memorie after Death.

Nullam majorem afferre solet ignaris inscitin voluptatem quám expeditum fastidio sumq; contemptum. Scal.

To the Reader.

Reader , sith it is the fashion
To bestow some salutation,
I greet thee; give free leave to look
And nearly view my opened Book.
But see then that thine eyes be clear
If ought thou wouldst discover there.
Expect from me no Teian strain,
No light wanton Lesbian vein:
Though well I wot the vulgar spright
Such Harmony doth more strongly smite.
Silent Secesse, wast Solitude
Deep searching thoughts often renew'd,
Stiffe conflict 'gainst importunate vice,
That daily doth the Soul entice
From her high throne of circuling light
To plunge her in infernall Night:
Collection of the mind from stroke
Of this worlds Magick, that doth choke
Her with foul smothering mists and stench,
And in Lethæan waves her drench:
A daily Death, drad Agony,
Privation, dry Sterility;
Who is well entred in those wayes
Fitt'st man to read my lofty layes.
But whom lust, wrath and fear controule,
Scarce know their body from their soul.
If any such chance hear my verse,
Dark numerous Nothings I rehearse

To them; measure out an idle sound
In which no inward sense is found.
Thus sing I to cragg'd clifts, and hils,
To sighing winds to murmuring rills,
To wastefull woods, to empty groves.
Such things as my dear mind most loves.
But they heed not my heavenly passion,
Fast fixt on their own operation.
On chalky rocks hard by the Sea,
Safe guided by fair Cynthia,
I strike my silver-sounded lyre,
First struck my self by some strong fire;
And all the while her wavering ray,
Reflected from fluid glasse doth play
On the white banks: But all are deaf
Unto my Muse, that is most lief
To mine own self. So they nor blame
My pleasant notes, nor praise the same.
Nor do thou, Reader, rashly brand
My rhythmes 'fore thou them understand.

H. M.

1. PSYCHOZOIA, OR The first part of the Song of the SOUL,

Containing A Christiano-Platonicall display of LIFE.

Tot vitæ gradus cognoscimus, quot in nobismetipsis expedimus. Mars. Ficin.

Cant. I.

This Song great Psyches parentage
With her fourefold array,
And that mysterious marriage,
To th'Reader doth display.

1

No Ladies loves, nor Knights brave martiall deeds,
Ywrapt in rolls of hid Antiquitie;
But th'inward Fountain, and the unseen Seeds,
From whence are these and what so under eye
Doth fall, or is record in memorie,
Psyche, I'll sing Psyche! from thee they sprong.
O life of Time, and all Alterity!
The life of lives instill his nectar strong,
My soul t'inebriate, while I sing Psyches song.

2

But thou, who e're thou art that hear'st this strain,
Or read'st these rythmes which from Platonick rage
Do powerfully flow forth, dare not to blame
My forward pen of foul miscarriage;
If all that's spoke, with thoughts more sadly sage
Doth not agree. My task is not to try
What's simply true. I onely do engage
My self to make a fit discovery,
Give some fair glimpse of Plato's hid Philosophy.

3

What man alive that hath but common wit
(When skilfull limmer 'suing his intent
Shall fairly well pourtray and wisely hit
The true proportion of each lineament,
And in right colours to the life depaint
The fulvid Eagle with her sun-bright eye)
Would wexen wroth with inward choler brent
Cause 'tis no Buzard or discolour'd Pie?
Why man? I meant it not: Cease thy fond obloquie.

4

So if what's consonant to Plato's school
(Which well agrees with learned Pythagore,
Egyptian Trismegist, and th'antique roll
Of Chaldee wisdome, all which time hath tore
But Plato and deep I lotin do restore)
Which is my scope, I sing out lustily:
If any twitten me for such strange lore,
And me all blamelesse brand with infamy,
God purge that man from fault of foul malignity.

5

Th'Ancient of dayes, Sire of Eternitie,
Sprung of himself, or rather no wise sprong:
Father of lights and everlasting glee,
Who puts to silence every daring tongue
And flies man's sight, shrowding himself among
His glorious rayes, good Atove, from whom came
All good that Penia spies in thickest throng
Of most desireables, all's from that same,
That same, that Atove hight, and sweet Abinoam.

6

Now can I not with flowring phantasie
To drowsie sensuall souls such words impart,
Which in their sprights, may cause sweet agony,
And thrill their bodies through with pleasing dart,
And spread in flowing fire their close-twist heart,
All chearing fire, that nothing wont to burn
That Atove lists to save; and his good Art
Is all to save that will to him return,
That all to him return, nought of him is forlorn:

7

For what can be forlorn, when his good hands
Hold all in life, that of life do partake?
O surest confidence of Loves strong bands!
Love loveth all that's made; Love all did make:
And when false life doth fail, it's for the sake
Of better being Riving tortures spight,
That life disjoynts, and makes the heart to quake,
To good the soul doth nearer reunite:
So ancient Atove hence all-joyning Ahad hight.

8

This Ahad of himself the Æon fair
Begot, the brightnesse of his father's grace:
No living wight in heav'n to him compare,
Ne work his goodly honour such disgrace,
Not lose thy time in telling of his race.
His beauty and his race no man can tell:
His glory darkeneth the Sunnes bright face;
Or if ought else the Sunnes bright face excell,
His splendour would it dim, and all that glory quell.

9

This is that ancient Eidos omniform,
Fount of all beauty, root of flowring glee.
Hyle old hag, foul, filthy, and deform,
Cannot come near. Joyfull Eternity
Admits no change or mutability,
No shade of change, no imminution,
No nor increase; for what increase can be
To that that's all? and where Hyl' hath no throne
Can ought decay? such is the state of great Æon.

10

Farre otherwise it fares in this same Lond
Of Truth and Beauty, then in mortall brood
Of earthly lovers, who impassion'd
With outward forms (not rightly understood
From whence proceeds this amorous sweet flood,
And choice delight which in their spright they feel:
Can outward Idole yield so heavenly mood?)
This inward beauty unto that they deal
That little beauteous is: Thus into th'dirt they reel.

11

Like to Narcissus, on the grassie shore,
Viewing his outward face in watery glasse;
Still as he looks, his looks adde evermore
New fire, new light, new love, new comely grace
To's inward form; and it displayes apace
It's hidden rayes, and so new lustre sends
To that vain shadow: but the boy, alas!
Unhappy boy! the inward nought attends,
But in foul filthy mire, love, life, and form he blends.

12

And this I wot is the Souls excellence,
That from the hint of every painted glance
Of shadows sensible, she doth from hence
Her radiant life, and lovely hue advance
To higher pitch, and by good governance
May wained be from love of fading light
In outward forms, having true Cognizance,
That those vain shows are not the beauty bright
That takes men so, but what they cause in humane spright.

13

Farre otherwise it fares in Æons Realm.
O happy close of sight and that there's seen!
That there is seen is good Abinoam,
Who Atove hight: And Atuvus I ween,
Cannot be lesse then he that sets his eyen
On that abysse of good eternally,
The youthfull Æon, whose fair face doth shine
While he his Fathers glory doth espy,
Which waters his fine flowring forms with light from high.

14

Not that his forms increase, or that they die:
For Æon-land, which men Idea call,
Is nought but life in full serenity,
Vigour of life is root, stock, branch, and all;
Nought here increaseth, nought here hath it's fall:
For Æons Kingdomes alwayes perfect stand,
Birds, Beasts, Fields, Springs, Plants, Men and Minerall
To perfectnesse nought added be there can.
This Æon also hight Autocalon and On.

15

This is the eldest sonne of Hattove hore:
But th'eldest daughter of this aged Sire,
That virgin wife of Æon, Uranore.
She Uranora hight, because the fire
Of Æthers essence she with bright attire,
And inward unseen golden hew doth dight,
And life of sense and phansie doth inspire.
Æther's the vehicle of touch, smell, sight,
Of taste, and hearing too, and of the plastick might.

16

Whilome me chanced (O my happy chance!)
To spie this spotlesse pure fair Uranore:
I spi'd her, but, alas! with slighter glance
Beheld her on the Atuvæan shore.
She stood the last; for her did stand before
The lovely Autocal. But first of all
Was mighty Atove, deeply covered o're
With unseen light. No might imaginall
May reach that vast profunditie.

17

Whiles thus they stood by that good lucid spring
Of living blisse, her fourefold ornament
I there observ'd; and that's the onely thing
That I dare write with due advisement.
Fool-hardy man that purposeth intent
Far 'bove his reach, like the proud Phaeton,
Who clomb the fiery car and was ybrent
Through his fond juvenile ambition;
Th'unruly slundring steeds wrought his confusion.

18

Now rise, my Muse, and straight thy self addresse
To write the pourtraiture of th'outward vest,
And to display it's perfect comlinesse:
Begin and leave where it shall please thee best.
Nor do assay to tell all, let the rest
Be understood. For no man can unfold
The many plicatures so closely prest
At lowest verge. Things 'fore our feet yrold,
If they be hard, how shall the highest things be told?

19

Its unseen figure I must here omit:
For thing so mighty vast no mortall eye
Can compasse, and if eye not compasse it,
The extreme parts, at least some, hidden lie:
And if that they lie hid, who can descry
The truth of figure? Bodies figured
Receive their shape from each extremity.
But if conjecture may stand in truths stead
The garment round or circular I do aread.

20

As for it's colour and materiall,
It silken seems, and of an azure hiew,
If hiew it have or colour naturall:
For much it may amaze mans erring view.
Those parts the eye is near give not the shew
Of any colour; but the rurall Swains,
O easie ignorance! would swear 'tis blew,
Such as their Phyllis would, when as she plains
Their Sunday cloths, and the washt white with azure stains.

21

But this fair azure colour's fouly stain'd
By base comparison with that blew dust.
But you of Uranore are not disdain'd,
O silly Shepherds, if you hit not just
In your conceits, so that you'r put in trust
You duly do attend. If simple deed
Accord with simple life, then needs you must
From the great Uranore of favour speed,
Though you cannot unfold the nature of her weed.

22

For who can it unfold, and reade aright
The divers colours, and the tinctures fair,
Which in this various vesture changes write
Of light, of duskishnesse, of thick, of rare
Consistences: ever new changes marre
Former impressions. The dubious shine
Of changeable silk stuffs, this passeth farre.
Farre more variety, and farre more fine,
Then interwoven silk with gold or silver twine.

23

Lo what delightfull immutations
On her soft flowing vest we contemplate!
The glory of the Court, their fashions,
And brave agguize with all their Princely state,
Which Poets or Historians relate
This farre excels, farther than pompous Court
Excels the homeliest garb of Countrey rate:
Unspeakable it is how great a sort
Of glorious glistring showes in it themselves disport.

24

There you may see the eyelids of the Morn
With lofty silver arch displaid ith' East,
And in the midst the burnisht gold doth burn;
A lucid purple mantle in the West
Doth close the day, and hap the Sun at rest.
Nor doth these lamping she{en}es the azur quell,
Or other colours: where't beseemeth best
There they themselves dispose; so seemly well
Doth light and changing tinctures deck this goodly veil.

25

But 'mongst these glaring glittering rows of light,
And flaming Circles, and the grisell gray,
And crudled clouds, with silver tippings dight.
And many other deckings wondrous gay,
As Iris and the Halo, there doth play
Still pac'd Euphrona in her Conique tire;
By stealth her steeple-cap she doth assay
To whelm on th'earth: So School-boyes do aspire
With coppell'd hat to quelme the Bee all arm'd with ire.

26

I saw pourtrai'd on this sky coloured silk
Two lovely Lads, with wings fully dispread
Of silver plumes, their skins more white then milk,
Their lilly limbs I greatly admired,
Their cheary looks and lusty lively bed:
Athwart their snowy brest, a scarf they wore
Of azur hew; fairly bespangeled
Was the gold fringe. Like Doves so forth they fore:
Some message they, I ween, to Monocardia bore.

27

O gentle Sprights, whose carefull oversight
Tends humane actions, sons of Solyma.
O heavenly Salems sons! you fend the right,
You violence resist, and fraud bewray;
The ill with ill, the good with good you pay.
And if you list to mortall eye appear,
You thick that veil, and so your selves array
With visibility: O myst'ry rare!
That thickned veile should maken things appear more bare!

28

But well I wot that nothing's bare to sense,
For sense cannot arrive to th'inwardnesse
Of things, nor penetrate the crusty fence
Of constipated matter close compresse:
Or that were laid aside, yet nathelesse
Things thus unbar'd, to sense be more obscure.
Therefore those sonnes of Love when they them dresse
For sight, they thick the vest of Uranure,
And from their centre overflow't with beauty pure.

29

Thus many goodly things have been unfold
Of Uranures fair changing ornament:
Yet faire more hidden lye as yet untold;
For all to tell was never my intent,
Neither all could I tell if I so meant.
For her large robe all the wide world doth fill:
It's various largenesse no man can depaint:
My pen's from thence, my Book my Ink; but skill
From Uranures own self down gently doth distill.

30

But yet one thing I saw that I'll not passe,
At the low hem of this large garment gay
Number of goodly balls there pendent was,
Some like the Sun, some like the Moones white ray,
Some like discoloured Tell us, when the day
Discries her painted co[illeg.] In wondrous wise
These coloured ones do circle, float and play,
As those farre shining Rounds in open skies:
Their course the best Astronomer might well aggrize.

31

These danc't about: but some I did espie
That steddy stood, 'mongst which there shined one,
More fairly shineth not the worlds great eye,
Which from his plenteous store unto the Moon
Kindly imparteth light, that when he's gone,
She might supply his place, and well abate
The irksome uglinesse of that foul drone,
Sad heavie Night, yet quick to work the fate
Of murd'red travellers, when they themselves berate.

32

O gladsome life of sense that doth adore
The outward shape of the worlds curious frame!
The proudest Prince that ever Sceptre bore
(Though he perhaps observeth not the same)
The lowest hem doth kisse of that we name
The stole of Uranore, these parts that won
To drag in dirty earth (nor do him blame)
These doth he kisse: why should he be fordone?
How sweet it is to live! what joy to see the Sunne!

33

But O what joy it is to see the Sun
Of Æons kingdomes, and th'eternall Day
That never night o'retakes! the radiant throne
Of the great Queen, the Queen Uranura!
Then she gan first the Scepter for to sway,
And rule with wisdome, when Atuvus old,
Hence Ahad we him call, did tie them tway
With nuptiall charm and wedding-ring of gold:
Then sagely he the case gan to them thus unfold:

34

My first born Sonne, and thou my Daughter dear,
Look on your aged Sire, the deep abysse,
In which and out of which you first appear;
I Ahad hight, and Ahad onenesse is:
Therefore be one (his words do never misse)
They one became. I Hattove also hight,
Said he; and Hattove goodnesse is and blisse:
Therefore in goodnesse be ye fast unite:
Let Unity, Love, Good, be measures of your might.

35

They straight accord: then he put on the ring,
The ring of lasting gold on Uranure;
Then gan the youthfull lads aloud to sing,
Hymen! O Hymen! O the Virgin pure!
O holy Bride! long may this joy indure.
After the song Atove his speech again
Renews. My Son, I unto thee assure
All judgement and authority soveraign
He spake as unto one: for one became those twain.

36

To thee each knee in Heaven and Earth shall bow,
And whatsoever, wons in darker cell
Under the Earth: If thou thy awfull brow
Contract, those of the Æthiopian hell
Shall lout, and do thee homage; they that dwel
In Tharsis, Britons fry, the Ocean-god,
Iim and Ziim, all the Satyres fell
That in ample Ilands maken their abode:
All those and all things else shall tremble at thy rod.

37

Thy rod thou shalt extend from sea to sea,
And thy Dominion to the worlds end;
All Kings shall vow thee faithfull fealty,
Then peace and truth on all the earth I'll send:
Nor moody Mars my metalls may mispend,
Of Warlike instruments they plow-shares shall
And pruning hooks efform. All things shall wend
For th'best, and thou the head shalt be o're all.
Have I not sworn thee King? true King Catholicall!

38

Thus farre he spake, and then again respired;
And all this time he held their hand in one;
Then they with chearfull look one thing desired,
That he nould break this happy union.
I happy union break? quoth he anon:
I Ahad? Father of Community?
Then they: That you nould let your hand be gone
Off from our hands: He grants with smiling glee:
So each stroke struck on earth is struck from these same three.

39

These three are Ahad, Æon, Uranore:
Ahad these three in one doth counite.
What so is done on earth the self same power
(Which is exert upon each mortall wight)
Is joyntly from all these But she that hight
Fair Uranore, men also Psyche call.
Great Psyche men and Angels dear delight,
Invested in her stole æthereall,
Which though so high it be, down to the earth doth fall.

40

The externall form of this large flowing stole,
My Muse so as she might above displaid:
But th'inward triple golden film to unroll,
Ah! he me teach that triple film hath made,
And brought out light out of the deadly shade
Of darkest Chaos, and things that are seen
Made to appear out of the gloomy glade
Of unseen beings: Them we call unseen,
Not that they're so indeed, but so to mortall eyen.

41

The first of these fair films, we Physis name.
Nothing in Nature did you ever spy,
But there's pourtraid: all beasts both wild and tame,
Each bird is here, and every buzzing fly;
All forrest-work is in this tapestry:
The Oke, the Holm, the Ash, the Aspine tree,
The lonesome Buzzard, th'Eagle, and the Py,
The Buck, the Bear, the Boar, the Hare, the Bee,
The Brize, the black-arm'd Clock, the Gnat, the Butterflie.

42

Snakes, Adders Hydraes, Dragons, Toads, and Frogs,
Th'own-litter-loving Ape, the Worm, and Snail,
Th'undaunted Lion, Horses, Men, and Dogs,
Their number's infinite, nought of th't avail
To reckon all, the time would surely fail:
And all besprinkled with centrall spots,
Dark little spots, is this hid inward veil:
But when the hot bright dart doth pierce these knots,
Each one dispreads it self according to their lots.

43

When they dispread themselves, then gins to swell
Dame Psyches outward vest, as th'inward wind
Softly gives forth, full softly doth it well
Forth from the centrall spot; yet as confin'd
To certain shape, according to the mind
Of the first centre, not perfect circ'lar-wise,
It shoots it self: for so the outward kind
Of things were lost, and Natures good device
Of different forms would hidden lie in one agguize.

44

But it according to the imprest Art
(That Arts impression's from Idea-Lond)
So drives it forth before it every part
According to true Symmetry: the bond
And just precinct (unlesse it be withstond)
It alwayes keeps. But that old Hag that hight
Foul Hyle mistresse of the miry strond,
Oft her withstands, and taketh great delight
To hinder Physis work, and work her all despight.

45

The self same envious witch with poyson'd dew,
From her soul eben-box, all tinctures stains,
Which fairly good be in hid Physis hew:
That film all tinctures fair in it contains;
But she their goodly glory much restrains.
She colours dims; clogs tastes; and damps the sounds
Of sweetest musick; touch to scorching pains
She turns, or baser tumults; smels confounds.
O horrid womb of hell, that with such ill abounds.

46

From this first film all bulk in quantity
Doth bougen out, and figure thence obtain.
Here eke begins the life of Sympathy,
And hidden virtue of magnetick vein,
Where unknown spirits beat, and Psyche's trane
Drag as they list, upon pursuit or flight;
One part into another they constrain
Through strong desire, and then again remit.
Each outward form's a shrine of its magnetick spright.

47

The ripen'd child breaks through his mothers womb,
The raving billows closely undermine
The ragged rocks, and then the seas intomb
Their heavy corse, and they their heads recline
On working sand: The Sunne and Moon combine;
Then they're at ods in site Diametrall:
The former age to th'present place resigne:
And what's all this but wafts of winds centrall
That ruffle, touze, and tosse Dame Psyche's wrimpled veil?

48

So Physis. Next is Arachnea thin,
The thinner of these two, but thinn'st of all
Is Semele, that's next to Psyches skin.
The second we thin Arachnea call,
Because the spider, that in Princes hall
Takes hold with her industrious hand, and weaves
Her dainty tender web; far short doth fall
Of this soft yeilding vest; this vest deceives
The spiders curious touch, and of her praise bereaves.

49

In midst of this fine web doth Haphe sit:
She is the centre from whence all the light
Dispreads, and goodly glorious Forms do flit
Hither and thither. Of this mirour bright
Haphe's the life and representing might
Haphe's the mother of sense-sympathy;
Hence are both Hearing, Smelling, Taste, and Sight:
Haphe's the root of felt vitality;
But Haphe's mother hight all-spread Community.

50

In this clear shining mirour Psyche sees
All that falls under sense, what ere is done
Upon the Earth; the Deserts shaken trees,
The mournfull winds, the solitary wonne
Of dreaded beasts, the Lybian Lyons moan,
When their hot entralls scorch with hunger keen,
And they to God for meat do deeply groan;
He hears their cry, he sees of them unseen;
His eyelids compasse all that in the wide world been.

51

He sees the weary traveller sit down
In the waste field oft-times with carefull chear:
His chafed feet, and the long way to town,
His burning thirst, faintnesse, and Panick fear,
Because he sees not him that stands so near,
Fetch from his soul deep sighs with count'nance sad,
But he looks on to whom nought doth dispear:
O happy man that full persuasion had
Of this! if right at home, nought of him were ydrad.

52

A many sparrows for small price be sold,
Yet none of them his wings on earth doth close
Lighting full soft, but that eye doth behold,
Their jets, their jumps, that mirour doth disclose.
Thrice happy he that putteth his repose
In his all-present God. That Africk rock
But touch't with heedlesse hand, Auster arose
With blust'ring rage, that with his irefull shock
And moody might he made the worlds frame nigh to rock.

53

And shall not He, when his Anointed be
Ill handled, rise, and in his wrathfull stour
Disperse, and quell the haughty enemy,
Make their brisk sprights to lout and lowly lowr?
Or else confound them quite with mighty power?
Touch not my Kings, my Prophets let alone,
Harm not my Preists; or you shall ill endure
Your works sad payment and that deadly lone;
Keep off your hand from that high holy Rock of stone.

54

Do not I see? I slumber not nor sleep.
Do not I hear? each noise by shady night
My mirour represents: when mortals steep
Their languid limbs in Morpheus dull delight,
I hear such sounds as Adams brood would fright.
The dolefull echoes from the hollow hill
Mock howling wolves: the woods with black bedight
Answer rough Pan, his pipe and eke his skill,
And all the Satyr-routs rude whoops and shoutings shrill:

55

The night's no night to me: What? shall the Owl
And nimble Cat their courses truly steer,
And guide their feet and wings to every hole
So right, this on the ground, that in the air?
And shall not I by night see full as clear?
All sense doth in proportion consist,
Arachnea doth all proportions bear;
All sensible proportions that fine twist
Contains: all life of sense is in great Haphes list.

56

Sense and concent, and all abhorrency,
Be variously divided in each one
Partic'lar creature: But antipathy
Cannot be there where fit proportion
Strikes in with all things in harmonious tone.
Thus Haphe feels nought to her self contrair:
In her there's tun'd a just Diapason
For every outward stroke: withouten jarre
Thus each thing doth she feel, and each thing easly bear.

57

But Haphe and Arachne I'll dismisse,
And that fourth vest, rich Semele display:
The largest of all foure and loosest is
This floting flouring changeable array.
How fairly doth it shine, and nimbly play,
Whiles gentle winds of Paradise do blow,
And that bright Sun of the eternall day
Upon it glorious light and forms doth strow,
And Abad it with love and joy doth overflow.

58

This all-spread Semele doth Bacchus bear,
Impregn'd of Jove or On. He is the wine
That sad down-drooping senses wont to rear,
And chearlesse hearts to comfort in ill tine.
He 'flames chast Poets brains with fire divine;
The stronger spright the weaker spright doth sway;
No wonder then each phansie doth incline
To their great mother Semel, and obey
The vigourous impresse of her enforcing ray.

59

She is the mother of each Semele:
The daughters be divided one from one;
But she grasps all. How can she then but see
Each Semels shadows by this union?
She sees and swayes imagination
As she thinks good; and if that she think good
She lets it play by't self, yet looketh on,
While she keeps in that large strong-beating floud
That makes the Poet write, and rave as he were wood.

60

Prophets and Poets have their life from hence;
Like fire into their marrow it searcheth deep,
This flaming fiery flake doth choak all sense,
And binds the lower man with brazen sleep:
Corruption through all his bones doth creep,
And raging raptures do his soul outsnatch:
Round-turning whirlwinds on Olympus steep
Do cast the soul that earst they out did catch:
Then stiller whispering winds dark visions unlatch.

61

But not too farre, thou bold Platonick Swain:
Strive not at once all myst'ries to discover
Of that strange School: More and more hard remain
As yet untold. But let us now recover
Strength to our selves by rest in duly houre.
Great Psyches Parentage, Marriage, and Weeds
We having song according to our power,
That we may rise more fresh for morning deeds,
Let's here take Inne and rest our weary sweating steeds.

Cant. II.

Here's taught how into Psychanie
Souls from their centrall sourse
Go forth, Here Beirons ingeny
Old Mnemon doth discourse.

1

I sang great Psyche in my former song,
Old Atoves daughter, sister unto On,
Mother of all that nimble Atom-throng
Of winged Lives, and Generation.
When Psyche wedded to Autocalon,
They both to Ahad forthwith straight were wed:
For as you heard, all these became but one,
And so conjoyn'd they lie all in one bed,
And with that four-fold vest they be all overspred.

2

Here lies the inmost Centre of Creation,
From whence all inward forms and life proceed:
Here's that aereall stole, that to each fashion
Of Sensibles is matter for their weed.
This is the ground where God doth sow his seed,
And whilest he sows with whispering charms doth bid
This flourish long, and that to make more speed,
And all in order by his Word doth rid:
So in their fatall round they 'pear and then are hid.

3

Beginning, End, Form and Continuance
Th'impression of his Word to them doth deal,
Occurrences he sees, and mindeth chance:
But chance hath bounds. The Sea cannot o're swell
His just precincts. Or rocky shores repell
His foming force; or else his inward life
And Centrall rains do fairly him compell
Within himself, and gently 'pease the strife,
Or makes him gnaw the bit with rore and rage full rise.

4

So fluid chance is set its certain bound,
Although with circling winds it be ytost;
And so the pilots skill doth quite confound
With unexpected storms, and men have lost
Their time, their labour, and their precious cost.
Yet ther's a Neptune Soveraign of this Sea,
Which those that in themselves put not their trust
To rude mischance did never yet betray:
It's He, whom both the winds and stormy Seas obey.

5

Now sith my wandring Bark so far is gone,
And flitten forth upon the Ocean main,
I thee beseech that just dominion
Hast of the Sea, and art true Soveraign
Of working phancie when it floats amain
With full impregned billows and strong rage
Enforceth way upon the boyling plain,
That thou wouldst steer my ship with wisdome sage,
That I with happy course may run my watery stage.

6

My mind is mov'd dark Parables to sing
Of Psyches progeny that from her came,
When she was married to that great King,
Great Æon, who just title well may claim
To every soul, and brand them with his name.
Its He that made us, and not our own might:
But who, alas! this work can well proclaim?
We silly sheep cannot bleat out aright
The manner how: but that that giveth light is light.

7

Then let us borrow from the glorious Sun
A little light to illustrate this act,
Such as he is in his solstitiall Noon,
When in the Welkin there's no cloudy tract
For to make grosse his beams, and light refract.
Then sweep by all those Globes that by reflexion
His long small shafts do rudely beaten back,
And let his rayes have undenied projection,
And so we will pursue this mysteries retection.

8

Now think upon that gay discoloured Bow:
That part that is remotest from the light
Doth duskish hew to the beholder show;
The nearer parts have colour farre more bright,
And next the brightest is the subtle light;
Then colours seem but a distinct degree
Of light now failing; such let be the sight
Of his farre spreaden beams that shines on high:
Let vast discoloured Orbs close his extremitie,

9

The last Extreme, the farthest off from light,
That's Natures deadly shadow, Hyle's cell.
O horrid cave, and womb of dreaded night?
Mother of witchcraft, and the cursed spell,
Which nothing can avail 'gainst Israel.
No Magick can him hurt; his portion
Is not divided Nature; he doth dwell
In light, in holy love, in union;
Not fast to this or that, But free communion.

10

Dependance of this All hence doth appear,
And severall degrees subordinate.
But phancie's so unfit such things to clear,
That oft it makes them seem more intricate:
And now Gods work it doth disterminate
Too farre from his own reach: But he withall
More inward is, and farre more intimate
Then things are with themselves. His Ideall,
And Centrall presence is in every Atom-ball

11

Therefore those different hews through all extend
So farre as light: Let light be every where:
And every where with light distinctly blend
Those different colours which I nam'd whilere
The Extremities of that farre shining sphear.
And that far shining sphear, which Centre was
Of all those different colours, and bright chear,
You must unfasten; so o'respred it has,
Or rather deeply fill'd with Centrall sand each place.

12

Now sith that this withouten penetrance
Of bodies may be done: we clearly see
(As well as that pendent subordinance)
The nearly couching of each Realtie,
And the Creatours close propinquitie
To ev'ry creature. This be understood
Of differentiall profunditie.
But for the overspreading Latitude;
Why may't not equally be stretch'd with th'Ocean floud?

13

There Proteus wonnes and fleet Idothea,
Where the lowest step of that profunditie
Is pight; Next that is Psyche's out-array:
It Tasis hight: Physis is next degree:
There Psyche's feet impart a smaller fee
Of gentle warmth. Physis is the great womb
From whence all things in th'University
Yclad in divers forms do gaily bloom,
And after fade away, as Psyche gives the doom.

14

Next Physis is the tender Arachnee.
There in her subtile loom doth Haphe sit:
But the last vest is changing Semele:
And next is Psyches self. These garments fit
Her sacred limbs full well, and are so knit
One part to other, that the strongest sway
Of sharpest axe, them no'te asunder smite.
The seaventh is Æon with Eternall ray:
The eighth Atove, steddy Cube, all propping Adonai.

15

Upon this universall Ogdoas
Is founded every particularment:
From this same universall Diapase
Each harmony is fram'd and sweet concent.
But that I swerve not far from my intent,
This Ogdoas let 't be an Unitie
One mighty quickned Orb of vast extent,
Throughly possest of lifes community,
And so those vests be seats of Gods vitality.

16

Now deem this universall Round alone,
And rayes no rayes but a first all-spred light,
And centrick all like one pellucid Sun;
A Sun that's free, not bound by Natures might,
That where he lists exerts his rayes outright,
Both when he lists, and what, and eke how long,
And then retracts so as he thinketh meet.
These rayes be that particular creature-throng:
Their number none can tell, but that all-making tongue.

17

Now blundring Naturalist behold the spring
Of thy deep-searching soul, that fain would know
Whether a mortall or immortall thing
It be, and whence at first it 'gan to flow;
And that which chiefest is where it must go.
Some fixt necessity thou fain wouldst find:
But no necessity, where there's no law,
But the good pleasure of an unty'd mind:
Therefore thy God seek our, and leave Nature behind.

18

He kills, He makes alive; the keys of Hell
And Death he hath. He can keep souls to wo
When cruell hands of Fate them hence expell:
Or He in Lethe's lake can drench them so,
That they no act of life or sense can show.
They march out at His word, and they retreat;
March out with joy, retreat with footing slow
In gloomy shade, benumm'd with pallid sweat,
And with their feeble wings their fainting breasts they beat.

19

But souls that of his own good life partake
He loves as his own self; dear as His eye
They are to Him: He'll never them forsake:
When they shall dye, then God himself shall die.
They live, they live in blest Eternity.
The wicked are not so; but like the dirt,
Trampled by man and beast, in grave they lye.
Filth and corruption is their rufull sort:
Themselves with death and wormes in darknesse they disport.

20

Their rotten relicks lurk close under ground:
With living w{h}ight no sense or sympathy
They have at all; nor hollow thundring sound
Of roring winds, that cold mortality
Can wake, ywrapt in sad Fatality.
To horses hoof that beats his grassie dore
He answers not: The Moon in silency,
Doth passe by night, and all bedew him or'e
With her cold humid rayes; but he feels not Heavens power.

21

O dolefull lot of disobedience!
If God should souls thus drench in Lethe lake
But O unspeakable torture of sense,
When sinfull souls do life and sense partake,
That those damn'd Spirits may them anvils make
Of their fell cruelty, that lay such blows
That very ruth doth make my heart to quake
When I consider of the drery woes,
And tearing torment that each soul then undergoes.

22

Hence the souls nature we may plainly see:
A beam it is of th'Intellectuall Sun.
A ray indeed of that Æternity;
But such a ray as when it first out shone,
From a free light its shining date begun.
And that same light when 't list can call it in;
Yet that free light hath given a free wonne
To this dependent ray: Hence comethsin;
From sin dred Death and Hell these wages doth it win.

23

Each life a severall ray is from that Sphear
That Sphear doth every life in it contain.
Arachne, Semel, and the rest do bear
Their proper virtue, and with one joynt strain
And powerfull sway they make impression plain,
And all their rayes be joyned into one
By Ahad: so this womb withouten pain
Doth flocks of souls send out that have their won
Where they list most to graze; as I shall tell anon.

24

The countrey where they live Psychania hight,
Great Psychany, that hath so mighty bounds,
If bounds it have at all. So infinite
It is of bignesse, that it me confounds
To think to what a vastnesse it amounds.
The Sun Saturnus, Saturn the Earth exceeds
The Earth the Moon; but all those fixed Rounds;
But Psychany those fixed Rounds exceeds,
As farre as those fix'd Rounds excell small mustard-seeds.

25

Two mighty Kingdomes hath this Psychany,
The one self-feeling Autæsthesia;
The other hight god-like Theoprepy,
Autæsthesy's divided into tway:
One province cleped is great Adamah
Which also hight Beirah of brutish fashion;
The other Providence is Dizoia;
There you may see much mungrill transformation,
Such monstrous shapes proceed from Niles foul inundation.

26

Great Michael ruleth Theoprepia,
A mighty Prince. King of Autæsthesy
Is that great Giant who bears mighty sway,
Father of Discord, Falshood, Tyranny,
His name is Dæmon, not from Sciency,
Although he boasteth much of skilfull pride;
But he's the fount of foul duality,
That wicked witch Duessa is his bride:
From his dividing force this name to him betide.

27

Or for that he himself is quite divided
Down to the belly; there's some unity:
But head, and tongue, and heart be quite discided;
Two heads, two tongues, and eke two hearts there be.
This head doth mischief plot, that head doth see
Wrong fairly to o'reguild. One tongue doth pray,
The other curse. The hearts do ne're agree
But felly one another do upbray:
An ugly cloven foot this monster doth upstay.

28

Two sons great Dœmon and Duessa hath:
Autophilus the one ycleeped is;
In Dizoie he worketh wondrous scath;
He is the cause what so there goes amisse,
In Psyches stronger plumed progenies.
But Philosomatus rules Beirah.
This proud puft Giant whilom did arise,
Born of the slime of Autæsthesia,
And bred up these two sons yborn of Duessa.

29

Duessa first invented magick lore,
And great skill hath to joyn and disunite;
This herb makes love, that hearb makes hatred sore:
And much she can against an Edomite;
But nought she can against an Israelite,
Whose heart's upright and doth himself forsake.
For he that's one with God no magick might
Can draw or here or there through blind mistake.
Magick can onely quell natures Dœmoniake.

30

But that I may in time my self betake
To straighter course, few things I will relate,
Of which old Mnemon mention once did make.
A jolly Swain he was in youthfull state,
When he mens natures gan to contemplate,
And kingdomes view: But he was aged then
When I him saw; his years bore a great date;
He numbred had full ten times ten times ten:
There's no Pythagorist but knows well what I mean.

31

Old Mnemons head and beard was hoary white,
But yet a chearfull countenance he had:
His vigorous eyes did shine like starres bright,
And in good decent freez he was yclad,
As blith and buxom as was any lad
Of one and twenty cloth'd in forrest green;
Both blith he was, and eke of counsell sad:
Like winter-morn bedight with snow and rine
And sunny rayes, so did his goodly Eldship shine.

32

Of many famous towns in Beïrah,
And many famous Laws and uncouth Rites
He spake: but vain it is for to assay
To reckon up such numbers infinite.
And much he spake where I had no insight,
But well I wot that some there present had,
For words to speak to uncapable wight
Of foolishnesse proceeds or phrensie mad.
So alwayes some, I wis, could trace his speeches pad.

33

But that which I do now remember best,
Is that which he of Psittacusa lond
Did speak. This Psittacuse is not the least,
Or the most obscure Countrey that is found
In wastefull Beïron: it is renown'd
For famous Clerks yclad in greenish cloke,
Like Turkish Priests. if Amoritish ground
We call 't, no cause that title to revoke.
But of this Land to this effect old Mnemon spoke.

34

I travelled in Psittacusa Lond:
Th'Inhabitants the lesser Adamah
Do call it; but then Adam I have found
It ancienter, if so I safely may
Unfold th'antiquity. They by one day
Are elder then old Adam, and by one
At least are younger then Arcadia.
O' th'sixth day Adam had's creation;
Those on the fifth, the Arcades before the Moon.

35

In this same Land as I was on the rode,
A nimble traveller me overtook:
Fairly together on the way we yode.
Tho I gan closely on his person look;
And eye his garb: He straight occasion took
To entertain discourse, though none I raught,
But unprovok'd he first me undertook:
So soon as he gan talk, then straight I laught:
The Sage himself represt, but thought me nigh distraught.

36

His concave nose, great head, and grave aspect,
Affected tone, words without inward sense,
My inly tickled spright made me detect
By outward laughter; but by best pretence
I purg'd my self, and gave due reverence.
Then he gan gravely treat of codicils,
And of Book-readings passing excellence,
And tri'd his wit in praysing gooses quills:
O happy age! quoth he, the world Minerva fills.

37

I gave the talk to him, which pleas'd him well:
For then he seem'd a learned clerk to been,
When none contrary'd his uncontrolled spell,
But I, alas! though unto him unseen,
Did flow with tears, as if that onyons keen
Had pierc'd mine eyen. Strange vertue of fond joy:
They ought to weep that be in heavie teen.
But nought my lightsome heart did then annoy:
So light it lay, it mov'd at every windie toy.

38

As we yode softly on, a Yongster gent
With bever cock't, and arm set on one side
(His youthfull fire quickly our pace out-went)
Full fiercely pricked on in madcap pride,
The mettle of his horses heels he tri'd,
He hasted to his countrey Pithecuse.
Most haste, worst speed: still on our way we ride,
And him o'retake halting through haplesse bruize;
We help him up again, our help he nould refuse.

39

Then gan the learn'd and ag'd Don Psittaco,
When he another auditour had got,
To spruse his plumes, and wisdome sage to show,
And with his sacred lore to wash the spot
Of youthfull blemishes; but frequent jot
Of his hard setting jade did so confound
The words that he by paper-stealth had got,
That their lost sense the yongster could not sound,
Though he with mimicall attention did abound.

40

Yet some of those faint winged words came near,
Of God, of Adam, and the shape divine,
Which Adams children have; (these pierc'd his eare)
And how that man is lord of every kind
Of beasts, of birds, and of each hidden mine
Of natures treasures. He to Adams sonne
The wide world for his kingdome doth designe:
And ever naming God, he lookd aboven:
Pithecus straight plac'd God a thought above the Moon.

41

Pithecus, so they call this gentle wight,
The docible young man eas'ly could trace
His masters steps, most quick and expedite.
When Psittaco look'd up to holy place,
Pithecus straight with sanctimonious grace
Cast up his eyes; and when the shape divine,
Which Adam had from God, he gan to praise,
Pithecus draws himself straight from that line,
And phansies his sweet face with heavenly hiew to shine.

42

He pincht his hat, and from his horses side
Stretcht forth his russet legs, himself inclin'd
Now here, now there, and most exactly eyed
His comely lineaments, that he might find
What ever beauty else he had not mind
As yet in his fair corse. But that full right
And vast prerogative did so vnbind
His straighted sprights, that with tyrannick might
He forc'd his feeble beast, and straight fled out of sight.

43

Then I and Psittaco were left alone;
And which was strange, he deeply silent was:
Whether some inward grief he from that fon,
Conceiv'd, and deemed it no small disgrace
That that bold youngster should so little passe
His learned speech; or whether nought to sain
He had then left; or whether a wild chase
Of flitting inconsistent thoughts he than
Pursu'd, which turn'd and toy'd in his confused brain.

44

Or whether he was woxen so discreet,
As not to speak till fit occasion.
(To judge the best, that Charity counts meet)
Therefore that Senior sad I gan anon
Thus to bespeak: Good Sir, I crave pardon
If so I chance to break that golden twist
You spin, by rude interpellation,
That twist of choicest thoughts. No whit I miss'd
The mark I aimed at; to speak he had great list.

45

So then his spirits gan to come again,
And to enact his corps and impart might
Unto his languide tongue, and every vein
Received heat, when due conceived right
I did to him; and weend he plainly see't
That I was toucht with admiration
Of his deep learning, and quick shifting sight.
Then I gan quire of the wide Behiron.
Behiron, quoth that Sage, that hight Anthropion.

46

Anthropion we call't; but th'holy tongue
(His learning lay in words) that Behiron
Which we Anthropion, calls, as I among
The Rabbins read: but sooth to say, no tone,
Nor tongue, or speech, so sweet as is our own,
Or so significant. For mark the sense:
From ανω αθρειν is Anthropion;
And we are all of an upright presence;
Nor I'll be drawn from this conceit by no pretence.

47

I prais'd his steddy faith and confidence,
That stood as fast as trunk or rock of stone;
Yet nathelesse, said I, the excellence
Of stedfastnesse is not to yield to none,
But stiff to stand till mov'd by right reason;
And then by yielding, part of victory
To gain. What fitnesse in Anthropion?
Baboons, and Apes, as well as th'Anthropi
Do go upright, and beasts grown mad do view the sky.

48

Then marken well what great affinitie
There is twixt Ape, mad Beast, and Satyrs wild,
And the Inhabitants of Anthropie,
When they are destitute of manners mild,
And th'inward man with brutishnesse defil'd
Hath life and love and lust and cogitation
Fixt in foul sense, or moving in false guile;
That holy tongue the better nomination,
So farre, I know, may give: 'Tis ghesse, not full perswasion.

49

Therefore, O learned Sir, aread aright,
What may this word Behiron signifie?
He wondrous glad to shew his Grammar-might,
This same word Behiron doth signifie
The brutish nature, or brutallitie,
Said he: and with his voice lift up his front.
Then I his skill did gaily magnifie,
And blest me, I an idiot should light on't
So happily, that never was a scholar count;

50

And said, Then holy tongue is on my side;
And holy tongue is better then profane.
He angry at his courtesie, reply'd,
That learned men ought for to entertain
Discourse of learned tongues, and countrey swain
Of countrey 'fairs. But for to answer thee,
This I dare warrant surely to maintain,
If to contrair the holy tongue should be
Absurd, I find enough such contrariety,

51

Then I in simple sort him answered thus,
I ken not the strange guize of learned Schools,
But if Gods thoughts be contrair unto us,
Let not deep wonderment possesse our souls,
If he call fools wisemen, and wisemen fools.
If rich he poore men term, if poore men rich,
If crafty States-men, silly countrey gulls,
Beasts men, men beasts, with many other such:
God seeth not as man seeth, God speaks not in mans speech.

52

Straight he to higher pearch, like bird in cage,
Did skip, and sang of etern Destiny,
Of sight and foresight he with count'nance sage
Did speak, and did unfold Gods secresie,
And left untoucht no hidden mystery.
I lowly louting held my cap in hond:
He askt what meant that so sudden coursie.
I pardon crave, said I, for manners fond;
You are Heavens Privy-Counsellour I understond,

53

Which I wist not before: so deep insight
Into the hidden things of God who can
Attain unto, without that quickning spright
Of the true God? Who knows the mind of man
But that same spright that in his breast doth won?
Therefore the key of Gods hid secresie
Is his own spright, that's proper to the Son,
And those of that second nativity,
Which holy Temples are of the Divinity.

54

Therefore as th'sacred Seat o'th' Deity,
I unto you seemly behaviour make,
If you be such as you may seem to be.
It is mans nature easily to mistake.
My words his mind did quite asunder break:
For he full forward was all to assume
That might him gild with glory, and pertake
With God; and joyed greatly in vain fume,
And prided much himself in his purloined plume.

55

So that full loth he was for to undo
My fairly winded up conclusion;
Yet inwardly did not assent unto
My premises: for foul presumption
He thought, if that a private idiot man
By his new birth should either equallize,
Or else outstrip the bookish nation.
Perhaps some foul deformities disguise
Their life: tush! that to knowledge is no prejudice.

56

But he nould say so: for why? he was bent
To keep the credit which he then had got,
As he conceiv'd: for it had been yblent;
It might have hazarded half of his lot,
To wit his god-like hue withouten spot,
If so be such deep knowledge could consist
With wicked life: but he nould lose one jot
Of his so high esteem, nor me resist.
So I escap'd the souse of his contracted fist.

57

And here I think we both as dumb had been
As were the slow-foot beasts on which we rode
Had not Don Psittaco by fortune seen
A place which well he knew though disallow'd;
Which he to me with earnest countenance show'd
Histing me nearer; nearer both we go
And closely under the thick hedges crowd,
Which were not yet so thick but they did show
Through their false sprays all the whole place and persons too.

58

It was to weet, a trimly decked Close
Whose grassie pavement wrought with even line
Ran from the Morn upon the Evening-close.
The Eastern end by certain steps they climbe
To do their holy things, (O sight divine!)
There on the middle of the highest flore
A large geen turf squar'd out, all fresh and fine
Not much unlike to Altars us'd of yore
Right fairly was adorn'd with every glittering flower.

59

At either end of this well raised sod
A stately stalk shot up of Torchwort high
Whose yellow flames small light did cast abroad
But yet a pleasant shew they yield the eye.
A pretty space from this we did descry
An hollow Oak, whose navell the rough saw
Long since had clove: so standing wet and dry
Around the stumped top soft mosse did grow
Whose velvet hue and verdure cushion-like did show.

60

Within the higher hedge of thickn'd trees
A lower rank on either side we saw
Of lesser shrubs even-set with artifice.
There the wood-queristers sat on a row
And sweetly sung while Boreas did blow
Above their heads, with various whistling
As his blasts hap to break (now high, now ow)
Against the branches of the waving Pines
And other neighbour plants, still rocking with the winds.

61

But above these birds of more sightly plume
With gold and purple feathers gayly dight
Are rank'd aloft. But th'Eagle doth assume
The highest sprig. For his it is by right.
Therefore in seemly sort he there is pight
Sitting aloft in his green Cabinet
From whence he all beholds wi hawfull sight,
Who ever in that solemne place were met,
At the West end for better view, right stately set.

62

After a song loud chanted by that Quire
Tun'd to the whistling of the hollow winde
Comes out a gay Pye in his rich attire
The snowie white with the black sattin shin'd,
On's head a silken cap he wore unlin'd.
When he had hopped to the middle flore
His bowing head right lowly he inclin'd
As if some Deity he did adore,
And seemly gestures make courting the Heavenly powr.

63

Thus cring'd he toward th'East with shivering wings
With eyes on the square sod devoutly bent.
Then with short flight up to the Oak he springs
Where he thrice congied after his ascent
With posture chang'd from th'East to th'Occident,
Thrice bowed he down and easily thrice he rose;
Bow'd down so low as if't had been's intent
On the green mosse to wipe his swarthy nose.
Anon he chatters loud, but why himself best knows.

64

There we him leave, impatient of stay
My self amaz'd such actions to see
And pretty gestures 'mongst those creatures gay:
So unexpected Uniformitie,
And such a semblance of due piety:
For every Crow as when he cries for rain
Did Eastward nod; and every Daw we see
When they first entered this grassie Plain
With shaking wings and bended bills ador'd the same.

65

O that the spirit of Pythagoras
Would now invade my breast, dear Psittaco!
Said I. In nature he so cunning was
As both the mind of birds and beasts to know,
What meant their voyces and their gestures too.
So might we riddle out some mystery
Which lieth hid in this strange uncouth show;
But thy grave self may be as wise as he
I wote. Aread then Psittaco what sights these be.

66

Certs, said he, thine eyes be waxen dim
These be the people of wide Adamah
These be no birds, 'tis true, they're sons of sin
And vessels of Heavens ire, for sooth to say
They have no faith, I fear nor ever may,
But be shap'd out for everlasting shame,
Thou ghthey deride us of Psittacusa:
Yet well I wot, we have the onely name
Above, and though all foul yet there devoyd of blame.

67

And that green spot which thou maist deem a Close
It is to them no Close but holy place
Ycleep'd a Church, whose sight doth well dispose
Approaching souls. The rest thy self maist trace
By true analogy, But I'll not passe
One thing remarkable, said he to me.
It was Don Pico took the preaching place
A man of mighty power in his own See;
A man, no bird, as he did fondly seem to thee.

Mn.
Tell then Don Psittaco, what Pico ment
By his three bowings to the setting Sun
And single obesance toward th'Orient.
What! were they postures of Religion?
If so; why had those yellow flames but one?
The Eagle three? That th'Eagle was his God
It is, said he, a strong presumption,
Whom he first slightly in that holy sod
After ador'd more fully with a triple nod.

69

Certes, quoth I, such Majesty divine
And seemly graces in the Eagle be
That they the gentle heart may well incline
To all respect and due civility.
But if that worship civill be, said he,
Certes, Don Pico can not well excuse
Himself from fault of impious flattery
His holy gestures streightway thus to use
To mortall man, redoubling thrice the bold abuse.

70

But well observe, said I, the motion.
While he draws lowly back his demure bill
Making it touch the mossie cushion,
His moving Karkas shrinketh nearer still
Toward the sacred sod.
What then, quoth he, was it in Pico's mind
That solemn service with four ducks to fill
But one before, the other three behind.
My duller wit, said I, the mystery cannot find.

Ps.
But I can find it. Superstition
And flattery, have made Don Pico blind.
These interfare in fond confusion.
But both conspire to hold up his swoln mind
In supercilious pride and wayes unkind.
For he doth dominere o're Psittacuse.
Dear Psittacuse! when shalt thou once outwind
Thy self from this sad yoke? who brings the news
Of Sions full release from scorn and foul abuse?

72

O had we once the power in our hands
How carefully the youth wee'd catechise,
But bind Gods enemies in iron bands
(Such honour have his Saints) and would devise
Set forms of Truth, on Discipline advise
That unto both all men might needs conform.

Mn.
But what if any tender heart denies?

Ps.
If he will his own fortunes overturn
It cannot well be holp, we must be uniform.

Mn.
Good reason too, said I. Don Pico grave
The self same doctrine preacheth as I hear.
But Reverend Psittaco, let me freedome crave
To ask one question, Is't because 't's so clear
That who so shall dissent shall pay so dear.
Or will you in those things you do not know
But be uncertain, certain mischief bear
To them that due assent cannot bestow?
It is in such, said he, that we for certain know.

74

But how know you those things for certainty?
By Reason, Scripture, or the Spirit divine,
Or lastly by Churches Authority?
With that Don Psittaco cast up his eyen
Brim ful of thoughts to solve this knot of mine.
But in the fall of his high-gazing sight
He spide two on the rode he did divine
To be of his acquaintance, them we meet,
Forthwith Don Psittaco the strangers kindly greet.

75

And he them both seemly salutes again.
The one on a lean fiery jade did sit
And seem'd a wight of a right subtile brain.
Both cloth'd as black as jet. But he was fit
With a dry wall-nut shell to fence his wit.
Which like a quilted cap on's head he wore
Lin'd with white taffity, wherein were writ
More trimly than the Iliads of yore
The laws of Mood and Figure and many precepts more.

76

All the nice questions of the School-men old
And subtilties as thin as cobwebs bet,
Which he wore thinner in his thoughts yrold.
And his warm brains, they say, were closer set
With sharp distinctions than a cushionet
With pins and needles; which he can shoot out
Like angry Porcupine, where e're they hit.
Certes a doughty Clerk and Champion stout
He seem'd and well appointed against every doubt.

77

The other rod on a fat resty jade
That neighed loud His rider was not lean.
His black plump belly fairly outward swai'd
And pressed somewhat hard on th'horses mane.
Most like methought to a Cathedrall Dean.
A man of prudence and great courtesie
And wisely in the world he knew to glean.
His sweaty neck did shine right greasily
Top heavy was his head with earthly policy.

78

This wight Corvino, Psittacus me told
Was named, and the other Graculo.
They both of his acquaintance were of old
Though so near freindship now they did not owe.
But yet in generalls agreed, I trow.
For they all dearly hug dominion,
And love to hold mens consciences in awe
Each standing stiff for his opinion
In holy things, against all contradiction.

79

But most of all Corvin and Psittaco
Prudentiall men and of a mighty reach
Who through their wisdome sage th'events foreknow
Of future things; and confidently preach
Unlesse there be a form which men must teach
Of sound opinions (each meaning his own)
But t'be left free to doubt and counter-speech
Authority is lost, our trade is gone
Our Tyrian wares forsaken, we, alas! shall mone.

80

Or at the best our life will bitter be:
For we must toyle to make our doctrine good.
Which will empair the flesh and weak the knee.
Our mind cannot attend our trencher food,
Nor be let [illeg.]sue the worldly good.
All's our dear wives, poore wenches! they alone
Must ly long part of night when we withstood
By scrupulous wits must watch to nights high Noon
Till all our members grow as cold as any stone.

81

Heaps of such inconveniences arise
From Conscience-freedome, Christian liberty.
Beside our office all men will despise
Unlesse our lives gain us Autority.
Which in good sooth a harder task will be.
Dear brethren! sacred souls of Behiron!
Help, help as you desire to liven free
To ease, to wealth, to honour, and renown
And sway th'affrighted world with your disguized frown.

82

This is the Genius of Corvino sage
And Psittaco falls little short in wit.
Though short he fall of old Corvino's age,
His steppings with the other footsteps fit.
And heavens bright eye it will aware of it.
But now me lists few passages to show
Amongst us foure when we together met
Occasion'd first by hardy Psittaco
Who Corvin did accost and nutshell Graculo.

83

Brethren! said he, (and held by holy belt
Corvino grave, ne did his hands abhor't
When he the black silk rope soft fimbling felt
And with his fingers milked evermore
The hanging frienge) one thing perplexeth sore
My reason weak and puzled thoughts, said he.
Tell then, ye learned Clerks, which of these foure
To weet, from Scripture, Church authority,
Gods Spirit, or mans Reason is Faiths Certainty.

84

For, well I wot, our selves must fully assent
To points of Faith we rigidly obtrude
On others, else there is no punishment
Due to gainsayers. Corvin here indewd
With singular gravity this point pursu'd,
Saying that all belief is solv'd at last
Into the Church, ne may the people rude
Nor learned with her honour dare to blast
Nor scrupulous thoughts, nor doubtfull queres out to cast.

85

Strait Graculo with eyes as fierce as Ferrit
Reply'd: If all mens faith resolved be
Into each Church, all nations shall inherit
For ever their Ancestours Idolatry.
An Indian ever shall an Indian be
A Turk a Turk. To this Corvin anon;
I give not this infallibility
To every Church, but onely to our own
Full witnesse to her self of all the truths she'll own.

Gr.
That then is truth what she will say is true.
But not unlesse her the true Church thou hold.
How knowst thou then her such, good Corvin shew.
Friend Graculo in talk we be too bold.
Let's go, I fear my self and horse take cold.
But t'answer to that question, 'fore we go
The Church is true as she her self me told.
A goodly answer said Don Graculo.
You dispute in a Circle as all Logicians know.

87

Here Psittaco could not but inly smile
To see how Graculo Corvin did orecrow,
And fair replying with demeanance mild,
The truth, said he, the Scriptures onely show.
Streight nimble Graculus; But who can know
The sense of Scripture without reason sound?
The Scripture is both key and treasure too
It opes it self (so said that Clerk profound)
This place with that compar'd. This is the strongest ground.

Gr.
But what with judgement doth them both compare?
Is't reason or unreasonablenesse, I pray.
To which grave Psittacus, you so subtill are,
I list not with such cunning wits to play.
Here I stept in and thus began to say.
Right worthy Clerks, for so you be I ween,
Your queint discourse your breedings doth bewray,
Long time you have at learned Athens been
And all the dainty tricks of Art and Science seen.

89

If me a stranger wight it may be beseem
But homely bred, as yet unripe in years,
Who conscious of his weaknesses doth deem
Himself unfit to speak among his peers,
Much more unfit for your judicious ears
Whom Age and Arts do equally adorn
And solemne habit no small semblance bears
Of highest knowledge, might I be but born
A word or two to speak, now would I take my turn.

90

Say on said Psittaco. There's a third, said I,
Nor reason nor unreasonablenesse hight.
Here Graccus. The disjunction you deny.
Then I, There is a third ycleep'd Gods spright
Nor reason nor unreasonablenesse hight.
Corvino straight foam'd like his champing jade
And said I was a very silly wight,
And how through melancholy I was mad
And unto private spirits all holy truth betray'd.

91

But I nould with like fury him invade
But mildly as I mought made this reply.
Gods Spirit is no private empty shade
But that great Ghost that fills both earth and sky,
And through the boundlesse Universe doth ly,
Shining through purged hearts and simple minds
When doubling clouds of thick hypocrisie
Be blown away with strongly brushing winds;
Who first this tempest feels the Sun he after finds.

92

Thus wise and godly men I hear to teach,
And know no hurt this doctrine to believe.
Certes it much occasion doth reach
To leave the world and holily to live.
All due observance to Gods laws to give.
With care and diligence to maken pure
Those vessels that this heavenly dew receive.
But most in point of faith sleep too secure
And want this bait their souls to goodnesse to allure.

93

For they believen as the Church believes
Never expecting any other light.
And hence it is, each one so loosely lives,
Hopelesse of help from that internall spright.
Enough! said Graculo, Corvino's right.
Let's hear, dispute in figure and in mood.
And stifly with smart syllogismes fight
That what thou wouldst may wel be understood,
But now thou rovest out, and rav'st as thou wert wood.

94

Reason I say all Scripture sense must judge
Do thou one reason 'gainst this truth produce:
Reason, said I, in humane things may drudge
But in divine thy soul it may seduce.

Gr.
Prove that,

Mn.

I prove it thus. For reasons use
Back'd with advantage of all sciences,
Of Arts, of tongues, cannot such light transfuse
But that most learned men do think amisse
In highest points divided as well you know, I wisse.

95

Here Graculo learing up with one eye
View'd the broad Heavens long resting in a pause
And all the while he held his neck awry
Like listning daw, turning his nimble nose,
At last these words his silent tongue did loose.
What is this spirit, say what's this spirit, man!
Who has it, answer'd I, be onely knows.
'Tis the hid Manna and the graven stone.
He canteth, said Corvino, come Grac, let's be gone.

96

But Grac stayd still this question to move.
Doth not, said he, reason to us descry
What things soever reasonable prove?
Not so. For the whole world that ope doth lie
Unto our sight, not reason but our eye
Discovers first, but upon that fair view
Our reason takes occasion to trie
Her proper skill and curiously pursue
The Art and sweet contrivance Heaven and Earth do shew.

97

There's no man colour smels, or sees a sound,
Nor sucks the labour of the hony-bee
With's hungry lugs, nor binds a gaping wound
With's slippery ey-balls. Every faculty
And object have their due Analogy,
Nor can reach further than it's proper sphear.
Who divine sense by reason would descry
Unto the Sun shine listens with his ear.
So plain this truth to me, Don Graco, doth appear.

98

How then, said Graco, is the spirit known
If not by reason? To this I replyde,
Onely the spirit can the spirit own.
But this, said he, is back again to slide
And in an idle Circle round to ride.
Why so said I, Is not light seen by light?
Streight Graculo did skilfully divide
All knowledge into sense and reason right.
Be't so, said I, Don Graco, what's this reasons might?

99

If then said he, the spirit may not be
Right reason, surely we must deem it sense.
Yes sense it is, this way my short reply.
Sense upon which holy Intelligence
And heavenly Reason and comely Prudence
(O beauteous branches of that root divine!)
Do springen up, through inly experience
Of Gods hid wayes, as he doth ope the ey'n
Of our dark souls and in our hearts his light enshrine:

100

Here Graculus did seem exceeding glad
On any terms to hear but reason nam'd,
And with great joy and jollity he bad
Adew to me as if that he had gain'd
The victory. Besides Corvino blam'd
His too long stay. Wherefore he forward goes
Now more confirm'd his Nutshell-cap contain'd
What ever any living mortall knows.
Ne longer would he stay this sweet conceit to loose.

101

Thus Psittaco and I alone were left
In sober silence holding on our way.
His musing skull, poor man! was well nigh cleft
By strong distracting thoughts drove either way;
Whom pittying I thus began to say.
Dear Psittaco what anxious thoughts oppresse
Thy carefull heart and musing mind dismay?
I am perplexed much I must confesse
Said he, and thou art authour of my heavinesse.

102

My self Corvino's Church Autority
No certain ground of holy truth do deem.
And Scripture the next ground alledg'd by me
By Graco was confuted well, I ween.
But thou as in these points farre deeper seen
Than either Corvin or Don Graculo
Yea than my self, assent doth almost win
That Church nor Scripture, cast in reason too
Can to our searching minds truth's hidden treasures show.

103

Wherefore a fourth, sole ground of certainty
Thou didst produce, to weet, the Spirit divine.
But now, alas! here is the misery,
That left to doubt we cannot well enjoyn
Nor this nor that, nor Faith-forms freely coyn
And make the trembling conscience swear thereto,
For we our selves do but ghesse and divine
What we force other men to swear is true,
Untill the day star rise our eyes with light t'embew.

104

Which gift though it be given to me and you,

Mn.
(Not unto me, courteous Don Psittaco!)

Ps.
Yet certainly there be but very few
That so sublime a pitch ascend unto.

Mn.

My self, alas! a silly Swain I know
So far from solving these hard knots, said I,
That more and harder my ranck brain o'regrow
And wonder that thy quick sagacity
Doth not winde out a further inconveniency.

105

If light divine we know by divine light
Nor can by any other means it see
This ties their hands from force that have the spirit.
How can, said Psittaco, these things agree?
For without force vain is Church-Polity;

Mn.

But to use force 'gainst men that thing to do
In which they've not the least ability
May seem unjust and violent; I trow,
Gainst reason, 'gainst Religion, 'gainst all sence and law.

106

For 'tis as if the King of Arragon
Who was well skilled in Astronomy,
Should by decree deprive each Countrey Clown
Of life, of lands, or of sweet liberty
That would not fully avow each star in sky
Were bigger then the Earth. Here Psittaco
Though what I said did not well satisfie
His grave judicious self, yet he did know
Of whom this talk much 'plause would gain and kindnesse too:

107

And straight gan say. Dear Glaucis! hadst thou been
At this discourse, how would thy joyous spright
Have danc'd along. For thou art or well seen
In these queint points, or dost at least delight
Exceeding much to hear them open'd right.
And, well I wot, on earth scarce can be found
So witty girl, so wily female wight
As this my Glaucis, over all renown'd;
I mean for quicker parts, if not for judgment sound.

108

How fit an Auditour would she then prov'd
To thee, young Mnemon? how had she admired
Thy sifting wit, thy speech and person lov'd,
Clove to that mouth with melting zeal all fired,
And hung upon those lips so highly inspired?

Mn.
Certes she'd been a bold immodest wight
To come so near when not at all desired,

Ps.

Alas! good Mnemon you mistake me quite
I meant no fond salutes, but what is just and right;

109

Her due attention on thy wise discourse,
Though what thou deemst, and more then thou didst deem
May fit you too. For why? by Natures course
Like joyn with like: wherefore, right well I ween,
Mought I but make the match 't would well beseem.
For your conspiring minds exactly agree
In points, which the wide world through wrath and teen
Rudely divide, I mean free Liberty.
Be 't so, said I, yet may our grounds farre different be.

110

For might I but repeat without offence
What I have heard, ill symtomes men descry
In this thy Glaucis, though the nimble wench
So dexterously can pray and prophecy,
And lectures read of drad mortality,
Clasping her palms with fatall noise and shreeks,
Inculcating approching misery
To sad afflicted houses, when she strikes
With brushing strokes the glassie doors and entrance seeks.

111

Nor doth her solemne looks much like her Sire
Or native zeal which she did once derive
From thee grave Psittaco! exalt her higher
Then Earth and Nature: For men do conceive
Black sanguine fumes my spouse do thus deceive
Translating her into fools Paradise
And so of sense and reason her bereave,
And that that melting love which doth so please
Her gulled soul, the thawing is of her own grease.

112

The naturall spright it self doth sweetly hug
In false conceit and ill-deceiving guile,
Sucking fond solace from it's own dear dug,
Like the mistaken Cat that lick'd the file
And drawing bloud, uncessantly did toyl
To suck that sweet, as if there Moses rock
Had swet new milk. Thus Glaucis doth beguil
Her likorish taste, als' doth delude her flock,
Teaching them suck themselves, their empty souls to mock.

113

Thus they intoxicate with their own bloud
Mistaken Elves! deem it no worse a thing
Then pure Ambrosian Nectar fresh and good,
In golden streams that from great Jove did spring:
And count themselves His onely choice Ofspring
Upon no count but that their count is so.
O sweet conceit! full joy! Soul-ravishing
Delight! Pure faith! Self-love keep close thereto.
Allow but this to us, we'll any thing allow.

114

Besides the fixednesse of th'eternall Fates
And Adamantine laws of Gods decree
Whereby immutably he loves and hates
May prove new grounds of Glaucis liberty.
No danger then nor detriment can be
To his own people whom of old he chose
From the out goings of Eternity.
No infecting poyson may them ill dispose.
What worthlesse wit of man this puzling knot may loose.

115

Did not I tell thee what a wily lasse,
Said Psittaco, my daughter Glaux would prove?
And well perceiving how averse I was
From her strange manners, left all suits of love,
And straight gan show me how she did improve
Her principles to lewdnesse and excesse:
Secure, no fault, no filth can ever move
Her Maker to dislike, no unrighteousnesse
Can hurt her soul, ne sorrow needs she to expresse.

116

Thus in the wicked wench rank fields do grow
Of Rapine, Riot, Lust, and Covetize,
Of Pride, of Sacriledge, and a thousand moe
Disorders, which no mortall can devise,
Said I, from ought, but that mistake t'arise
Of naked Faith disjoyn'd from Purity.
So with full bitter words he did chastise
His absent child; but whether zeal it be,
Or deep conceived hatred, I no'te well descry.

117

Nor stopt he here, but told me all her guise
How law-lesse quite and out of shape she's grown
Affecting still wilde contrarieties,
Averse from what for good all others own.
Preposterous Girl! how often hast thou thrown
Thy self into dark corners at Mid-day,
And then at dead of Night away art flown
To some old barn, thereon to preach and pray
Ending thy dark devotions just at Break of day.

118

When others sleep or weep, then dost thou sing
In frosty night on neighbours chimney set,
When others fast 'ginst thou thy revelling;
Thy lustfull sparrows greedily dost eat,
Which thou by bloud and violence dost get.
When others eyes plainly can nothing see,
Then thy prodigious lamps by night unwet
And unblown-out, can read right readily
Withouten spectacles, the smallest prints that be.

119

If chance or free election ever brings
Thee to our Churches, then with hooting wild,
Thou causest uproars, and our holy things
Font, Table, Pulpit, they be all defil'd
With thy broad mutings and large squirtings vilde.

Mn.

Phy; Psittaco! hide such infirmities
From stranger wight: Who would his own dear child
Thus shamefully disgrace? With mine own eyes
Have I thy Glaucis seen, and better things surmise.

120

Good sooth, methinks, she is not so defac'd
And all mishapen, and grown out of square,
But that my self most evidently trac'd
Thy comely feature in her visage bare.
Spare then thy self, if her thou wilt not spare.
Ill may it seem what thine own strength begot
With foul reproach and shame thus to besmear,
And through thy zeal thine own great name to blot:
To two so worthy wights befall some better lot.

121

Thus in my youth, said Mnemon, did I use
With Reverend Ignorance to sport and toy,
And slily would obnoxius Age abuse;
For I was a crank wit, a brisk young boy;
But naturally abhorr'd hypocrisie,
And craft the upshot of experienc'd Age;
And more then life I lov'd my liberty,
And much suspected all that would engage
My heart to their own sect, and free-born soul encage.

122

For I ev'n at those years was well aware
Of mans false friendship, and grown subtilty,
Which made me snuf the wind, drink the free aire
Like a young Colt upon the mountains high,
And turning tail my hunters all defie.
Ne took I any guide but th'innate light
Of my true Conscience, whose voice to deny,
Was the sole sting of my offended spright:
Thus God and Nature taught their rude Cosmopolite.

123

I mean not Natures harsh obdurate light,
The shamelesse eye-brows of the Serpent old,
That arm'd with custome will not stick to fight
With God and him affront with courage bold:
But that sweet temper we may oft behold
In virgin Youth as yet immaculate,
And unto drudging Policy unsold,
Who do without designe, now love, now hate
And freely give and take withouten price or rate.

124

Dear lads! How do I love your harmlesse years
And melt in heart while I the Morning-shine
Do view of rising virtue which appears
In your sweet faces, and mild modest eyne.
Adore that God that doth himself enshrine
In your untainted breasts; and give no care
To wicked voice that may your souls encline
Unto false peace, or unto fruitlesse fear,
Least loosened from your selves Harpyes away you bear.

125

Abstain from censure, seek and you shall find,
Drink your own waters drawn from living well,
Mend in your selves what ill elsewhere you mind,
Deal so with men as you would have them deal,
Honour the Aged that it may go well
With you in Age: For I my self indeed
Have born much scorn for these pranks, I you tell,
By boyes oft bearded, which I deem the meed
Of my abusive youth. But now I will proceed.

126

By this we came into a way that did
Divide it self into three parts; the one
To Leontopolis; that in the mid
Did lead straight forth out of wide Beïron,
That was the way that I mought take alone;
The third way led unto Onopolis,
And thitherward Don Psittaco put on.
With both these towns Alopecopolis
Is in firm league, and golden Myrmecopoln.

127

For nothing they attempt without the aid
Of these two Cities. They'll not wagen war,
Nor peace conclude, nor permit any trade;
Nor make decrees, nor slake the civil jar,
Nor take up private wrongs, nor plead at bar,
Nor Temples consecrate, nor Mattins say;
They nought begin divine or secular,
But they advisen with those Cities tway.
O potent Citizens that bear so great a sway!

128

No truth of justice in Beïrah lond.
No sincere faith void of slie subtilty,
That alwayes seeks it self, is to be found;
But law delusion and false Polity,
False Polity that into Tyrannie
Would quickly wend, did not stern Fear restrain
And keep in aw. Th'Onites Democracy
Is nought but a large hungry tyrant-train:
Oppression from the poore is an all-sweeping rain.

129

A sweeping torrent that beats down the corn,
And wasts the oxens labour, head-long throws
The tallest trees up by the root ytorn,
Its ranging force in all the land it shows;
Woods rent from hence, its rowling rage bestows
In other places that were bare before,
With muddied arms of trees the earth it strows;
The list'ning shepherd is amazed sore,
While it with swift descent so hideously doth rore.

130

Such is the out-rage of Democracie,
When fearlesse it doth rule in Beïrah:
And little better is false Monarchy,
When it in this same countrey bears the sway.
(Is't not a part of Autæsthesia?)
So to an inward sucking whirlpools close
They change this swelling torrents surquedry,
Much treasure it draws in, and doth inclose
In 'ts winding mouth, but whither then, there's no man knows.

131

O falsest Beironites, what gars you plain
One of another, and vainly accuse,
Of foul offence? when you all entertain
Tyrannick thoughts. You all alike do muse
Of your own private good, though with abuse
Of those you can tread down with safety,
No way to wealth or honour you refuse.
False Onople doth grudge, and grone, and cry,
Because she is denied a greater tyranny.

132

Two of that City whylom on the way,
With languid lugs, and count'nance gravely sad,
Did deeply sigh, and rudely rough did bray
'Gainst Leontopolis. The equall pad
Of justice now, alas! is seldome trad,
Said they; The Lions might is law and right.
Where's love or mercy now? with that out strad
A little dog, his dames onely delight,
And ran near to their tails, and bark'd with all his might.

133

The surly irefull Onopolitan
Without all mercy kickt with yron heel
The little bawling curre, that at him ran;
It made his feeble corse to th'earth to reel,
That was so pierc'd with the imprinted steel,
That it might grieve a heart of flinty stone.
No herbs, no salves the breach could ever heal;
The good old wife did then keep house alone,
False hearted carles, is this your great compassion?

134

There's no society in Behirah,
But beastlike grazing in one pasture ground.
No love but of the animated clay
With beauties fading flowers trimly crown'd,
Or from strong sympathies heart-striking stound.
No order but what riches strength and wit
Prescribe. So bad the good eas'ly confound.
Is Honesty in such unruly fit
[illeg.] held in no rank? they 'steem it not a whit.

135

But I am weary of this uncouth place;
If any man their bad condition
And brutish manners listeth for to trace;
We may them read in the creation
Of this wide Sensible; where every passion
Of birds and beasts distinctly do display
To but an ord'nary imagination,
The life and soul of them in Behirah:
This Behirah that hight the greater Adamah.

136

The swelling hatefull Toad, industrious Ant,
Lascivious Goat, Parrot, or prating Py,
The kingly Lion, docil Elephant,
All-imitating Ape, gay Butterfly,
The crafty Fox famous for subtilty,
Majestick Horse, the beast that twixt two trees
(A fit resemblance of foul gluttonny)
When he hath fil'd his gorge, himself doth squeeze
To feed afresh, Court Spaniels, and politick Bees;

137

With many more which I list not repeat;
Some foul, some fair: to th'fair the name they give
Of holy virtues; but 'tis but deceit,
None in Beiron virtuously do live;
None in that land so much as ever strive
For truth of virtue, though sometimes they wont,
As Swine do Swine, their own blood to relieve.
Beiron's all bruits, the true manhood they want,
If outward form you pierce with phansie fulminant.

138

So having got experience enough
Of this ill land, for nothing there was new,
My purpose I hold on, and rode quite through
That middle way, and did th'extremes eschew.
When I came near the end there was in view
No passage: for the wall was very high,
But there no doore to me it self did shew:
Looking about at length I did espy
A lively youth, to whom I presently gan cry.

139

More willing he's to come then I to call:
Simon he hight, who also's cal'd a Rock:
Simon is that obedientiall
Nature, who boysterous seas and winds doth mock;
No tempest can him move with fiercest shock;
The house that's thereon built doth surely stand.
Nor blustring storm, nor rapid torrents stroke
Can make it fall; it easily doth withstand
The gates of Death and Hell, and all the Stygian band.

140

When I gan call, forthwith in seemly sort
He me approch'd in decent russet clad,
More fit for labour then the flaunting Court.
When he came near, in chearfull wise he bad
Tell what I would: then I unto the lad
Gan thus reply; alas! too long astray
Here have I trampled foul Behirons pad:
Out of this land I thought this the next way,
But I no gate can find, so vain is mine assay.

141

Then the wise youth, Good Sir, you look too high.
The wall aloft is rais'd; but that same doore
Where you must passe in deep descent doth lie:
But he bad follow, he would go before.
Hard by there was a place, all covered o're
With stinging nettles and such weedery,
The pricking thistles the hard'st legs would gore,
Under the vvall a straight doore we descry;
The wall hight Self-conceit; the doore Humility.

142

When we came at the doore fast lockt it was,
And Simon had the key, but he nould grant
That I into that other land should passe,
Without I made him my Concomitant.
It pleas'd me well, I mus'd not much upon 't,
But straight accord: for why? a jolly Swain
Me thought he was; meek, chearfull, and pleasant.
When he saw this, he thus to me again,
Sir, See you that sad couple? Then I; I see those twain.

143

A sorry couple certainly they be.
The man a bloudy knife holds at his heart
With chearlesse countenance, as sad is she.
Or eld, or else intolerable smart,
Which she can not decline by any Art,
Doth thus distort and writh her wrinkled face;
A leaden Quadrate swayes hard on that part
That's fit for burdens; foulnesse doth deface
Her aged looks; with a strait staff her steps she stayes.

144

Right well you say, then said that lusty Swain:
Yet this poore couple be my Parents dear;
Nor can I hence depart without these twain:
These twain give life to me, though void of chear
They be themselves. Then let's all go yfere.
The young mans speech caus'd sad perplexity
Within my brest, but yet I did forbear,
And fairly ask'd their names. He answered me:
He Autaparnes hight; but she Hypomone.

145

I Simon am the son of this sad pair,
Who though full harsh they seem to outward sight;
Yet when to Dizoie men forth do fare,
No company in all the land so meet
They find as these. Their pace full well I weet,
Is very slow, and so to youthfull haste
Displeasing, and their counsels nothing sweet
To any Beironite: but sweetest taste
Doth bitter choler breed, and haste doth maken waste.

146

Nor let that breast impierc'd with weeping wound,
An uncouth spectacle, disturb your mind.
His blood's my food: If he his life effund
To utmost death, the high God hath design'd
That we both live, He in my heart shall find
A seat for his transfused soul to dwell;
And when that's done, this death doth eke unbind
That heavie weight that doth Hypom'ne quell,
Then I Anautæsthetus hight, which seems me well.

147

So both their lives do vanish into mine,
And mine into Atuvus life doth melt.
Which fading flux of time doth not define,
Nor is by any Autæsthesian felt.
This life to On the good Atuvus delt;
In it's all Joy, Truth, Knowledge, Love and Force;
Such force no weight created can repel't.
All strength and livelyhood is from this sourse,
All Lives to this first spring have circular recourse.

148

A lecture strange he seem'd to read to me;
And though I did not rightly understand
His meaning, yet I deemed it to be
Some goodly thing, and weary of that land
Where then I stood, I did not him withstand
In his request, although full loth I were
Slow-footed eld the journey should command;
Yet we were guided by that sorry pair,
And so to Dizoie full softly we do fare.

Cant. III.

Strange state of Dizoie Mnemons skill
Here wisely doth explain,
Ida's strong charms, and Eloim-hill,
With the drad dale of Ain.

1

But now new Stories I 'gin to relate,
Which aged Mnemon unto us did tell,
Whiles we on grassie bed did lie prostrate
Under a shady Beach, which did repell
The fiery scorching shafts which Uriel
From Southern quarter darted with strong hand.
No other help we had; for Gabriel
His wholesome cooling blasts then quite restrain'd.
The Lions flaming breath with heat parch'd all the Land.

2

Here seemly sitting down, thus gan that Sage,
Last time we were together here ymet,
Beirah wall, that was the utmost stage
Of our discourse, if I do not forget.
When we departed thence the Sun was set,
Yet nathelesse we past that lofty wall
That very Evening. The Nights nimble net
That doth encompasse every opake ball,
That swim's in liquid aire, did Simon nought apall.

3

When we that stately wall had undercrept,
We straightway found our selves in Dizoie:
The melting clouds chill drizzeling tears then wept;
The mistie aire swet for deep agony,
Swet a cold sweat, and loose frigiditie
Fill'd all with a white smoke; pale Cynthia
Did foul her silver limbs with filthy die,
Whiles wading on she measured out her way,
And cut the muddy heavens defil'd with whitish clay.

4

No light to guide but the Moons pallid ray,
And that even lost in mistie troubled aire:
No tract to take, there was no beaten way;
No chearing strength, but that which might appear
From Dians face; her face then shin'd not clear,
And when it shineth clearest, little might
She yieldeth, yet the goddesse is severe.
Hence wrathfull dogs do bark at her dead light:
Christ help the man thus clos'd and prison'd in drad Night.

5

O'rewhelm'd with irksome toyl of strange annoyes
In stony stound like senselesse stake I stood,
Till the vast thumps of massie hammers noise,
That on the groning steel laid on such lode,
Empierc'd mine ears in that sad stupid mood.
I weening then some harbour to be nigh,
In sory pace thitherward slowly yode,
By eare directed more then by mine eye,
But here, alas! I found small hospitality.

6

Foure grisly Black-smiths stoutly did their task
Upon an anvile form'd in Conick wise.
They neither minded who, nor what I ask,
But with stern grimy look do still avise
Upon their works; but I my first emprise
Would not forsake, and therefore venture in.
Or none hath list to speak, or none espies,
Or hears; the heavy hammers never lin;
And but a blue faint light in this black shop did shine.

7

There I into a darksome corner creep,
And lay my weary limbs on dusty store,
Expecting still when soft down-sliding sleep
Should seize mine eyes, and strength to me restore:
But when with hovering wings she 'proch'd, e'remore
The mighty souses those foul knaves laid on,
And those huge bellows that aloud did rore,
Chac'd her away that she was ever gone
Before she came, on pitchy plumes, for fear yslone.

8

The first of those rude rascals Lypon hight,
A foul great stooping slouch with heavie eyes,
And hanging lip: the second ugly sight
Pale Phobon, with his hedghog hairs disguise.
Aelpon is the third, he the false skies
No longer trusts; The fourth of furious fashion
Phrenition hight, fraught with impatiencies,
The bellows be ycleep'd deep Suspiration:
Each knave these bellows blow in mutuall circulation.

9

There is a number of these lonesome forges
In Bacha vale (this was in Bacha vale)
There be no Innes but these, and these but scourges;
In stead of ease they work much deadly bale
To those that in this lowly trench do trale
Their feeble loins. Ah me! who here would fare?
Sad ghosts, oft crosse the way with visage pale,
Sharp thorns and thistles wound their feeten bare:
Yet happy is the man that here doth bear a share.

10

When I in this sad vale no little time
Had measured, and oft had taken Inne,
And by long penance paid for mine ill crime
Methought the Sunne it self began to shine,
And that I'd past Diana's discipline.
But day was not yet come, 'twas perfect night:
I Phœbus head from Ida hill had seen;
For Ida hill doth give to men the sight,
Of Phœbus form, before Aurora's silver light.

11

But Phœbus form from that high hill's not clear
Nor figure perfect. It's inveloped
In purple cloudy veil; and if't appear
In rounder shape with skouling dreryhed
A glowing face it shows, ne rayes doth shed
Of lights serenity, yet duller eyes
With gazing on this irefull sight be fed
Best to their pleasing; small things they will prise
That never better saw, nor better can devise.

12

On Ida hill there stands a Castle strong,
They that it built call it Pantheothen.
(Hither resort a rascall rabble throng
Of miscreant wights;) but if that wiser men
May name that Fort, Pandœmoniothen
They would it cleep. It is the strong'st delusion
That ever Dœmon wrought; the safest pen
That e're held silly sheep for their confusion.
Ill life and want of love, hence springs each false conclusion.

13

That rabble rout that in this Castle won,
Is irefull-ignorance, Unseemly-zeal,
Strong-self-conceit, Rotten-religion,
Contentious-reproch-'gainst-Michael-
If-he-of-Moses-body-ought-reveal-
Which-their-dull-skonses-cannot-eas'ly-reach,
Love-of-the-carkas, An Inept-appeal-
T'uncertain papyrs, a-False-formall-fetch-
Of-feigned-sighs, Contempt-of-poore-and-sinfull-wretch.

14

A deep self-love, Want of true sympathy-
With all mankind, Th'admiring their own heard,
Fond pride a sanctimonious cruelty
'Gainst those by whom their wrathfull minds be stird
By strangling reason, and are so afeard
To lose their credit with the vulgar sort;
Opinion and long speech 'fore life preferr'd,
Lesse reverence of God then of the Court,
Fear, and despair, Evill surmises, False report:

15

Oppression-of-the-poore, Fell-rigourousnesse,
Contempt-of-Government, Fiercenesse, Fleshly lust,
The-measuring-of-all-true righteousnesse
By-their own-modell, Cleaving unto-dust,
Rash-censure, and despising-of the just-
That-are-not-of-their-sect, False-reasoning-
Concerning-God, Vain-hope, needlesse mistrust,
Strutting-in knowledge, Egre slavering-
After hid-skill, with every inward uncouth thing.

16

These and such like be that rude Regiment,
That from the glittering sword of Michae'l fly:
They fly his outstretch'd arm, else were they shent
If they unto this Castle did not hie,
Strongly within its walls to fortifie
Themselves: Great Dœmon hath no stronger hold
Then this high Tower. When the good Majesty
Shines forth in love and light, a vapour cold
And a black hellish smoke from hence doth all infold.

17

And all that love and light and offer'd might
Is thus chok'd up in that foul Stygian steem:
If Hells dark jawes should open in despight,
And breath its inmost breath which foul'st I deem;
Yet this more deadly foul I do esteem,
And more contagious, which this charmed tower
Ever spues forth, like that fell Dragons steem
Which he from poyson'd mouth in rage did poure
At her, whose first-born child his chaps might not devour.

18

But lest the rasher wit my Muse should blame,
As if she did those faults appropriate
(Which I even now in that black list did name)
Unto Pantheothen; The self same state
I dare avouch you'll find, where ever Hate
Back'd with rough zeal, and bold for want of skill,
All sects besides its own doth execrate.
This peevish spright with wo the world doth fill,
While each man all would bind to his fierce furious will.

19

O Hate! the fulsome daughter of fell Pride,
Sister to surly Superstition,
That clear out-shining Truth cannot abide,
That loves it self and large Dominion,
And in false show of a fair Union
Would all encroch to 't self, would purchase all
At a cheap rate, for slight Opinion.
Thus cram they their wide-gaping Crumenall:
But now to Ida hill me lists my feet recall.

20

No such inchantment in all Dizoie
As on this hill; nor sadder sight was seen
Then you may in this rufull place espy.
'Twixt two huge walls on solitary Green,
Of funerall Cypresse many groves there been,
And eke of Ewe, Eben, and Poppy trees:
And in their gloomy shade foul grisly fiend
Use to resort, and busily to seize
The darker phansied souls that live in ill disease.

21

Hence you may see, if that you dare to mind,
Upon the side of this accursed hil,
Many a dreadfull corse ytost in wind,
Which with hard halter their loathd life did spill.
There lies another which himself did kill
With rusty knife, all roll'd in his own blood,
And ever and anon a dolefull knill
Comes from the fatall Owl, that in sad mood
With drery sound doth pierce through the death-shadowed wood.

22

Who can expresse with pen the irksome state
Of those that be in this strong Castle thrall?
Yet hard it is this Fort to ruinate,
It is so strongly fenc'd with double wall.
The fiercest but of Ram no'te make them fall:
The first Inevitable Destiny
Of Gods Decree; the other they do call
Invincible fleshie Infirmitie:
But Keeper of the Tower's unfelt Hypocrisie.

23

What Poets phancies fain'd to be in Hell
Are truly here, A Vulture Tytius heart
Still gnaws, yet death doth never Tityus quell:
Sad Sisyphus a stone with toylsome smart
Doth roul up hill, but it transcends his art,
To get it to the top, where it may lye,
On steddy Plain, and never backward start,
His course is stopt by strong Infirmity.
His roul comes to this wall, but then back it doth fly.

24

Here fifty Sisters in a sieve do draw
Thorough-siping water: Tantalus is here,
Who though the glory of the Lord ore-flow
The earth, and doth incompasse him so near,
Yet waters he, in waters doth requere.
Stoop Tantalus and take those waters in.
What strength of witchcraft thus blinds all yfere
Twixt these two massie walls, this hold of sinne?
Aye me! who shall this Fort so strongly fenced win!

25

I hear the clattering of an armed troup.
My ears do ring with the strong prancers heels.
(My soul get up out of thy drowsie droop,
And look unto the everlasting Hills)
The hollow ground, ah! how my sense it fills
With sound of solid horses hoofs. A wonder
It is, to think how cold my spirit thrills,
With strange amaze. Who can this strength dissunder?
Hark how the warlike Steeds do neigh, their necks do thunder.

26

All Milkwhite Steeds in trappings goodly gay,
On which in golden letters be ywrit
These words (even he that runs it readen may)
True righteousnesse unto the Lord of might.
O comely spectacle! O glorious sight!
'Twould easily ravish the beholders eye
To see such beasts, so fair so full of spright,
All in due ranks to prance so gallantly,
Bearing their riders arm'd with perfect panoply.

27

In perfect silver glistring panoply
They ride, the army of the highest God.
Ten thousands of his Saints approchen nie,
To judge the world, and rule it with his rod.
They leave all plain whereever they have trod.
Each Rider on his shield doth bear the Sun
With golden shining beams dispread abroad,
The Sun of righteousnesse at high day noon,
By this same strength, I ween, this Fort is easily wonne.

28

They that but hear thereof shall straight obey;
But the strange children shall false semblance make,
But all hypocrisie shall soon decay,
All wickednesse into that deadly lake,
All darknesse thither shall it self betake.
That false brood shall in their close places fade.
The glory of the Lord shall ne're forsake
The earth again, nor shall deaths dreadfull shade
Return again. Him praise that this great day hath made.

29

This is the mighty warlick Michaels host,
That easily shall wade through that foul spue
Which the false Dragon casts in every coast,
That the moon-trampling woman much doth rue
His deadly spaul; but no hurt doth accrew
To this strong army from this filthy steam.
Nor horse nor man doth fear its lurid hew.
They safely both can swim in this foul stream;
This stream the Earth sups up cleft ope by Michaels beam.

30

But whiles it beareth sway, this poysons might
Is to make sterill or prolong the birth,
To cause cold palsies, and to dull the sight
By sleepy sloth; the melancholick earth
It doth increase, that hinders all good mirth.
Yet this dead liquor dull Pantheothen
Before the nectar of the Gods preferr'th.
But it so weakens and disables men,
That they of manhood give no goodly specimen.

31

Here one of us began to interpeal
Old Mnemon. Tharrhon that young ladkin hight,
He prayed this aged Sire for to reveal
What way this Dragons poysonous despight,
And strong Pantheothens in walling might,
We may escape. Then Mnemon thus gan say;
Some strange devise, I know, each youthfull wight
Would here expect, or lofty brave assay:
But I'll the simple truth, in simple wise convey.

32

Good Conscience, kept with all the strength and might
That God already unto us hath given;
A presse pursuit of that foregoing light
That egs us on 'cording to what we have liven,
And helps us on 'cording to what we have striven,
To shaken off the bonds of prejudice,
Nor dote too much of that we have first conceiven;
By hearty prayer to beg the sweet delice
Of Gods all-loving spright: such things I you advise.

33

Can pity move the hearts of parents dear,
When that their haplesse child in heavie plight
Doth grieve and moan! whiles pinching tortures tear
His fainting life, and doth not that sad sight
Of Gods own Sonne empassion his good spright
With deeper sorrow? The tender babe lies torn
In us by cruell wounds from hostile might:
Is Gods own life of God himself forlorn?
Or was he to continuall pain of God yborn?

34

Or will you say if this be Gods own Sonne,
Let him descend the Crosse: for well we ween
That he'll not suffer him to be fordonne
By wicked hand, if Gods own Sonne he been.
But you have not those sacred mysteries seen,
True-crucifying Jews! The weaker thing
Is held in greot contempt in worldly eyen:
But time may come when deep impierced sting
Shall prick your heart, and it shall melt with sorrowing.

35

Then you shall view him whom with cruell spear
You had transfix'd, true crucified Sonne
Of the true God, unto his Father dear,
And dear to you, nought dearer under Sun.
Through this strong love and deep compassion,
How vastly God his Kingdome would enlarge
You'll easily see, and how with strong iron
He'll quite subdue the utmost earthly verge.
O foolish men! the heavens why do you fondly charge?

36

Subtimidus, when Tharrhon sped so well,
Took courage to himself, and thus gan say
To Mnemon; Pray you Sir vouchsafe to tell
What Autaparnes and Hypomone
And Simon do this while in Dizoie.
With that his face shone like the rosie Morn
With maiden blush from inward modesty,
Which wicked wights do holden in such scorn,
Sweet harmlesse Modesty a rose withouten thorn!

37

Old Mnemon lov'd the Lad even from his face,
Which blamelesse blush with sanguin light had dyed;
His harmlesse lucid spright with flouring grace
His outward form so seemly beautified.
So the old man him highly magnified
For his so fit inquiry of those three;
And to his question thus anon replyed,
There's small recourse (till that Fort passed be)
To Simon Autaparnes or Hypomone.

38

For all that space from Behirons high wall
Unto Pantheothen, none dares arise
From his base dunghill warmth; such Magicall
Attraction his flagging soul down ties
To his foul flesh: 'mongst which, alas! there lyes
A little spark of Gods vitality,
But smoreing filth so close it doth comprize
That it cannot flame out nor get on high:
This Province hence is hight earth-groveling Aptery.

39

But yet fair semblances these Apterites
Do make of good, and sighen very sore,
That God no stronger is. False hypocrites.
You make no use of that great plenteous store
Of Gods good strength which he doth on you pour.
But you fast friends of foul carnality,
And false to God, his tender sonne do gore,
And plaud your selves, if 't be not mortally;
Nor let you him live in ease, nor let you him fairly dy.

40

Like faithlesse wife that by her frampared guize,
Peevish demeanour, sullen sad disdain
Doth inly deep the spright melancholize
Of her aggrieved husband, and long pain
At last to some sharp sicknesse doth constrain
His weakned nature to yield victory:
His scorching torture then counts death a gain.
But when Death comes, in womanish phrensie
That froward femall wretch doth shreek and loudly cry.

41

So through her moody importunity
From down right death she rescues the poore man:
Self favouring sense; not that due loyaltie
Doth wring from her this false compassion,
Compassion that no cruelty can
Well equalize. Her husband lies agast;
Death on his horrid face so pale and wan
Doth creep with ashy wings. He thus embrac'd
Perforce too many dayes in deadly wo doth wast.

42

This is the love that's found in Aptery
To Gods dear life. If they his Son present
Half live, half dead, handled despightfully,
Or sunk in sicknesse, or with deep wound rent,
So be he's not quite dead they'r well content.
And hope sure favour of his Sire to have.
They have the signes how can they then be shent?
The God of love for his dear life us save
From such conceits, which men to sin do thus inslave.

43

But when from Aptery we were ygone,
And past Pantheothens inthralling power;
Then from the East chearfull Eous shone,
And drave away the Nights dead lumpish stour:
He took by th'hand Aurora's vernall hour;
These freshly tripp'd it on the silver hills,
And thorow all the fields sweet life did shower:
Then gan the joyfull birds to try their skills;
They skipt, they chirpt amain, they pip'd, they danc'd their fills,

44

This other Province of Dizoia
Hight Pteroessa. On the flowry side
Of a green bank, as I went on my way
Strong youthfull Gabriel I there espide,
Courting a Nymph all in her maiden pride,
Not for himself: His strife was her to win
To Michael, in wedlock to be tide,
He promised she should be Michaels Queen,
And greater things then eare hath heard, or eye hath seen:

45

This lovely Maid to Gabriel thus replide,
Thanks, Sir, for your good news; but may I know
Who Michael is, that would have me his Bride?
Its Michael, said he, that works such woe
To all that fry of Hell; and on his foe
Those fiends of darknesse such great triumphs hath:
The powers of sin and death he down doth mow.
In this strong Arm of God have thou but faith,
That in great Dœmons troups doth work so wondrous scath.

46

The simple Girl believed every word,
Nor did by subtile querks elude the might
And proferr'd strength of the soul-loving Lord;
But answered thus. Good Sir, but reade aright
When shall I then appear in Michaels sight?
When Gabriel had won her full assent,
And well observ'd how he had flam'd her spright,
He answered, After the complishment
[illeg.]

47

She willingly took the condition,
And pliable she promised to be;
And Gabriel sware he would wait upon
Her Virginship, whiles in simplicity
His masters will with all good industry
She would fullfill. So here the simple Maid
Strove for her self in all fidelity,
Nor took her self for nothing; but she plaid
Her part, she thought, as if Indentures had been made.

48

For she did not with her own self gin think
So curiously, that it is God alone
That gives both strengths when ever we do swink:
Graces and Natures might be both from one,
Who is our lifes strong sustentation.
Impossible it is therefore to merit,
When we poore men have nothing of our own:
Certes by him alone she stands upright;
And surely falls without his help in per'lous fight:

49

But we went on in Peteroessa lond.
The fresh bright Morning was no small repast
After the toil in Aptery we found,
So that with merry chear we went full fast:
But I observed well that in this haste
Simon wax'd faint, and feeble, and decay'd,
In strength and life before we far had past:
And by how much his youthfull flower did fade,
So much more vigour to his parents was repai'd.

50

For that old crumpled wight gan go upstraight,
And Autaparnes face recovered blood!
But Simon looked pale withouten might,
Withouten chear, or joy, or livelyhood:
Cause of all this at last I understood.
For Autaparn that knife had from him cast,
And almost clos'd the passage of that flood.
That flood, that blood, was that which Simons taste
Alone could fit; if that were gone the lad did waste.

51

And his old mother, call'd Hypomone,
Did ease her back from that down-swaying weight,
That leaden Quadrate, which did miserably
Annoy her crasie corse; but that more light
She might fare on, she in her husbands sight
Threw down her load, where he threw down his blade,
And from that time began the pitious plight
Of sickly Simon: so we them perswade
Back to retreat, and do their dying son some aid.

52

Though loth, yet at the length they do assent:
So we return unto the place where lay
The heavy Quadrate, and that instrument
Of bleeding smart. It would a man dismay
To think how that square lead her back did sway;
And how the half-clos'd wound was open tore
With that sharp-pointed knife: and sooth to say
Simon himself was inly grieved sore,
Seeing the deadly smart that his dear parents bore.

53

So we remeasure the way we had gone,
Still fareing on toward Theoprepy.
Great strength and comfort 'twas to think upon
Our good escape from listlesse Aptery,
And from the thraldome of Infirmity.
Now nought perplex'd our stronger plumed spright,
But what may be the blamelesse verity:
Oft we conceiv'd things were transacted right:
And oft we found our selves guld with strong passions might.

54

But now more feeble farre we find their force
Then erst it was, when as in Aptery
To strong Pantheothen they had recourse:
For then a plain impossibility
It was to overcome their cruelty.
But here encouraged by Gabriel
We strongly trust to have the victory.
And if by chance they do our forces quell;
It's not by strength of armes, but by some misty spell.

55

So bravely we went on withouten dread,
Till at the last we came whereas a hill
With steep ascent highly lift up his head:
To th'aged-hoof it worken would much ill
To climb this cliff; with weary ach 't would fill
His drier bones. But yet it's smooth and plain
Upon the top. It passeth farre my skill
The springs, the bowers, the walks, the goodly train
Of faire chaste Nymphs that haunt that place, for to explain.

56

I saw three sisters there in seemly wise
Together walking on the flowry Green,
Yclad in snowy stoles of fair agguize.
The glistring streams of silver waving shine,
Skilfully interwove with silken line,
So variously did play in that fair vest,
That much it did delight my wondring eyne:
Their face with Love and Vigour was ydrest,
With Modesty and Joy; their tongue with just behest:

57

Their locks hung loose, A triple coronet
Of flaming gold and star-like twinkling stone
Of highest price, was on their temples set:
The Amethist, the radiant Diamond,
The Jasper, enemy to spirits won,
With many other glorious for to see.
These three enameld rimmes of that fair Crown
Be these: the first hight Dicæosyne,
Philosophy the next, the last stiff Apathy.

58

I gaz'd, and mus'd and was well nigh distraught
With admiration of those three maids,
And could no further get, ne further saught;
Down on the hill my weary limbs I laid,
And fed my feeble eyes, which me betray'd
Unto Loves bondage. Simon lik'd it not
To see me so bewitch'd, and thus assay'd
By wisest speech to loose this Magick knot:
Great pity things so fair should have so foul a spot:

59

What spot, said I, can in these fair be found?
Both spot in those white vests, and eke a flaw
In those bright gems wherewith these Maids be crown'd,
If you'll but list to see, I'll eas'ly show.
Then I, both Love of man and holy law
Exactly's kept upon this sacred hill;
True Fortitude that truest foes doth awe,
Justice and Abstinence from sweetest ill,
And Wisedome like the Sun doth all with light o're spill.

60

Thanks be to God we are so well arriv'd
To the long-sought for land, Theoprepy.
Nay soft good Sir, said Simon, you'r deceiv'd,
You are not yet past through Autœsthesy:
With that the spot and flaw he bad me see
Which he descry'd in that goodly array.
The spot and flaw self-sens'd Autopathy
Was hight, the eldest Nymph Pythagorissa,
Next Platonissa hight; the last hight Stoicissa.

61

But this high Mount where these three sisters wonne,
Said Simon, cleeped is, Har-Eloim.
To these it's said, Do worship to my Sonne:
It's right, that all the Gods do worship him,
There's none exempt: those that the highest climbe
Are but his Ministers, their turns they take
To serve as well as those of lower slime.
What so is not of Christ but doth partake
Of th'Autœsthesian soil, is life Dœmoniake.

62

His words did strangely work upon my spright,
And wean'd my mind from that I dearly lov'd;
So I nould dwell on this so pleasing sight,
But down descended, as it me behov'd,
And as my trusty guide me friendly mov'd.
So when we down had come, and thence did passe
On the low plain, Simon more clearly prov'd,
That though much beauty there and goodnesse was,
Yet that in Theoprepia did farre surpasse.

63

So forward on we fare, and leave that hill,
And presse still further, the further we go,
Simon more strength, more life and godly will,
More vigour he and livelyhood did show;
But Autaparnes wox more wan and wo:
He faints, he sinks, ready to give up ghost,
And ag'd Hypom'ne trod with footing slow,
And stagger'd with her load; so ill dispos'd
Their fading spirits were, that life was well nigh lost.

64

By this in sight of that black wall we came,
A wall by stone-artificer not made:
For it is nought but smoke from duskish flame,
Which in that low deep valleys pitchy shade
Doth fiercely th'Autopathian life invade,
With glowing heat, and eateth out that spot.
This dreadfull triall many hath dismaid;
When Autaparnes saw this was his lot,
Fear did his sense benum, he wox like earthly clot.

65

In solem silency this vapour rose
From this drad Dale, and hid the Eastern sky
With its deep darknesse, and the Evening-close
Forestall'd with Stygian obscurity;
Yet was't not thick, nor thin, nor moist, nor dry;
Nor stank it ill, nor yet gave fragrant smell,
Nor did 't take in through pellucidity
The penetrating light, nor did 't repell
Through grosse opacity the beams of Michael.

66

Yet terrible it is to Psyche's brood,
That still retain the life Dœmoniake;
Constraining fear calls in their vitall flood,
When the drad Magus once doth mention make
Of the deep dark Abysse; for fear they quake
At that strong-awing word: But they that die
Unto self feeling life, naught shall them shake;
Base fear proceeds from weak Autopathy.
This dale hight Ain, the fumes hight Anautœsthesy.

67

Into this dismall Dale we all descend.
Here Autaparnes and Hypomone
Their languid life with that dark vapour blend.
Thus perished fading vitality,
But nought did fade of Lifes reality.
When these two old ones their last gasp had fet,
In this drad valley their dead corps did lie;
But what could well be sav'd to Simon flet.
Here Simon first became spotlesse Anautœsthet.

68

When we had waded quite through this deep shade,
We then appear'd in bright Theoprepy:
Here Phœbus ray in straightest line was laid,
That earst lay broke in grosse consistency
Of cloudy substance. For strong sympathy
Of the divided natures Magick band
Was burn't to dust in Anautœsthesie:
Now there's no fear of Death's dart holding hand:
Fast love, fix'd life, firm peace in Theoprepia land.

69

When Mnemon hither came, he leaned back
Upon his seat, and a long time respired.
When I perceiv'd this holy Sage so slack
To speak (well as I might) I him desired
Still to hold on, if so he were not tired;
And tell what fell in blest Theoprepy;
But he nould do the thing that I required,
Too hard it is, said he, that kingdomes glee
To show; who list to know himself must come and see.

70

This story under the cool shadowing Beach
Old Mnemon told of famous Dizoie:
To set down all he said passeth my reach,
That all would reach even to infinity.
Strange things he spake of the biformity
Of the Dizoians; What mongrill sort
Of living wights; how monstrous shap'd they be,
And how that man and beast in one consort;
Goats britch, mans tongue, goose head, with monki's mouth distort.

71

Of Centaures, Cynocephals, walking trees,
Tritons, and Mermayds, and such uncouth things;
Of weeping Serpents with fair womans eyes,
Mad-making waters, sex transforming springs;
Of foul Circean swine with golden rings,
With many such like falshoods; but the streight
Will easily judge all crooked wanderings
Suffice it then we have taught that ruling Right,
The Good is uniform, the Evil infinite.

2. PSYCHATHANASIA OR The second part of the Song of the SOUL,

Treating Of the Immortality of Souls, especially MANS SOUL.

Φυσις ουδενος ()ιν
Αλλα μονον μιξις τ()ε διαλλαξις τ()ε μιγεντων,
Empedocles.

Omnia mutantur, nihil interit,
Ovid.

Παν α ζωον αθανατον' παντων () μαλλον ο ανθρωπος, ο () του θεου δεκτικος, () τω θεω σ()ουσιαστος. Trismegist.

Book I.

Cant. I.

Struck with strong sense of Gods good will
The immortality
Of Souls I sing; Praise with my quill
Plato's Philosophy.

1

Whatever man he be that dares to deem
True Poets skill to spring of earthly race,
I must him tell, that he doth misesteem
Their strange estate, and eke himselfe disgrace
By his rude ignorance. For there's no place
For forced labour, or slow industry
Of flagging wits, in that high fiery chace,
So soon as of the Muse they quickned be,
At once they rise, and lively sing like Lark in skie.

2

Like to a Meteor, whose materiall
Is low unwieldy earth, base unctuous slime,
Whose inward hidden parts ethereall
Ly close upwrapt in that dull sluggish fime,
Ly fast asleep, till at some fatall time
Great Phœbus lamp has fir'd its inward spright,
And then even of it self on high doth climb;
That earst was dark becomes all eye, all sight,
Bright starre, that to the wise of future things gives light.

3

Even so the weaker mind, that languid lies
Knit up in rags of dirt, dark cold and blind,
So soon that purer flame of Love unties
Her clogging chains, and doth her spright unbind,
Shee sores aloft; for shee her self doth find
Well plum'd; so rais'd upon her spreaden wing,
She softly playes, and warbles in the wind,
And carols out her inward life and spring
Of overflowing joy, and of pure love doth sing.

4

She sings of purest love, not that base passion
That fouls the soul with filth of lawlesse lust,
And Circe like her shape doth all misfashion;
But that bright flame that's proper to the just,
And eats away all drosse and cankred rust
With its refining heat, unites the mind
With Gods own spright, who raiseth from the dust
The slumbring soul, and with his usage kind
Makes 't breath after that life that time hath not defin'd.

5

So hath he rais'd my soul, and so possest
My inward spright, with that unfained will
He bears to Psyche's brood, that I nere rest
But ruth or ragefull indignation fill
My troubled veins, that I my life near spill
With sorrow and disdain, for that foul lore
That crept from dismall shades of Night, and quill
Steep'd in sad Styx, and fed with stinking gore
Suckt from corrupted corse, that God and men abhorre.

6

Such is thy putid muse, Lucretius,
That fain would teach that souls all mortall be;
The dusty Atoms of Democritus
Certes have fall'n into thy feeble eye,
And thee bereft of perspicacity.
Others through the strong steem of their dull bloud,
Without the help of that Philosophy,
Have with more ease the truth not understood,
And the same thing conclude in some sad drooping mood.

7

But most of all my soul doth them refuse
That have extinguish'd natures awfull light
By evil custome, and unkind abuse
Of Gods young tender work, that in their spright
He first gins frame. But they with heddy might
Of over-whelming liquour that life drownd,
And reasons eye swell up or put out quite.
Hence horrid darknesse doth their souls confound;
And foul blasphemous belch from their furd mouth resounds.

8

Thus while false way they take to large their spirit
By vaster cups of Bacchus, they get fire
Without true light, and 'cording to demerit
Infernall blasts blind confidence inspire:
Bold heat to uncouth thoughts is their bad hire.
Which they then dearly hug, and ween their feet
Have clombe, whither vulgar men dare not aspire.
But its the fruit of their burnt sootie spright:
Thus dream they of drad death, and an eternall night.

9

Now in the covert of dame Natures cell
They think they'r shrowded, and the mystery
Of her deep secrets they can wisely spell;
And 'pprove that art above true piety;
Laugh at religion as a mockery,
A thing found out to aw the simpler sort:
But they, brave sparks, have broke from this dark tie:
The light of nature yields more sure comfort.
Alas! too many souls in this fond thought consort.

10

Like men new made contriv'd into a cave
That ne're saw light, but in that shadowing pit,
Some uncouth might them hoodwink hither drave,
Now with their backs to the dens mouth they sit,
Yet shoulder not all light from the dern pit,
So much gets in as Optick art counts meet
To shew the forms that hard without do flit.
With learned quære each other here they greet:
True moving substances they deem each shadow slight:

11

When fowls flie by, and with their swapping wings
Beat the inconstant air, and mournfull noise
Stirre up with their continuall chastisings
In the soft yielding penitent; the voice
These solemn Sages nought at all accoyes.
'Tis common; onely they philosophize,
Busying their brains in the mysterious toyes
Of flittie motion, warie well advize
On'ts inward principles the hid Entelechies:

12

And whereabout that inward life is seated,
That moves the living creature, they espie
Passing in their dim world. So they'r defeated,
Calling thin shadows true realitie,
And deeply doubt if corporalitie,
(For so they term those visibles) were stroy'd
Whether that inward first vitalitie
Could then subsist. But they are ill accloy'd
With cloddie earth, and with blind duskishnesse annoy'd.

13

If roaring Lion or the neighing Horse,
With frisking tail to brush off busie flies,
Approch their den, then haply they discourse
From what part of these creatures may arise
Those greater sounds. Together they advise,
And gravely do conclude that from the thing
That we would term the tail, those thund'ring neyes
Do issue forth: tail of that shadowing
They see then moved most, while he is whinneying.

14

And so the Lions huge and hideous roar
They think proceeds from his rugg'd flowing mane,
Which the fierce winds do tosse and tousell sore;
Unlesse perhaps he stirre his bushie train:
For then the tail will carrie it again.
Thus upon each occasion their frail wit
Restirres it self to find out errours vain
And uselesse theories in this dark pit:
Pond reasoning they have, seldome or never hit.

15

So soon new shadows enter in the cave,
New entelechias they then conceive
Brought forth of nature; when they passed have
Their gloomy orb (false shades eas'ly deceive)
Not onely they that visible bereave
Of life and being, but the hidden might
And moving root, unliv'd, unbeen'd they leave
In their vain thoughts: for they those shadows slight
Do deem sole prop and stay of th'hidden motive spright.

16

This is that awfull cell where Naturalists
Brood deep opinion, as themselves conceit;
This Errours den where in a magick mist
Men hatch their own delusion and deceit,
And grasp vain shows. Here their bold brains they beat,
And dig full deep, as deep as Hyle's hell,
Unbare the root of life (O searching wit!)
But root of life in Hyles shade no'te dwell.
For God's the root of all, as I elsewhere shall tell.

17

This is the stupid state of drooping soul,
That loves the body and false forms admires;
Slave to base sense, fierce 'gainst reasons controul,
That still it self with lower lust bemires;
That nought believeth and much lesse desires
Things of that unseen world and inward life,
Nor unto height of purer truth aspires:
But cowardly declines the noble strife
'Gainst vice and ignorance; so gets it no relief.

18

From this default, the lustfull Epicure
Democrite, or th'unthankfull Stagirite,
Most men preferre 'fore holy Pythagore,
Divinest Plato, and grave Epictete:
But I am so inflam'd with the sweet sight
And goodly beauty seen on Eloim hill,
That maugre all mens clamours in despight
I'll praise my Platonissa with loud quill;
My strong intended voice all the wide world shall fill.

19

O sacred Nymph begot of highest Jove!
Queen of Philosophie and virtuous lear!
That firest the nobler heart with spotlesse love,
And sadder minds with Nectar drops dost chear,
That oft bedrencht with sorrows while we're here
Exil'd from our dear home, that heavenly soil.
Through wandring wayes thou safely dost us bear
Into the land of truth, from dirtie foil
Thou keepst our slipping feet oft wearied with long toil.

20

When I with other beauties thine compare,
O lovely maid, all others I must scorn.
For why? they all rude and deform'd appear:
Certes they be ill thew'd and baser born:
Yet thou, alas! of men art more forlorn.
For like will to its like: but few can see
Thy worth; so night-birds flie the glorious morn.
Thou art a beam shot from the Deitie,
And nearest art ally'd to Christianitie.

21

But they be sprung of sturdie Giants race,
Ally'd to Night and the foul Earthy clay,
Love of the carcase, Envie, Spight, Disgrace,
Contention, Pride, that unto th'highest doth bray,
Rash labour, a Titanicall assay
To pluck down wisdome from her radiant seat,
With mirie arms to bear her quite away.
But thy dear mother Thorough-cleansing virtue hight:
Here will true wisdome lodge, here will she deigne to light.

22

Come, Gentle Virgin, take me by the hand,
To yonder grove with speedie pace we'll hie:
(Its not farre off from Alethea land)
Swift as the levin from the sneezing skie,
So swift we'll go, before an envious eye
Can reach us. There I'll purge out the strong steem
Of prepossessing prejudice, that I
Perhaps may have contract in common stream;
And warie well wash out my old conceived dream.

23

And when I've breath'd awhile in that free air,
And clear'd my self from tinctures took before,
Then deigne thou to thy novice to declare
Thy secret skill, and hid mysterious lore,
And I due thanks shall plenteously down poure.
But well I wote thou'lt not envassall me:
That law were rudenesse. I may not adore
Ought but the lasting spotlesse veritie.
Well thewed minds the mind do alwayes setten free.

24

Free to that inward awfull Majestie
Hight Logos, whom they term great sonne of God,
Who fram'd the world by his deep sciency,
The greater world. Als' makes his near abode
In the lesse world: so he can trace the trod
Of that hid ancient path, when as he made
This stately Fabrick of the world so broad.
He plainly doth unfold his skilfull trade,
When he doth harmlesse hearts by his good spright invade.

25

O thou eternall Spright, cleave ope the skie,
And take thy flight into my feeble breast,
Enlarge my thoughts, enlight my dimmer eye
That wisely of that burthen closely prest
In my straight mind, I may be dispossest:
My Muse must sing of things of mickle weight;
The souls eternity is my great quest:
Do thou me guide, that art the souls sure light,
Grant that I never erre, but ever wend aright.

Cant. II.

What a soul is here I define,
After I have compared
All powers of life: That stamp divine
Show that brutes never shared.

1

Now I'll addresse me to my mighty task,
So mighty task that makes my heart to shrink,
While I compute the labour it will ask,
And on my own frail weaknesse I gin think.
Like tender Lad that on the rivers brink,
That fain would wash him, while the Evening keen
With sharper air doth make his pores to wink,
Shakes all his body, nips his naked skin,
At first makes some delay but after skippeth in:

2

So I upon a wary due debate
With my perplexed mind, after perswade
My softer heart. I need no longer wait.
Lo! now new strength my vitals doth invade
And rear again, that carst began to fade,
My life, my light, my senses all revive
That fearfull doubts before had ill apaid.
Leap in, my soul, and strongly 'fore thee drive
The fleeting waves, and when thee list to th'bottome dive.

3

For thou canst dive full well, and flote aloft,
Dive down as deep as the old Hyle's shade,
Through that slight darknesse glid'st thou sly and soft,
Through pitchy cumbring fogs strongly canst wade,
Nor in thy flight could'st thou be ever staid,
If in thy flight thou flewest not from him,
That for himself thine excellent might hath made.
Contract desire, repulse strong Magick steem,
Then even in foul Cocytus thou mayest fearlesse swim.

4

Like that strange uncouth fish Lucerna hight,
Whose wonne is in the brackish Seas, yet fire
She eas'ly carries and clear native light
In her close mouth: and the more to admire,
In darkest night when she lists to aspire
To th'utmost surface of the wat'ry Main,
And opes her jawes, that light doth not expire,
But lively shines till she shut up again:
Nor liquid Sea, nor moistned Aire this light restrain.

5

Or like a lamp arm'd with pellucid horn,
Which ruffling winds about do rudely tosse,
And felty lash with injury and scorn,
But her mild light they cannot easily crosse;
She shines to her own foes withouten losse:
Even so the soul into her self collected,
Or in her native hew withouten drosse,
In midst of bitter storms is not dejected.
Nor her eternall state is any whit suspected.

6

As Cynthia in her stouping Perigee,
That deeper wades in the earths duskish Cone,
Yet safely wallows through in silency
Till she again her silver face hath shown,
And tells the world that she's the self-same Moon,
Not now more listlesse then I was whileare
When I was hid in my Apogeon,
For I my self alike do alwayes bear
In every circling race: blind ignorance breeds fear.

7

Nor being hid after my monthly wane,
Long keppen back from your expecting sight,
Dull damps and darknesse do my beauty stain;
When none I show then have I the most light,
Nearer to Phœbus more I am bedight
With his fair rayes. And better to confute,
All vain suspicion of my worser plight,
Mark aye my face, after my close salute
With that sharp-witted God, seem I not more acute?

8

This is the state of th'evermoving soul,
Whirling about upon her circling wheel;
Certes to sight she variously doth roll,
And as men deem full dangerously doth reel,
But oft when men fear most, her self doth feel
In happiest plight conjoy'nd with that great Sun
Of lasting blisse, that doth himself reveal
More fully then, by that close union,
Though men, that misse her here, do think her quite undone.

9

But lest we rashly wander out too farre,
And be yblown about with wanton wind,
Withouten stern, or card, or Polar starre,
In its round little list so close confin'd:
Let the souls nature first be well defin'd:
Then we'll proceed. But all the while I crave
When e're I speak 'cording to Plato's mind,
That you my faultlesse drift do not deprave.
For I the free-born soul to no sect would inslave.

10

Divers conceits the wizards of old time
Have had concerning that we here inquire,
And would set forth in an eternall rhyme;
But we list not our dainty Muse to tire
In such foul wayes, and plunge her in the mire.
Strange dreams their drowsie scholars they have taught,
The heart, the heart-bloud, brains, fleet aire, hot fire
To be the thing that they so presly sought,
Some have defin'd, some temper, some atomes, some nought.

11

But I must needs decline this wandring path;
For well I wote errour is infinite,
But he that simple truth once reached hath
Needs not with every single shade to fight:
One stroke will put all falsities to flight.
So soon as Sol his fiery head doth rear
Above the Eastern waves his glowing sight
As angry darknesse so long rule did bear,
Straight all night-trifling sprights doth chase away with fear.

12

Long have I swonk with anxious assay
To finden out what this hid soul may be,
That doth her self so variously bewray
In different motions. Other we her see
When she so fairly spreads the branching tree;
Other when as sh'hath loos'd her self from ground,
And opes her root, and breaths in heaven free,
And doth her wants in the wide air resound,
Speaks out her joy, no longer whispers under-ground.

13

Such is the noise of chearfull chirping birds,
That tell the sweet impressions of the Spring;
Or 'fore some storm, when their quick sprights be stird
With nearer strong appulse and hid heaving,
That fills their little souls, and makes them sing,
Puft up with joy and o'rflowing delight:
Eftsoons with ratling winds the air doth ring.
The sturdy storm doth make them take their flight
Into thick bush or hedge to save them from heavens spight.

14

From this same sourse of sense are murmuring moans
Of bellowing bullocks, when sharp hunger bites;
Hence whining dog so pittifully groans
When as with knotted whip his Lord him smites;
And every beast when with Deaths pangs he fights.
But senslesse trees nor feel the bleaker wind,
That nip their sides, nor the Suns scorching might,
Nor the sharp ax piercing their ruggid rind;
Yet have they soul, whose life in their sweet growth we find.

15

So plants spring up flourish and fade away,
Not marking their own state: they never found
Themselves, when first they 'pear'd in sunny day;
Nor ever sought themselves, though in the ground
They search full deep: Nor are they wak'd by wound
Of biting iron, to nought are attent
That them befalls, when cold humours abound
And clog their vitall heat, or when they 're brent
With Sirius flame, or when through eld they waxen faint.

16

Or whatsoever diseases them betide
That hasten death, they nought at all regard:
But when to plantall life quick sense is ti'd,
And progging phansie, then upon her guard
She gins to stand, and well her self to ward
From foes she plainly feels, pursues her joy,
Remembers where she well or ill hath far'd,
Or swiftly flies from that that doth annoy,
Or stoutly strives her fierce destroyer to destroy.

17

Thus have we run thorow these two degrees
Of the souls working seen in beast and plant;
Reason's the third, of common qualities
The best. Of this the humane race doth vaunt
As proper to themselves; But if we skan't
Sans prejudice, it's not in them alone;
The Dog, the Horse, the Ape, the Elephant,
Will all rush in striving to make up one,
And sternly claim their share in use of right reason.

18

But whether brutes do reason and reflect
Upon their reasoning, I'll not dispute;
Nor care I what brisk boyes will here object:
Long task it were all fondlings to confute.
But I'll lay down that which will better sute
With that high heavenly spark, the soul of man;
His proper character (I would he knew't)
Is that which Adam lost by wily train
Of th'old sly snake that {Jo}ve beguil'd with speeches vain.

19

This was the Image of the highest God,
Which brutes partake not of. This Image hight
True Justice, that keeps ever th'even trod,
True Piety that yields to man the sight
Of heavenly beauty, those fair beams so bright
Of th'everlasting Deity, that shed
Their sacred fire within the purer spright,
The fruit of Eden wherewith souls be fed,
Mans awfull majesty of every beast ydred.

20

Nor is that radiant force in humane kind
Extinguisht quite, he that did them create
Can those dull rusty chains of sleep unbind,
And rear the soul unto her pristin state:
He can them so inlarge and elevate
And spreaden out, that they can compasse all,
When they no longer be incarcerate
In this dark dungeon, this soul fleshly wall,
Nor be no longer wedg'd in things corporeall:

21

But rais'd aloft into their proper sphere,
That sphere that hight th'Orb Intellectuall,
They quiet sit, as when the flitting fire
That Natures mighty Magick down did call
Into the oyly wood, at its own fall
Grows full of wrath and rage, and gins to fume,
And roars and strives 'gainst its disquietall,
Like troubled Ghost forc'd some shape to assume;
But it its holding foe at last doth quite consume.

22

And then like gliding spright doth straight dispear,
That earst was forc'd to take a fiery form:
Full lightly it ascends into the clear
And subtile aire devoid of cloudy storm,
Where it doth steddy stand, all-uniform,
Pure, pervious, immixt, innocuous, mild,
Nought scorching, nought glowing, nothing enorm,
Nought destroying, not destroy'd, not defil'd;
Foul fume being spent, just 'fore its flight it fairly smil'd.

23

Thus have I trac'd the soul in all her works,
And severall conditions have displaid,
And show'd all places where so e'r she lurks,
Even her own lurking's of her self bewray'd,
In plants, in beasts, in men, while here she staid:
And freed from earth how then she spreads on high
Her heavenly rayes, that also hath been said.
Look now, my Muse, and cast thy piercing eye
On every kind, and tell wherein all souls agree.

24

Here dare I not define't, th'Entelechie
Of organized bodies. For this life,
This centrall life, which men take souls to be,
Is not among the beings relative;
And sure some souls at least are self-active
Withouten body having Energie.
Many put out their force informative
In their ethereall corporeity,
Devoid of heterogeneall organity.

25

Self-moving substance, that be th'definition
Of souls, that longs to them in generall:
This well expresseth that common condition
Of every vitall centre creaturall.
For why? both what hight form spermaticall
Hath here a share, as also that we term
Soul sensitive, I'll call't form bestiall,
It makes a beast added to plantall sperm;
Adde rationall form, it makes a man as men affirm.

26

All these be substances self-moveable:
And that we call virtue magneticall
(That what's defin'd be irreprovable)
I comprehend it in the life plantall:
Mongst trees ther's found life Sympatheticall;
Though trees have not animadversive sense.
Therefore the soul's Autokineticall
Alone. What ere's in this defining sense.
Is soul, what ere's not soul is driven far from hence.

27

But that each soul's Autokineticall,
Is easly shown by sifting all degrees
Of souls. The first are forms Spermaticall,
That best be seen in shaping armed trees.
Which if they want their fixt Centreities,
By which they fairly every part extend,
And gently inact with spred vitalities
The flowring boughs. How Natures work doth wend
Who knows? or from what inward stay it doth depend?

28

Forthy let first an inward centre hid
Be put. That's nought but Natures fancie ti'd
In closer knot, shut up into the mid
Of its own self: so our own spirits gride
With piercing wind in storming Winter tide
Contract themselves and shrivell up together,
Like snake the countrey man in snow espi'd,
Whose spright was quite shrunk in by nipping weather.
From whence things come, by fo-man forc'd they backward thither

29

The rigid cold had forc'd into its centre
This serpents life; but when the rurall Swain
Plac'd her upon warm hearth, and heat did enter
Into her nummed corps, she gan to strain
And stretch herself, and her host entertain
With scornfull hisse, shooting her anchor'd tongue,
Threatning her venom'd teeth; so straight again
She prov'd a living snake, when she along
Her corse free life had drove from centre steddie strong.

30

So doth the gentle warmth of solar heat
Eas'ly awake the centre seminall,
That makes it softly streak on its own seat,
And fairly forward force its life internall.
That inward life's th'impresse imaginall
Of Natures Art, which sweetly flowreth out
From that is cleep'd the Sphere spermaticall:
For there is plac'd the never fading root
Of every flower or herb that into th'air doth shoot.

31

Fairly invited by Sols piercing ray
And inward tickled with his chearing spright,
All plants break thorough into open day,
Rend the thick curtain of cold cloying night.
The earths opakenes enemy to light,
And crown themselves in sign of victory
With shining leaves, and goodly blossomes bright.
Thus called out by friendly sympathy
Their souls move of themselves on their Centreitie.

32

But it's more plain in animalitie.
When fiery coursers strike the grassie ground
With swift tempestuous feet, that farre and nigh
They fill mens ears with a broad thundring sound
(From hollow hoof so strongly it doth rebound)
What's that that twitcheth up their legs so fast,
And fiercely jerks them forth, that many wound
They give to their own mother in their hast?
With eager steps they quickly mete the forrest wast.

34

That outward form is but a neurospast;
The soul it is that on her subtile ray,
That she shoots out, the limbs of moving beast
Doth stretch straight forth, so straightly as she may.
Bones joynts and sinews shap'd of stubborn clay
Cannot so eas'ly lie in one straight line
With her projected might, much lesse obey
Direct retractions of these beames fine:
Of force, so straight retreat they ever must decline.

35

But yet they follow in a course oblique,
With angular doublings, as the joynts permit:
So go they up together, not unlike
An iron candle-stick the smith hath fit
With many junctures, whom in studious fit
Some scholar set a work: but to return,
Lest what we aim'd at we unwares omit;
If souls of beasts their bodies move and turn,
And wield at phansies beck, as we describ'd beforn;

36

Then be the souls of beasts self-moving forms,
Bearing their bodies as themselves think meet,
Invited or provok'd, so they transform
At first themselves within, then straight in sight
Those motions come, which suddenly do light
Upon the bodies visible, which move
According to the will of th'inward spright.
In th'inward spright be anger, hate and love:
Hence claws, horns, hoofs they use the pinching ill t'amove.

37

Thus have I plainly prov'd that souls of beasts
And plants do move themselves. That souls of men
Should be more stupid, and farre lesse releast
From matters bondage surely there's none can
Admit of, though but slightly they do scan
The cause. But for to put all out of doubt,
Let's take again the same way we have ran,
Break down all obstacles that hinder mought
Our future course to make all plain all clear throughout.

38

If there be no self-motion in mans soul,
That she nor this nor that way can propend
Of her own self, nor can no whit controll
Nor will of her own self, who can offend?
For no mans self (if yon do well perpend)
Guiltie's of ought when nought doth from him flow.
Whither do learning, laws, grave speeches tend?
Speaks the rude Carter to the wagon slow
With threat'ning words, or to the beasts that do it draw?

39

Surely unto the beasts that eas'ly go:
For there's the principle of motion,
Such principle as can it self foreslow,
Or forward presse by incitation:
Which though it mov'd by commination
So stifly strives, yet from it self it strives,
Bears it self forth with stout contention,
And ever and anon the whip revives
That inward life, so bravely on the Rustick drives.

40

Again, all that sweet labour would be lost
That Gods good spirit takes in humane mind,
So oft we courted be so often cross'd:
But nor that tender amorous courtship kind
Hath any place, where we no place can find
For a self-yielding love; Or if self-will
Be not in us, how eas'ly were declin'd
All crosses? None could happen us untill,
How will I want, and want no crosse passeth my skill

41

Besides when reason works with phantasie,
And changeable conceits we do contrive,
Purging and pruning with all industrie,
What's dead or uselesse, lesse demonstrative,
What's dull or flaccid, nought illustrative,
Quenching unfitted phantasmes in our brain,
And for our better choice new flames revive;
The busie soul thus doth her reason strain
To write or speak what envious tongue may never stain:

42

Or when quite heedlesse of this earthie world
She lifts her self unto the azure skie,
And with those wheeling gyres around is hurld,
Turns in her self in a due distancie
The erring Seven, or a stretch'd line doth tie
O'th' silver-bowed moon from horn to horn;
Or finds out Phœbus vast soliditie
By his diametre, measures the Morn,
Girds the swoln earth with linear list, though earth she scorn.

43

All this is done, though bodie never move:
The soul about it self circumgyrates
Her various forms, and what she most doth love
She oft before her self stabilitates;
She stifly stayes't and wistly contemplates,
Or lets it somewhat slowlier descend
Down to the nether Night; she temperates
Her starrie orb, makes her bright forms to wend
Even as she list: Anon she'll all with darknesse blend.

44

Thus variously she doth herself invest
With rising forms, and reasons all the way;
And by right reason doth her self devest
Of falser fancies. Who then can gainsay
But she's self-mov'd when she doth with self-sway
Thus change herself, as inward life doth feel?
If not, then some inspiring sprights bewray
Each reasoning. Yet though to them we deal
First motion, yet our selves ought know what they reveal.

45

But if nor of our selves we moved be
At first, without any invasion
Of stirring forms that into energie
Awake the soul; nor after motion
From its own centre by occasion
Doth issue forth; then it's not conscious
Of ought: For so 'twill want adversion.
But nothing can animadvert for us:
Therefore all humane souls be self-vivacious.

46

Thus have I prov'd all souls have centrall motion
Springing from their own selves. But they'll object
'Gainst th'universalnesse of this clear notion,
That whiles self-flowing sourse I here detect
In plants, in brutes, in men, I ought reject
No soul from wished immortalitie,
But give them durance when they are resect
From organized corporeitie:
Thus brutes and plants shall gain lasting eternitie.

47

'Tis true, a never fading durancie
Belongs to all hid principles of life;
But that full grasp of vast Eternitie
Longs not to beings simply vegetive,
Nor yet to creatures merely sensitive:
Reason alone cannot arrive to it.
Onely souls Deiform intellective
Unto that height of happinesse can get;
Yet immortalitie with other souls may fit.

48

No force of Nature can their strength annoy.
For they be subtiler then the silken air,
Which fatall fire from heaven cannot destroy.
All grossenesse its devouring teeth may shear,
And present state of visibles empare;
But the fine curtains of the lasting skie.
Though not of love, yet it perforce must spare.
If they could burn, each spark from flint would trie,
And a bright broad-spread flame to either Pole would hie.

49

But if all souls survive their bulks decay,
Another difficultie will straight arise,
Concerning their estate when they're away
Flit from this grosser world. Shall Paradise
Receive the sprights of beasts? or wants it trees,
That their sweet verdant souls should thither take?
Who shall conduct those stragling colonies?
Or be they straightway drench'd in Lethe lake?
So that cold sleep their shriveld life from work doth slake.

50

Or if that all or some of them awake,
What is their miserie? what their delight?
How come they that refined state forsake?
Or had they their first being in our sight?
Whither to serve? what is the usefull might
Of these spirituall trees? doth fearfull hare
Flie the pursuing dog? doth soaring kite
Prey upon silly chickins? is there jarre,
Or be those sprights agreed, none to other contraire?

51

If some contraire; then tell me, how's their fight?
What is the spoil? what the stout victors meed?
No flesh no bloud whereon to spend their spight,
Or whereupon these hungry souls may feed.
Or doth the stronger suck the aiery weed
Wherewith the other did it self invest?
And so more freshly deck it self at need?
An aierie prey for aierie spright is best;
Or do they want no food, but be still full and rest?

52

Die they again? draw they in any breath?
Or be they sterill? or bring forth their young?
Beat their light feet on the soft aierie heath?
Expresse they joy or sorrow with their tongue?
Enough! who ere thou art that thus dost throng
My tender Muse with rough objections stout,
Give me but leave to tell thee thou art wrong,
If being of a thing thou call'st in doubt
Cause its more hid conditions shine not clearly out.

53

Who questions but there is a quantitie
Of things corporeall, a trinall dimension,
Of solid bodies? yet to satisfie
All doubts that may be made about extension
Would plunge the wisest Clerk. I'll onely mention
That quære, of what parts it doth consist,
Whether of Atoms; or what strange retention
Still keepeth so much back, that if God list
He could not count the parts of a small linear twist.

54

For his division never could exhaust
The particles, say they, of quantitie.
O daring wit of man that thus doth boast
It self, and in pursuit of sciencie
Forget the reverend laws of pietie.
What thing is hid from that all-seeing light?
What thing not done by his all-potencie?
He can discern by his clear-piercing might
The close couch'd number of each bignesse comes in sight:

55

And so can count them out even part by part;
In number, measure, weight, he all things made;
Each unite he dissevers by his Art;
But here this searching reason to evade,
Each quantum's infinite, straight will be said,
That's against sense. If it be infinite
Of parts, then tell me, be those parts out-spread?
Or not extent? if extended outright
Each flie in summer-Even is higher then Heavens height.

56

If not extended, then that quantum's nought.
Some be extended, others not extent
Already (answers a vain shifting thought)
But those potentiall parts, how be they meint
With those that now be actually distent?
Even thus you grant, that those that actuall be
Be plainly finite, against your intent,
Grant me but that, and we shall well agree.
So must sleight Atoms be sole parts of quantitie.

57

But if't consist of points: then a Scalene
I'll prove all one with an Isosceles:
With as much ease I'll evince clear and clean
That the crosse lines of a Rhomboides
That from their meeting to all angles presse
Be of one length, though one from earth to heaven
Would reach, and that the other were much lesse
Then a small digit of the lowest of seven
So as she 'pears to us, yet I could prove them even.

58

And that the moon (though her circumference
Be farre more strait then is the earthie ball)
Sometime the earth illumineth at once
And with her grasping rayes enlights it all;
And that the Sunnes great body sphericall
Greater then th'earth, farre greater then the moon,
Even at midday illumines not at all
This earthy globe in his Apogeon;
So that we in deep darknesse sit, though at high noon.

59

Of will, of motion, of divine foresight,
Here might I treat with like perplexitie.
But it's already clear that 'tis not right
To reason down the firm subsistencie
Of things from ignorance of their propertie.
Therefore not requisite for to determ
The hid conditions of vitalitie
Or shrunk or sever'd; onely I'll affirm
It is, which my next song shall further yet confirm.

Cant. 3.

Ore whelm'd with grief and pitious wo
For fading lifes decayes;
How no souls die, from Lunar bow,
A Nymph to me displayes.

1

In silent night, when mortalls be at rest,
And bathe their molten limbs in slothfull sleep,
My troubled ghost strange cares did straight molest
And plung'd my heavie soul in sorrow deep:
Large floods of tears my moistned cheeks did steep,
My heart was wounded with compassionate love
Of all the creatures: sadly out I creep
From mens close mansions, the more to improve
My mournfull plight, so softly on I forward move.

2

Aye me! said I, within my wearied breast,
And sighed sad, wherefore did God erect
This stage of misery? thrice, foure times blest
Whom churlish Nature never did eject
From her dark womb, and cruelly object
By sense and life unto such balefull smart;
Every slight entrance into joy is checkt
By that soure step dames threats, and visage tart:
Our pleasure of our pain is not the thousandth part.

3

Thus vex'd I was 'cause of mortality:
Her curst remembrance cast me in this plight,
That I grew sick of the worlds vanity
Ne ought recomfort could my sunken spright,
What so I hate may do me no delight,
Few things (alas) I hate, the more my wo,
The things I love by mine own sad foresight
Make me the greater torments undergo,
Because I know at last they're gone like idle show.

4

Each goodly sight my sense doth captivate
When vernall flowers their silken leaves display,
And ope their fragrant bosomes, I that state
Would not have changed but indure for aye;
Nor care to mind that that fatall decay
Is still recured by faithfull succession.
But why should ought that's good thus fade away?
Should steddy Spring exclude Summers accession?
Or Summer spoil the Spring with furious hot oppression!

5

You chearfull chaunters of the flowring woods,
That feed your carelesse souls with pleasant layes,
O silly birds! cease from your merry moods:
Ill suits such mirth when dreary deaths assayes
So closely presse your sory carkases:
To mournfull note turn your light verilayes,
Death be your song, and winters hoary sprayes,
Spend your vain sprighes in sighing Elegies:
I'll help you to lament your wofull miseries.

6

When we lay cover'd in the shady Night
Of senselesse matter, we were well content
With that estate, nought pierc'd our anxious spright,
No harm we suffered, no harm we ment;
Our rest not with light dream of ill was blent:
But when rough Nature, with her iron hond,
Pull'd us from our soft ease, and hither hent,
Disturbing fear and pinching pain we found,
Full many a bitter blast, full many a dreadfull stound.

7

Yet lifes strong love doth so intoxicate
Our misty minds, that we do fear to dy.
What did dame Nature brood all things of hate
And onely give them life for misery?
Sense for an undeserved penalty?
And show that if she list, that she could make
Them happy? but with spightfull cruelty
Doth force their groaning ghosts this house forsake?
And to their ancient Nought their empty selves betake!

8

Thus in deep sorrow and restlesse disdain
Against the cankered doom of envious fate,
I clove my very heart with riving pain,
While I in sullen rage did ruminate
The Creatures vanity and wofull state;
And night that ought to yield us timely rest,
My swelling griefs did much more aggravate:
The sighs and groans of weary sleeping beast
Seem'd as if sleep it self their spirits did molest:

9

Or as constrain'd perforce that boon to wrest
From envious Nature. All things did augment
My heavie plight, that fouly I blam'd the hest
Of stubborn destiny cause of this wayment.
Even sleep that's for our restauration ment,
As execrable thing I did abhorre,
Cause ugly death to th'life it did depeint:
What good came to my mind I did deplore,
Because it perish must and not live evermore.

10

Thus wrapt in rufull thought through the waste field
I staggerd on, and scattered my woe,
Bedew'd the grasse with tears mine eyes did yield,
At last I am arriv'd with footing slow
Near a black pitchy wood, that strongest throw
Of starry beam no'te easily penetrate:
On the North side I walked to and fro
In solitary shade. The Moons sly gate
Had cross'd the middle line: It was at least so late.

11

When th'other part of night in painfull grief
Was almost spent, out of that solemn grove
There issued forth for my timely relief,
The fairest wight that ever sight did prove,
So fair a wight as might command the love
Of best of mortall race; her count'nance sheen
The pensive shade gently defore her drove,
A mild sweet light shone from her lovely eyne:
She seem'd no earthly branch but sprung of stock divine.

12

A silken mantle, colour'd like the skie
With silver starres in a due distance set,
Was cast about her somewhat carelesly,
And her bright flowing hair was not ylet
By Arts device; onely a chappelet
Of chiefest flowers, which from far and near
The Nymphs in their pure Lilly hands had fet,
Upon her temples she did seemly weare;
Her own fair beams made all her ornaments appear.

13

What wilfull wight doth thus his kindly rest
Forsake? said she, approching me unto.
What rage, what sorrow boils thus in thy chest
That thou thus spend'st the night in wasting wo?
Oft help he gets that his hid ill doth show.
Ay me! said I, my grief's not all mine own;
For all mens griefs into my heart do flow,
Nor mens alone, but every mornfull grone
Of dying beast, or what so else that grief hath shown.

14

From fading plants my sorrows freshly spring;
And thou thy self that com'st to comfort me,
Wouldst strongst occasion of deep sorrow bring,
If thou wert subject to mortality:
But I no mortall wight thee deem to be,
Thy face thy voice immortall thee proclaim.
Do I not well to wail the vanity
Of fading life, and churlish fates to blame
That with cold frozen death lifes chearfull motions tame?

15

Thou dost not well, said she to me again,
Thou hurt'st thy self, and dost to them no good.
The sighs thou sendest out cannot regain
Life to the dead, thou canst not change the mood
Of stedfast destiny. That man is wood
That weetingly hastes on the thing he hates:
Dull sorrow chokes the sprights, congeals the blood,
The bodies fabrick quickly ruinates.
Yet foolish men do fondly blame the hasty fates.

16

Come, hasty fates, said I, come take away
My weary life, the fountain of my wo:
When that's extinct or shrunk into cold clay,
Then well I wote that I shall undergo
No longer pain. O! why are you so slow;
Fond speech, said she, nor chang'd her countenance,
No signe of grief or anger she did show;
Full well she knew passions misgovernance,
Through her clear brest fond passion never yet did lance.

17

But thus spake on, Sith friendly sympathy
With all the creatures thus invades thy brest,
And strikes thine heart with so deep agony
For their decay, 'cording to that behest
Which the pure sourse of sympathy hath prest
On all that of those lovely streams have drunk,
I'll tell thee that that needs must please thee best,
All life's immortall; though the outward trunk
May changed be, yet life to nothing never shrunk.

18

With that she bad me rear my heavie eye
Up toward heaven, I rear'd them toward th'East,
Where in a roscid cloud I did espy
A Lunar rainbow in her painted vest;
The heavenly maid in the mean while surceast
From further speech, while I the bow did view:
But mine old malady was more increas'd,
The bow gan break, and all the gawdy hiew
Dispeared, that my heart the sight did inly rue.

19

Thus life doth vanish as this bow is gone,
Said I. That sacred Nymph forthwith reply'd,
Vain showes may vanish that have gaily shone
To feeble sense; but if the truth be tri'd,
Life cannot perish or to nothing slide:
It is not life that falleth under sight,
None but vain flitting qualities are ey'd
By wondring ignorance. The vitall spright
As surely doth remain as the Suns lasting light.

100

20

This bow, whose breaking struck thy troubled heart,
Of causelesse grief, I hope, shall thee recure,
When I have well explain'd with skilfull Art
By its resemblance what things must indure,
What things decay and cannot standen sure.
The higher causes of that coloured Ark,
What e're becomes of it, do sit secure.
That so (the body falling) lifes fair spark
Is safe, I'll clearly show if you but list to mark.

21

There be six Orders 'fore you do descend
To this gay painted bow: Sols centrall spright
To the first place, to th'next we must commend
His hid spread form, then his inherent light,
The fourth his rayes wherewith he is bedight,
The fifth that glistring circle of the Moon,
That goodly round full face all silver bright,
The sixth be beams that from her visage shone;
The seventh that gawdy bow that was so quickly gone.

22

The fluid matter was that dewy cloud,
That faild as faithlesse Hyle wont to fall:
New guest being come, the old she out doth croud;
But see how little Hyle did prevail,
Or sad destruction in this deemed bale!
Sols spright, hid form, fair light and out-gone rayes,
The Moons round silver face withouten veil
Do still remain, her beams she still displayes
The cloud but melt, not lost, the bow onely decayes.

32

This number suits well with the Universe:
The number's eight of the Orbs generall,
From whence things flow or wherein they converse,
The first we name Nature Monadicall,
The second hight Life Intellectuall,
Third Psychicall; the fourth Imaginative,
Fifth Sensitive, the sixth Spermaticall,
The seventh be fading forms Quantitative,
The eighth Hyle or Ananke perverse, coactive.

101

24

That last is nought but potentiality,
Which in the lower creature causeth strife,
Destruction by incompossibility
In some, as in the forms Quantitative.
All here depend on the Orb Unitive,
Which a so hight Nature Monadicall;
As all those lights and colours did derive
Themselves from lively Phœbus life centrall.
Nought therefore but vain sensibles we see caducall.

25

And that the first Every where Unitie
Is the true root of all the living creatures,
As they descend in each distinct degree,
That God's the sustentacle of all Natures;
And though those outward forms & gawdy features
May quail like rainbowes in the roscid sky,
Or glistring Parelies or other meteors;
Yet the clear light doth not to nothing flie:
Those six degrees of life stand sure, and never die.

26

So now we plainly see that the dark matter
Is not that needfull prop to hold up life;
And though deaths engins this grosse bulk do shatter
We have not lost our Orb conservative,
Of which we are a ray derivative.
The body sensible so garnished
With outward forms these inward do relieve,
Keep up in fashion and fresh lively-hed;
But this grosse bulk those inward lives stands in no sted.

27

Nor can one inward form another slay,
Though they may quell their present energy,
And make them close contract their yielding ray
And hide themselves in their centreity
Till some friendly appulse doth set them free,
And call them out again into broad day.
Hence lives gush not in superfluity
Into this world, but their due time do stay,
Though their strong centrall essence never can decay.

102

28

In Earth, in Aire, in the vast flowing Plain,
In that high Region hight Æthereall,
In every place these Atom-lives remain,
Even those that cleeped are forms seminall.
But souls of men by force imaginall
Easly supply their place, when so they list
Appear in thickned Aire with shape externall
Display their light and form in cloudy mist,
That much it doth amaze the musing Naturalist.

29

Wherefore sith life so strongly sealed is,
Purge out fond thoughts out of thy weary mind,
And rather strive that thou do nought amisse,
Then God to blame, and Nature as unkind
When nought in them we blamable can find.
When groaning ghosts of beasts or men depart,
Their tender mother doth but them unbind
From grosser fetters, and more toilsome smart.
Bless'd is the man that hath true knowledge of her Art.

30

And more for to confirm this mysterie,
She vanish'd in my presence into Aire,
She spread her self with the thin liquid sky;
But I thereat fell not into despair
Of her return, nor wail'd her visage fair,
That so was gone. For I was woxen strong
In this belief. That nothing can empair
The inward life, or its hid essence wrong.
O the prevailing might of a sweet learned tongue!

31

By this the Suns bright waggon gan ascend
The Eastern hill, and draw on chearfull day;
So I full fraught with joy do homeward wend
And fed my self with that that Nymph did say,
And did so cunningly to me convey,
Resolving for to teach all willing men
Lifes mysterie, and quite to chase away
Mind-mudding mist sprung from low fulsome fen:
Praise my good will, but pardon my weak faltring pen.

103

Cant. 4.

That Hyle or first matter's nought
But potentialitie;
That God's the never-fading root
Of all Vitalitie.

1

What I was wisely taught in that still Night,
That Hyle is the Potentialitie
Of Gods dear Creatures, I embrace as right,
And them nigh blame of deep idolatrie
That give so much to that slight nullitie,
That they should make it root substantiall
Of nimble life, and that quick entitie
That doth so strongly move things naturall,
That life from hence should spring, that hither life should fall.

2

For how things spring from hence and be resolv'd
Into this mirksome sourse, first matter hight,
This muddy myst'rie they no'te well unfold.
If it be onely a bare passive might
With Gods and Natures goodly dowries dight,
Bringing hid Noughts into existencie,
Or sleeping Somethings into wide day-light,
Then Hyle's plain potentialitie,
Which doth not straight inferre certain mortalitie.

3

For the immortall Angels do consist
Of out-gone act and possibilitie;
Nor any other creature doth exist,
Releast from dreary deaths necessity;
If these composures it so certainly
Ensuen must. If substance actuall
They will avouch this first matter to be,
Fountain of forms, and prop fiduciall
Of all those lives and beings cleeped Naturall;

104

4

Then may it prove the sphear spermaticall
Or sensitive (if they would yield it life)
Or that is next, the Orb Imaginall,
Or rather all these Orbs; withouten strife
So mought we all conclude that their relief
And first existence from this sphear they drew
And so our adversaries, loth or lief
Must needs confesse that all the lore was true
Concerning life, that that fair Nymph so clearly shew;

5

And that particular Lives that be yborn
Into this world, when their act doth dispear,
Do cease to be no more then the snails horn,
That she shrinks in because she cannot bear
The wanton boys rude touch, or heavie chear
Of stormy winds. The secundary light
As surely shineth in the heavens clear,
As do the first fair beams of Phœbus bright,
Lasting they are as they, though not of so great might.

6

So be the effluxes of those six orders,
Unfading lives from fount of livelihood:
Onely what next to strifefull Hyle borders,
Particular visibles deaths drearyhood
Can seiz upon. They passe like sliding flood.
For when to this worlds dregs lives downward hie,
They stroy one th'other in full cankred mood,
Beat back their rayes by strong antipathie,
Or some more broad-spread cause doth choke their energie.

7

But to go on to that common conceit
Of the first matter: What can substance do,
Poore, naked substance, megre, dry, dull, slight,
Inert, unactive, that no might can show
Of good or ill to either friend or foe,
All livelesse, all formlesse? She doth sustain.
And hath no strength that task to undergo?
Besides that work is needlesse all in vain:
Each centrall form its rayes with ease can well up-stayen.

105

8

What holds the earth in the thin fluid aire?
Can matter void of fix'd solidity?
But she like kindly nurse her forms doth chear.
What can be suck'd from her dark dugges drie?
Nor warmth, nor moistnesse, nor fast density
Belong to her. Therefore i'll nurse I ween
She'll make, that neither hath to satisfie
Young-craving life, nor firmnesse to sustein
The burden that upon her arms should safely lean.

9

Therefore an uselesse super fluity
It is to make Hyle substantiall:
Onely let's term't the possibility
Of all created beings. Lives centrall
Can frame themselves a right compositall,
While as they sitten soft in the sweet rayes
Or vitall vest of the lives generall,
As those that out of the earths covert raise
Themselves, fairly provok'd by warmth of sunny dayes.

10

And thus all accidents will prove the beams
Of inward forms, their flowing energy;
And quantity th'extension of such streams,
That goes along even with each qualitie.
Thus have we div'd to the profundity
Of darkest matter, and have found it nought
But all this worlds bare Possibility.
Nought therefore 'gainst lifes durance can be brought
From Hyles pit, that quenchen may that pleasant thought.

106

Book II.

Cant. 1.

Mans soul with beasts and plants I here
Compare; Tell my chief end
His immortality's to clear;
Show whence grosse errours wend.

1

But hitherto I have with fluttering wings
But lightly hover'd in the generall,
And taught the lasting durance of all springs
Of hidden life. That life hight seminall
Doth issue forth from its deep root centrall,
One onely form entire, and no'te advert
What steals from it. Beasts life Phantasticall
Lets out more forms, and eke themselves convert
To view the various frie from their dark wombs exert.

2

But mans vast soul, the image of her Maker,
Like God that made her, with her mighty sway
And inward Fiat (if he nould forsake her)
Can turn sad darknesse into lightsome day,
And the whole creature 'fore her self display:
Bid them come forth and stand before her sight,
They straight flush out and her drad voice obey:
Each shape, each life doth leapen out full light.
And at her beck return into their usuall Night.

107

3

Oft God himself here listeth to appear,
Though not perforce yet of his own frank will
Sheds his sweet life, dispreads his beauty clear,
And like the Sun this lesser world doth fill,
And like the Sun doth the foul Python kill
With his bright darts, but cheareth each good spright.
This is the soul that I with presser quill
Must now pursue and fall upon down-right,
Not to destroy but prove her of immortall might.

4

Nor let blind Momus dare my Muse backbite,
As wanton or superfluously wise
For what is past. She is but justly quit
With Lucrece, who all souls doth mortalize:
Wherefore she did them all immortalize.
Besides in beasts and men th'affinity
Doth seem so great, that without prejudice
To many proofs for th'immortality
Of humane Souls, the same to beasts we no'te deny:

5

But I herein no longer list contend.
The two first kinds of souls I'll quite omit,
And 'cording as at first I did intend
Bestirre me stifly, force my feeble wit
To rescue humane souls from deaths deep pit;
Which I shall do with reasons as subtile
As I can find; slight proofs cannot well fit
In so great cause, nor phansies florid wile;
I'll win no mans assent by a false specious guile.

6

I onely wish that arguments exile
May not seem nought unto the duller eye;
Nor that the fatter phansie my lean style
Do blame: it's fittest for philosophy.
And give me leave from any energie
That springs from humane soul my cause to prove,
And in that order as they list to flie
Of their own selves, so let them freely rove.
That naturally doth come doth oft the stronger move:

108

7

Self-motion and centrall stability
I have already urg'd in generall;
Als' did right presly to our soul apply
Those properties, who list it to recall
Unto their minds; but now we'll let it fall
As needlesse. Onely that vitality,
That doth extend this great Universall,
And move th'inert Materiality
Of great and little worlds, that keep in memory.

8

And how the mixture of their rayes may breed
Th'opinion of uncertain quality,
When they from certain roots of life do spreed;
But their pure beams must needs ychanged be
When that those rayes or not be setten free
Thinly dispers'd, or else be closely meint
With other beams of plain diversity,
That causeth oft a strong impediment:
So doth this bodies life to the souls high intent.

9

The lower man is nought but a fair plant,
Whose grosser matter is from the base ground;
The Plastick might thus finely did him paint,
And fill'd him with the life that doth abound
In all the places of the world around.
This spirit of life is in each shapen'd thing,
Suck'd in and changed and strangely confound,
As we conceive: This is the nourishing
Of all; but spermall form, the certain shapening.

10

This is that strange-form'd statue magicall,
That hovering souls unto it can allure
When it's right fitted; down those spirits fall
Like Eagle to her prey, and so endure
While that low life is in good temperature.
That a dead body without vitall spright
And friendly temper should a guest procure
Of so great worth, without the dear delight
Of joyous sympathy, no man can reckon right.

109

11

But here unlucky Souls do waxen sick
Of an ill furfeit from the poison'd bait
Of this sweet tree, yet here perforce they stick
In weak condition, in a languid state.
Many through ignorance do fondly hate
To be releas'd from this imprisonment,
And grieve the walls be so nigh ruinate.
They be bewitch'd so with the blandishment
Of that fresh strumpet, when in love they first were ment.

12

Others disdain this so near unity,
So farre they be from thinking they be born
Of such low parentage, so base degree,
And fleshes foul attraction they do scorn.
They be th'outgoings of the Eastern morn,
Alli'd unto th'eternall Deity,
And pray to their first spring, that thus forlorn
And left in mud, that he would set them free,
And them again possesse of pristine purity.

13

But seemeth not my Muse too hastily
To soar aloft, that better by degrees
Unto the vulgar mans capacity
Mought show the souls so high excellencies,
And softly from all corporeities
It heaven up unto its proper seat,
When we have drove away grosse falsities,
That do assault the weaker mens conceit,
And free the simple mind from phansies foul deceit,

14

The drooping soul so strongly's coloured
With the long commerce of corporeals,
That she from her own self awide is led,
Knows not her self, but by false name she calls
Her own high being, and what ere befalls
Her grosser bodie, she that misery
Doth deem her own: for she her self miscalls
Of some thin body, or spread quality,
Or point of quality, or fixt or setten free.

110

29

But whether thin spread body she doth deem
Her self dispersed through this grosser frame;
Or doth her self a quality esteem,
Or quient complexion, streaming through the same;
Or else some lucid point her self doth name
Of such a quality, in chiefest part
Strongly fix'd down; or whether she doth clame
More freedome for that point, in head nor heart
Fast seated; yet, saith she, the bodies brat thou art.

30

Thence thou arose, thence thou canst not depart:
There die thou must, when thy dear nurse decayes:
But these false phansies I with reason smart
Shall eas'ly chace away, and the mind raise
To higher pitch. O listen to my layes,
And when you have seen fast seald eternity
Of humane souls, then your great Maker praise
For his never fading benignity,
And feed your selves with thought of immortality.

111

Cant. 2.

Sense no good judge of truth: What spright,
What body we descry:
Prove from the souls inferiour might
Her incorp'reitie.

1

While I do purpose with my self to sing
The souls incorporeity, I fear
That it a worse perplexitie may bring
Unto the weaker mind and duller ear;
For she may deem herself 'stroyd quite & clear
While all corporeals from her we expell:
For she has yet not mark'd that higher sphear
Where her own essence doth in safety dwell,
But views her lower shade, like boy at brink of well;

2

Dotes upon sense, ne higher doth arise
Busied about vain forms corporeall;
Contemns as nought unseen exilities,
Objects of virtue Intellectuall,
Though these of substances be principall.
But I to better hope would fainly lead
The sunken mind, and cunningly recall
Again to life that long hath liggen dead.
Awake ye drooping souls! shake off that drousihead!

112

3

Why do you thus confide in sleepy sense,
Ill judge of her own objects? who'll believe
The eye contracting Phœbus Orb immense
Into the compasse of a common sieve?
If solid reason did not us relieve,
The host of heaven alwayes would idle stand
In our conceit, nor could the Sun revive
The nether world, nor do his Lords command.
Things near seem further off; farst off, the nearst at hand.

4

The touch acknowledgeth no gustables;
The tast no fragrant smell or stinking sent;
The smell doth not once dream of audibles;
The hearing never knew the verdant peint
Of springs gay mantle, nor heavens light ylent
That must discover all that goodly pride:
So that the senses would with zeal fervent
Condemne each other, and their voice deride
If mutually they heard such things they never try'd.

5

But reason, that above the sense doth sit,
Doth comprehend all their impressions,
And tells the touch its no fanatick fit
That makes the sight of illustrations
So stifly talk upon occasions.
But judgeth all their voyces to be true
Concerning their straight operations,
And doth by nimble consequences shew
To her own self what those wise Five yet never knew.

6

They never knew ought but corporealls:
But see how reason doth their verdict rude
Confute, by loosening materialls
Into their principles, as latitude
Profundity of bodies to conclude.
The term of latitude is breadthlesse line;
A point the line doth manfully retrude
From infinite processe; site doth confine
This point; take site away its straight a spark divine.

113

7

And thus unloos'd it equally respects
The bodies parts, not fixt to any one.
Let 't be diflused through all. Thus it detects
The soul's strange nature, operation,
Her independency, loose union
With this frail body. So 's this unity
Great, but without that grosse extension,
Exceeding great in her high energie,
Extended far and wide from her non-quantity.

8

If yet you understand not, let the soul,
Which you suppose extended with this masse,
Be all contract and close together roll
Into the centre of the hearts compasse:
As the suns beams that by a concave glasse
Be strangely strengthned with their strait constraint
Into one point, that thence they stoutly passe,
Fire all before them withouten restraint,
The high arch'd roof of heaven with smouldry smoke they taint.

9

But now that grosnesse, which we call the heart,
Quite take away, and leave that spark alone
Without that sensible corporeall part
Of humane body: so when that is gone,
One nimble point of life, that's all at one
In its own self, doth wonderfully move,
Indispers'd, quick, close with self-union,
Hot, sparkling, active, mounting high above,
In bignesse nought, in virtue like to thundring Jove.

10

Thus maugre all th'obmurmurings of sense
We have found an essence incorporeall,
A shifting centre with circumference,
But she not onely sits in midst of all,
But is also in a manner centrall
In her outflowing lines. For the extension
Of th'outshot rayes circumferentiall
Be not gone from her by distrought distension,
Her point is at each point of all that spread dimension.

114

11

This is a substance truly spiritall,
That reason by her glistring lamp hath shown:
No such the sense in things corporeall
Can ere find out. May this perswasion,
O sunken souls! slaves of sensation!
Rear up your heads and chase away all fear
How (when by strong argumentation
I shall you strip of what so doth appear
Corporeall) that you to nought should vanish clear.

12

The naked essence of the body's this
Matter extent in three dimensions
(Hardnesse or softnesse be but qualities)
Withouten self reduplications
Or outspread circling propagations
Of its own presence. These be corporall,
And what with these in such extension
Singly's stretch'd out, is form materiall.
Whether our soul be such now to the test we'll call.

13

If souls be bodies, or inanimate
They be, or else endowed with life. If they
Be livelesse, give they life? if animate,
Then tell me what doth life to them convey?
Some other body? Here can be no stay.
Straight we must ask whether that livelesse be
Or living. Then, what 'lives it. Thus we'll play
Till we have forc'd you to infinity,
And make your cheeks waxred at your Philosophy.

14

Again, pray tell me, is this body grosse
Or fluid, and thin you deem the soul to be?
If grosse, then either strongly it is cross'd
From entring some parts of this rigid tree
And so of life they'll want their 'lotted fee:
Or if it penetrate this bulk throughout,
It breaks and tears and puts to penalty
This sory corse. If 't thin and fluid be thought,
How pulls it up those limbs and again jerks them out?

115

15

Besides, if stretchen corporeity
Longs to the soul, then Augmentation
Must likewise thereto appertain. But see
Th'absurdities that this opinion
Will drag on with it: for effluxion
Of parts will spoil the steddy memory,
And wash away all intellection,
Deface the beauty of that imagery
That once was fairly graven in her phantasie.

16

But oft when the weak bodie's worn and wasted
And far shrunk in, the nimble phantasie
(So far she's from being withered and blasted)
More largely worketh, and more glitterandly
Displayes her spreaden forms, and chearfully;
Pursues her sports. Again, the greater corse
Would most be fill'd with magnanimity:
But oft we see the lesse hath greater force,
To fight, or talk; the greater oft we see the worse.

17

All which if weighed well, must ill agree
With bodies natures, which merely consist
In a dull, silent, stupid quantity,
Stretching forth mirksome matter, in what list
Or precincts no man knows. No Naturalist
Can it define, unlesse they adde a form
That easly curbs the thing that no'te resist,
And after her own will can it inform.
It still and stupid stands and thinks nor good nor harm.

18

The man is mad, that will at all agree
That this is soul. Or if forme bodily
Non replicate, extent, not setten free,
But straight stretch'd out in corporeity
(Betwixt these two there's that affinity)
As little wit that man will seem to have.
Which I shall plainly prove by th'energie
Of sense, though that same force seem not so brave,
Yet for the present I'll not climbe to higher stave.

119

19

If Souls be substances corporeall,
Be they as big just as the body is?
Or shoot they out to th'height Æthereall?
(Of such extent are the sights energies)
If they shoot out, be they equally transmisse
Around this body? or but upward start?
If round the body, Nature did amisse
To lose her pains in half of the souls part,
That part can finden nought that through the earth doth dart.

20

Or will you say she is an hemisphere?
But a ridiculous experiment
Will soon confute it: list you but to rear
Your agill heels towards the firmament,
And stand upon your head; that part is bent
Down through the earth, that earst did threat the skie:
So that your soul now upward is extent
No higher then your heels, yet with your eye
The heavens great vastnesse as before you now discry.

21

You'll say, this souls thin spread exility
Turns not at all. How doth it then depend
Upon this body? It has no unity
Therewith, but onely doth of cur'sy lend
It life, as doth the worlds great lamp down send
Both light and warmth unto each living wight;
And if they chance to fail and make an end,
Its nought to him, he shineth yet as bright
As ere he did. This showes the soul immortall quite.

22

But if the soul be justly coextent
With this straight body, nought can bigger be
Then is our body, that she doth present;
'Cording to laws of Corporeity
So must she represent each realty.
Thus tallest Gyants would be oft defied
By groveling Pigmees: for they could not see
The difference, nor mete his manly stride,
Nor ween what matchlesse strength did in his armes reside.

117

23

For they must judge him just as their own selves
Of the same stature, of the self-same might:
All men would seem to them their fellow Elves;
Nor little curs would tremble at the sight
Of greater dogs; nor hawks would put to flight
The lesser birds. Th'impression of a seal
Can be no larger then the wax; or right
As big, or lesse it is. Therefore repeal
This grosse conceit, and hold as reason doth reveal.

24

Again, if souls corporeall you ween;
Do the light images of things appear
Upon the surface, slick, bright, smooth and sheen
As in a looking glasse? Or whether dare
They passe the outside and venture so farre
As into the depth of the souls substance?
If this; then they together blended are
That nought we see with right discriminance:
If that, the object gone, away those forms do glance.

25

Thus should we be devoid of memory,
And be all darknesse, till the good presence
Of outward objects doth the soul unty
From heavy sleep. But this experience
Plainly confutes. For even in their absence
We do retain their true similitude:
So lovers wont to maken dalliance
With the fair shade their minds do still include,
And wistly view the grace wherewith she is endude.

26

But now new reasons I will set on foot,
Drawn from the common sense, that's not extense
But like a centre that around doth shoot
Its rayes; those rayes should be the outward sense
As some resemble't. But by no pretence
Would I the outward senses should be thought
To act so in a spread circumference
That the seat of their forms should be distrought,
Or that by reach of quantities dead arms they wrought.

118

27

For see how little share hath quantitie
In act of seeing, when we comprehend
The heavens vast compaste in our straitned eye;
Nor may the Ox with the Eagle contend,
Because a larger circle doth extend
His slower lights. So that if outward sense
In his low acts doth not at all depend
On quantity, how shall the common-sense,
That is farre more spirituall, depend from thence?

28

But still more presly this point to pursue;
By th'smelling, odours; voices by the ear;
By th'eye we apprehend the coloured hew
Of bodies visible. But what shall steer
The erring senses? where shall they compear
In controversie? what the difference
Of all their objects can with judgement clear
Distinguish and discern? One common-sense:
For one alone must have this great preeminence.

29

And all this one must know, though still but one;
Else't could not judge of all. But make it two;
Then tell me, doth the soul by this alone
Apprehend this object that the sense doth show,
And that by that; or doth it by both know
Both objects? as this colour and that sound.
If both knew both, then nature did bestow
In vain one faculty, it doth redound:
But if this that, that this, what shall them both compound,

30

And by comparison judge of them both?
Therefore that judge is one. But whether one
Without division, let's now try that troth.
If it be any wise extent, you're gone
By the same reason that afore was shown.
Suppose't a line the least of quantity.
Or sound is here, there colour, or each one
Of the lines parts receive them both. If we
Grant that, again we find a superfluity.

119

31

If this part this, and that part that receive,
We are at the same losse we were afore,
For one to judge them both, or we bereave
Our souls of judgement. For who can judge more
Than what he knows? It is above his power.
Therefore it's plain the common sense is one,
One individed faculty. But store
Of parts would breed a strange confusion,
When every part mought claim proper sensation.

32

If not, nor all could exercise the Act
Of any sense. For could a power of sense
Arise from stupid parts that plainly lack'd
That might themselves. Thus with great confidence
We may conclude that th'humane souls essence
Is indivisible, yet every where
In this her body. Cause th'intelligence
She hath of whatsoever happens here:
The aking foot the eye doth view, the hand doth cheer.

33

What tells the hand or head the toes great grief,
When it alone is pinch'd with galling shooes?
Do other parts not hurt call for relief
For their dear mates? Ill messenger of woes
That grieveth not himself. Can they disclose
That misery without impression
Upon themselves? Therefore one spirit goes
Through all this bulk, not by extension
But by a totall Self-reduplication.

34

Which neither body, nor dispersed form,
Nor point of form dispersed e'r could do.
And bodies life or sprite for to transform
Into our soul, though that might this undo,
Yet to so rash conceit to yield unto
Cannot be safe: for if it propagate
It's self and 'ts passions, yet they free may go
Unmark'd, if sense would not them contemplate.
So doth the Mundane sprite not heeded circulate.

120

35

Besides, if from that spirit naturall
The nurse of plants, you should dare to assert
That lively inward Animadversall
To springen out, it would surely invert
The order of the Orbs from whence do stert
All severall beings and of them depend.
Therefore the Orb Phantastick must exert
All life phantasticall, sensitive send
The life of sense; so of the rest unto each end.

36

There's nought from its own self can senden forth
Ought better then it self. So nought gives sense
That hath not sense it self, nor greater worth
Then sense, nor sense, nor better springs from thence.
Nor that which higher is can have essence
Lesse active, lesse reduplicate, lesse free,
Lesse spiritall, then that's amov'd from hence,
And is an Orb of a more low degree.
Wherefore that centrall life hath more activitie,

37

And present is in each part totally
Of this her body. Nor we ought diffide,
Although some creatures still alive we see
To stirre and move when we have them divide
And cut in twain. Thus worms in sturdie pride
Do wrigge and wrest their parts divorc'd by knife;
But we must know that Natures womb doth hide
Innumerable treasures of all life;
And how to breaken out upon each hint they strive.

38

So when the present actuall centrall life
Of sense and motion is gone with one part
To manage it, strait for the due relief
Of th'other particle there up doth start
Another centrall life, and tries her art:
But she cannot raigne long, nor yet recure
That deadly wound. The plantall lifes depart,
And flitten or shrunk spright, that did procure
Her company, being lost, make her she'll not endure.

121

39

And so at last is gone, from whence she came,
For soon did fade that sweet allurement,
The plantall life, which for a while did flame
With sympathetick fire, but that being spent
Straight she is flown. Or may you this content?
That some impression of that very soul
That's gone, if gone, with plantall spirit meint
The broken corse thus busily may roll.
Long 'tis till water boild doth stranger heat controul.

40

Thus have we prov'd 'cording to our insight
That humane souls be not corporeall
(With reasons drawn from the sensitive might)
Nor bodies, nor spread forms materiall,
Whether you substances list them to call
Or qualities, or point of these. I'll bring
Hereafter proofs from power rationall
In humane souls, to prove the self same-thing.
Mount up aloft, my Muse, and now more shrilly sing.

122

Cant. III.

The souls incorporeitie
From powers rationall
We prove; Discern true pietie
From bitternesse and gall.

1

Like Carpenter entred into a wood
To cut down timber for some edifice
Of stately structure, whiles he casts abroad
His curious eye, he much perplexed is
(There stand in view so many goodly trees)
Where to make choice to enter his rugg'd saw:
My Muse is plung'd in like perplexities,
So many arguments themselves do show,
That where to pitch my wavering mind doth yet scarce know.

2

One taller then the rest my circling eye
Hath hit upon, which if't be sound at heart
Will prove a goodly piece to raise on high
The heavenly structure of that deemed part
Of man, his soul, and by unerring art
Set his foundation 'bove the bodies frame
On his own wheels, that he may thence depart
Intire, unhurt. So doth the Scythian swain
Drive his light moving house on the waste verdant Plain.

123

3

I'll sing of piety, that now I mean
That Trismegist thus wisely doth define,
Knowledge of God. That's piety I ween,
The highest of virtues, a bright beam divine
Which to the purer soul doth sweetly shine.
But what's this beam? and how doth it enlight?
What doth it teach? It teacheth to decline
Self-love, and frampard wayes the hypocrite
Doth trample in, accloy'd with dirt and dismall night.

4

Not rage, nor mischief, nor love of a sect,
Nor eating irefulnesse, harsh cruelty
Contracting Gods good will, nor conscience checkt
Or chok'd continually with impiety,
Fauster'd and fed with hid hypocrisie;
Nor tyranny against perplexed minds,
Nor forc'd conceit, nor man-idolatry,
All which the eye of searching reason blinds,
And the souls heavenly flame in dungeon darknesse binds.

5

Can warres and jarres and fierce contention,
Swoln hatred, and consuming envie spring
From piety? No. 'Tis opinion
That makes the riven heavens with trumpets ring,
And thundring engine mur'drous balls out-sling,
And send mens groning ghosts to lower shade
Of horrid hell. This the wide world doth bring
To devastation, makes mankind to fade:
Such direfull things doth false Religion perswade.

6

But true Religion sprong from God above
Is like her fountain full of charity,
Embracing all things with a tender love,
Full of good will and meek expectancy,
Full of true justice and sure verity,
In heart and voice; free, large, even infinite,
Not wedg'd in strait particularity,
But grasping all in her vast active spright,
Bright lamp of God! that men would joy in thy pure light

124

7

Can souls that be thus universalis'd,
Begot into the life of God e're dy?
(His light is like the sun that doth arise
Upon the just and unjust) can they fly
Into a nothing? and hath God an eye
To see himself thus wasted and decay
In his true members? can mortality
Seize upon that that doth it self display
Above the laws of matter, or the bodies sway?

8

For both the body and the bodies spright
Doth things unto particulars confine,
Teaching them partiall friendship and fell spight.
But those pure souls full of the life divine
Look upon all things with mild friendly eyne
Ready to do them good. Thus is their will
Sweetly spread out, and ever doth incline
The bent of the first Goodnesse to fulfill.
Ay me! that dreary death such lovely life should spill!

9

Besides this largenesse in the will of man
And winged freenesse, now let's think upon
His understanding, and how it doth scan
Gods being, unto whom religion
Is consecrate. Imagination
That takes its rise from sense so high ascent
Can never reach, yet intellection
Or higher gets, or at least hath some sent
Of God, vaticinates, or is parturient.

10

For ask her whether God be this or that,
A body infinite, or some mighty spright,
Yet not almighty, such vain speech she'll hate.
Whether all present, or in some place pight,
Whether part here part there, or every whit
In every point, she likes that latter well:
So that its plain that some kind of insight
Of Gods own being in the soul doth dwell
Though what God is we cannot yet so plainly tell.

125

11

As when a name lodg'd in the memory,
But yet through time almost obliterate,
Confusely hovers near the phantasie:
The man that's thus affected bids relate
A catalogue of names. It is not that,
Saith he, nor that; that's something like to it,
That nothing like, that's likst of all I wot.
This last you nam'd it's not like that a whit;
O that's the very name, now we have rightly hit.

12

Thus if't be lawfull least things to compare
With greatest, so our selves affected be
Concerning Gods high essence: for we are
Not ignorant quite of this mystery,
Nor clearly apprehend the Deity,
But in mid state, I call't parturient,
And should bring forth that live Divinity
Within our selves, if once God would consent
To shew his specious form and nature eminent:

13

For here it lies like colours in the night
Unseen and unregarded, but the sunne
Displayes the beauty and the gladsome plight
Of the adorned earth, while he doth runne
His upper stage. But this high prize is wonne
By curbing sense and the self-seeking life
(True Christian mortification)
Thus God will his own self in us revive,
If we to mortifie our straitned selves do strive.

14

But can ought bodily Gods form receive?
Or have it in its self potentially?
Or can ought sprung of this base body heve
It self so high as to the Deitie
To clamber? strive to reach infinity?
Can ought born of this carcase be so free
As to grasp all things in large sympathie?
Can lives corporeall quite loosened be
From their own selves, casheering their centreity?

126

15

These all ill suit with corporeitie:
But do we not amisse with stroke so strong
All to dispatch at once? needed we flie
So high at first? we might have chose among
The many arguments that close do throng
And tender their own selves this cause to prove
Some of a meaner rank, and then along
Fairly and softly by degrees to move.
My Muse kens no such pomp, she must with freedome rove.

16

And now as chance her guides, compendiously
The heads of many proofs she will repeat,
Which she lists not pursue so curiously,
But leaves the Reader his own brains to beat,
To find their fuller strength. As the souls meat,
Of which she feeds, if, that she fed at all;
She is immortall if she need not eat;
But if her food prove to be spiritall,
Then can we deem herself to be corporeall?

17

The souls most proper food is verity
Got and digest by Contemplation.
Hence strength, enlargement, and activity
She finds, as th'body by infusion
Of grosser meats and drinks (concoction
Well perfected) our limbs grow strong by these;
The soul by reasons right perswasion:
But that truth's spiritall we may with ease
Find out: For truth the soul from bodies doth release.

18

Next argument let be abstraction,
When as the soul with notion precise
Keeps off the corporall condition,
And a nak'd simple essence doth devise
Against the law of Corporeities,
It doth devest them both of time and place,
And of all individualities,
And matter doth of all her forms uncase,
Corporeall wight such subtile virtue never has.

127

19

Now shall the indivisibilitie
Of the souls virtues make an argument.
For certainly there's no such qualitie
Resideth in a body that's extent.
For, tell me, is that quality strait pent
Within a point of that corporeall?
Or is it with some spreaden part distent?
If in a point, then longs it not at all
To th'body: in spread part? then 'tis extentionall.

20

But that some virtue's not extentionall
May thus be proved. Is there no science
Of numbers? Yes. But what is principall
And root of all: have we intelligence
Of Unities? Or else what's sprong from thence
We could not know: what doth the soul then frame
Within her self? Is that Idea extense?
Or indivisible? If not: we'll blame
The soul of falshood, and continuall lying shame.

21

Again, if we suppose our intellect
Corporeall, then must we all things know
By a swift touch: what? do we then detect
The truth of bignesse, when one point doth go
Of our quick mind? (It need not be o'reslow
For infinite parts be found in quantitie)
Or doth it use its latitude? If so
Remember that some things unspreaden be,
How shall it find them out? Or if't use both we'll see.

22

That both be unsufficient I prove.
A point cannot discern loose unity
Freed from all site. That latitude must move
On all the body that it doth descry.
So must it be upstretch'd unto the skie
And rub against the Stars, surround the Sun
And her own parts to every part apply,
Then swiftly fridge about the pallid Moon:
Thus both their quantities the mind hath strangely won.

128

23

Adde unto these, that the soul would take pains
For her destruction while she doth aspire
To reach at things (that were her wofull gains)
That be not corporall, but seated higher
Above the bodies sphere. Thus should she tire
Her self to 'stroy her self. Again, the mind
Receives contrary forms. The feverish fire
Makes her cool brooks and shadowing groves to find
Within her thoughts, thus hot and cold in one she binds.

24

Nor is she chang'd by the susception
Of any forms: For thus her self contraire
Should be unto her self. But Union
She then possesseth, when heat and cold are
Together met: They meet withouten jarre
Within our souls. Such forms they be not true
You'll say. But of their truth lest you despair,
Each form in purer minds more perfect hew
Obtains, then those in matter we do dayly view.

25

For there, they're mixt, soild and contaminate,
But truth doth clear, unweave, and simplifie,
Search, sever, pierce, open, and disgregate
All ascititious cloggins; then doth eye
The naked essence and its property.
Or you must grant the soul cannot define
Ought right in things; or you must not deny
These forms be true that in her self do shine:
These be her rule of truth, these her unerring line,

26

Bodies have no such properties. Again,
See in one cluster many arguments
Compris'd: She multitudes can close constrain
Into one nature. Things that be fluent,
As flirting time, by her be straight retent
Unto one point; she joyns future and past,
And makes them steddy stand as if present:
Things distant she can into one place cast:
Calls kinds immortall, though their singulars do waste.

129

27

Upon her self she strangely operates,
And from her self and by her self returns
Into her self; thus the soul circulates.
Do bodies so? Her axle-tree it burns
With heat of motion. This low world she spurns,
Raiseth her self to catch infinity.
Unspeakable great numbers how she turns
Within her mind, like evening mist the eye
Discerns, whose muddy atomes 'fore the wind do fly.

28

Stretcheth out time at both ends without end,
Makes place still higher swell, often creates
What God near made, nor doth at all intend
To make, free phantasms, laughs at future fates,
Foresees her own condition, she relates
Th'all comprehension of eternity,
Complains she's thirsty still in all estates,
That all she sees or has no'te satisfie
Her hungry self, nor fill her vast capacity.

29

But I'll break off; My Muse her self forgot,
Her own great strength and her foes feeblenesse,
That she her name by her own pains may blot,
While she so many strokes heaps in excesse,
That fond grosse phansie quite for to suppresse
Of the souls corporal'tie. For men may think
Her adversaries strength doth thus her presse
To multitude of reasons, makes her swink
With weary toyl, and sweat out thus much forced ink:

30

Or that she loves with trampling insultations
To domineere in easie victory.
But let not men dare cast such accusations
Against the blamelesse. For no mastery,
Nor fruitlesse pomp, nor any verity
Of that opinion that she here destroyes
Made her so large. No, 'tis her jealousie
'Gainst witching falshood that weak souls annoyes,
And oft doth choke those chearing hopes of lasting joyes.

130

Book. 3.

Cant. 1.

The souls free independency;
Her drery dreadfull state
In hell; Her tricentreity:
What brings to heavens gate.

1

Well said that man, what ever man that was,
That said, what things we would we straight believe
Upon each slight report t'have come to passe:
But better he, that said, Slow faith we give
To things we long for most. Hope and fear rive
Distracted minds, as when nigh equall weights
Cast on the trembling scales, each tug and strive
To pull the other up. But the same sleights
By turns do urge them both in their descents and heights:

2

Thus waves the mind in things of greatest weight;
For things we value most are companied
With fear as well as hope: these stifly fight:
The stronger hope, the stronger fear is fed;
On mother both and the like livelyhed.
One object both, from whence they both do spring,
The greater she, the greater these she bred,
The greater these, the greater wavering
And longer time to end their sturdy struggeling.

131

3

But is there any thing of more import
Then the souls immortality? Hence fear
And hope we striving feel with strong effort
Against each other: That nor reason clear
Nor sacred Oracles can straight down bear
That sturdy rascall, with black phantasies
Yclad, and clouded with drad dismall chear;
But still new mists he casts before our eyes,
And now derides our prov'd incorporieties,

4

And grinning saith, That labour's all in vain.
For though the soul were incorporeall,
Yet her existence to this flesh restrain,
They be so nearly link'd, that if one fall
The other fails. The eare nor hears our call
In stouping age, nor eye can see ought clear;
Benumming palsies shake the bodies wall,
The soul hath lost her strength and cannot steer
Her crasie corse, but staggering on reels here and there.

5

So plain it is (that though the soul's a spright,
Not corporall) that it must needs depend
Upon this body, and must perish quite
When her foundation falls. But now attend
And see what false conceits vain fears do send:
'Tis true, I cannot write without a quill,
Nor ride without an horse. If chance that rend
Or use make blunt, o're-labouring this kill,
Then can I walk not ride, not write but think my fill.

6

Our body is but the souls instrument;
And when it fails, onely these actions cease
That thence depend. But if new eyes were sent
Unto the aged man, with as much case
And accuratenesse, as when his youth did please
The wanton lasse, he now could all things see.
Old age is but the watry blouds disease.
The soul from death and sicknesse standeth free:
My hackney fails, not I; my pen, not sciencie.

132

7

But as I said, of things we do desire
So vehemently we never can be sure
Enough. Therefore, my Muse, thou must aspire
To higher pitch, and fearfull hearts secure
Not with slight phansie but with reason pure.
Evincing the souls independency
Upon this body that doth her immure,
That when from this dark prison she shall flie
All men may judge her rest in immortality.

8

Therefore I'll sing the Tricentreity
Of humane souls, and how they wake from sleep,
In which ywrapt of old they long do lie
Contract with cold, and drench'd in Lethe deep,
Hugging their plantall point. It makes me weep
Now I so clearly view the solemn Spring
Of silent Night, whose Magick dew doth steep
These drowsie souls of men, whose dropping wing
Keeps off the light of life, and blunts each fiery sting.

9

Three centres hath the soul; One plantall hight:
Our parents this revive in nuptiall bed.
This is the principle that hales on Night,
Subjects the mind unto dull drowsyhed:
If we this follow, thus we shall be led
To that dark straitnesse that did bind before
Our sluggish life when that is shrivelled
Into its sunken centre, we no more
Are conscious of life: what can us then restore?

10

Unlesse with fiery whips fell Nemesis
Do lash our sprights, and cruelly do gore
Our groning ghosts; this is the way, I wisse,
The onely way to keep's from Morpheus power.
Both these so dismall are that I do showr
Uncessant tears from my compassionate eyes:
Alas! ye souls! Why should or sleep devour
Sweet functions of life? or hellish cries
To tender heart resound your just calamities?

133

11

Thus may you all from your dead drowsinesse
Be wak'd by inward sting and pinching wo,
That you could wish that that same heavinesse
Might ever you o'represse, and Lethe flow
Upon your drowned life. But you shall glow
With urging fire, that doth resuscitate
Your middle point, and makes it self to gnaw
It self with madnesse, while 't doth ruminate
On its deformity and sterill vexing state.

12

Continuall desire that nought effects,
Perfect hot-glowing fervour out to spring
In some good world: With fury she affects
To reach the Land of life, then struck with sting
Of wounding memory, despairs the thing,
And further off she sees her self, the more
She rageth to obtain: thus doth she bring
More fewell to her flame that scorched sore
With searching fire, she's forc'd to yell and loudly rore.

13

Thus she devours her self, not satisfies
Her self, nought hath she but what's dearly spun
From her own bowels, jejune exilities
Her body's gone, therefore the rising sun
She sees no more, nor what in day is done,
The sporting aire no longer cools her bloud,
Pleasures of youth and manhood quite are gone,
Nor songs her eare, nor mouth delicious food
Doth fill. But I'll have this more fully understood.

14

Three centres hath mans soul in Unity
Together joynd; or if you will, but one.
Those three are one, with a Triplicity
Of power or rayes. Th'high'st intellection,
Which being wak'd the soul's in Union
With God. If perfectly regenerate
Into that better world, corruption
Hath then no force her blisse to perturbate.
The low'st do make us subject to disturbing fate.

134

15

But low'st gins first to work, the soul doth frame
This bodies shape, imploy'd in one long thought
So wholy taken up, that she the same
Observeth not, till she it quite hath wrought.
So men asleep some work to end have brought
Not knowing of it, yet have found it done:
Or we may say the matter that she raught
And suck'd unto her self to work upon
Is of one warmth with her own spright, & feels as one.

16

And thus the body being the souls work
From her own centre so entirely made,
Seated i'th' heart, for there this spright doth lurk,
It is no wonder 'tis so easly sway'd
At her command. But when this work shall fade,
The soul dismisseth it as an old thought.
'Tis but one form; but many be display'd
Amid her higher rayes, dismist, and brought
Back as she list, & many come that ne're were sought.

17

The soul by making this strange edifice
Makes way unto herself to exercise
Functions of life, and still more waked is
The more she has perfected her fine devise,
Hath wrought her self into sure sympathies
With this great world. Her ears like hollow caves
Resound to her own spright the energies
Of the worlds spright. If it ought suffered have,
Then presentifick circles to her straight notice gave.

18

We know this world, because our soul hath made
Our bodie of this sensible worlds spright
And body. Therefore in the glassie shade
Of our own eyes (they having the same might
That glasse or water hath) we have the sight
Of what the Mundane spirit suffereth
By colours, figures, or inherent light:
Sun, stars, and all on earth it hurrieth
To each point of it self so far as't circuleth.

135

19

And where he lighteth on advantages,
His circulings grow sensible. So hills
That hollow be do audible voices
Resound. The soul doth imitate that skill
In framing of the eare, that sounds may swell
In that concavitie. The crystall springs
Reflect the light of heaven, if they be still
And clear; the soul doth imitate and bring
The eye to such a temper in her shapening.

20

So eyes and ears be not mere perforations,
But a due temper of the Mundane spright
And ours together; else the circulations
Of sounds would be well known by outward sight,
And th'eare would colours know, figures & light.
So that it's plain that when this bodie's gone,
This world to us is clos'd in darknesse quite,
And all to us is in dead silence drown.
Thus in one point of time is this worlds glory flown

21

But if't be so, how doth Psyche hear or see
That hath nor eyes nor eares? She sees more clear
Then we that see but secondarily.
We see at distance by a circular
Diffusion of that spright of this great sphear
Of th'Universe: Her sight is tactuall.
The Sun and all the starres that do appear
She feels them in herself, can distance all,
For she is at each one purely presentiall.

22

To us what doth diffusion circular,
And our pure shadowed eyes, bright, crystalline,
But vigorously our spright particular
Affect, while things in it so clearly shine?
That's done continually in the heavens sheen.
The Sun, the Moon, the Earth, blew-glimmering Hel
Scorch'd Ætna's bowels, each shape you'l divine
To be in Nature, every dern cell
With fire-eyed dragons, or what else therein doth dwel:

136

23

These be all parts of the wide worlds excesse,
They be all seated in the Mundane spright,
And shew just as they are in their bignesse
To her. But circulation shews not right
The magnitude of things: for distant site
Makes a deficience in these circulings.
But all things lie ope right unto the sight
Of heavens great eye; their thin shot shadowings
And lightned sides. All this we find in Natures springs.

24

The worlds great soul knows by Protopathie
All what befalls this lower sprite, but we
Can onely know't by Deuteropathie,
At least in sight and hearing. She doth see
In our own eyes, by the close unitie
Of ours and the worlds life, our passion,
Plainly perceives our Idiopathie,
As we do hers, by the same union;
But we cannot see hers in that perfection.

25

Fresh varnish'd groves tall hills, and gilded clouds
Arching an eyelid for the gloring Morn,
Fair clustred buildings which our sight so crouds
At distance, with high spires to heaven yborn,
Vast plains with lowly cottages forlorn
Rounded about with the low wavering skie,
Cragg'd vapours, like to ragged rocks ytorn,
She views those prospects in our distant eye:
These and such like be the first centres mysterie.

26

Or if you will the first low energie
Of that one centre, which the soul is hight,
Which knows this world by the close unitie
Concorporation with the Mundane sprite,
Unloos'd from this she wants a certain light,
Unlesse by true regeneration
She be incorporate with God, unite
With his own spright; so a new mansion
Sh' has got, oft saught with deepest suspiration.

137

27

But robb'd of her first clothing by hard fate,
If she fall short of this, wo's me! what pains
She undergoes? when this lost former state
So kindled hath lifes thirst, that still remains.
Thus her eternitie her nothing gains
But hungry flames, raging voracitie
Feeding on its own self. The heavens she stains
With execrations and foul blasphemie.
Thus in fell discontent and smoth'ring fire they frie.

28

Vain man that striv'st to have all things at will!
What wilt thou do in this sterilitie?
Whom canst thou then command? or what shall fill
Thy gaping soul? O depth of miserie!
Prepare thy self by deep humilitie:
Destroy that fretting fire while thou art here,
Forsake this worlds bewitching vanitie,
Nor death nor hell then shalt thou need to fear.
Kill and cast down thy self, to heaven God shall thee rear.

29

This middle centrall essence of the soul
Is that which still survives asleep or waking:
The life she shed in this grosse earthly moul
Is quite shrunk up, lost in the bodies breaking,
Now with slight phantasms of her own fond making
She's clad (so is her life drie and jejune)
But all flit souls be not in the same taking:
That state this lifes proportion doth tune,
So as thou livest here, such measure must ensuen.

30

But they whose souls deiform summitie
Is waken'd in this life, and so to God
Are nearly joyn'd in a firm Unitie
(This outward bodie is but earthie clod
Digested, having life transfus'd abroad,
The worlds life and our lower vitalitie
Unite in one) their souls have their aboad
In Christs own body, are eternally
One with our God, by true and strong communitie.

138

31

When we are clothed with this outward world,
Feel the soft air, behold the glorious Sunne,
All this we have from meat that's daily hurld
Into these mouthes. But first of all we wonne
This priviledge by our first union
With this worlds body and diffused spright.
I'th' higher world there's such communion:
Christ is the sunne that by his chearing might
Awakes our higher rayes to joyn with his pure light.

32

And when he hath that life elicited,
He gives his own dear body and his bloud
To drink and eat. Thus dayly we are fed
Unto eternall life. Thus do we bud,
True heavenly plants, suck in our lasting food
From the first spring of life, incorporate
Into the higher world (as erst I show'd
Our lower rayes the soul to subjugate
To this low world) we fearlesse sit above all fate,

33

Safely that kingdomes glory contemplate,
O'reflow with joy by a full sympathie
With that worlds sprite, and blesse our own estate,
Praising the fount of all felicitie,
The lovely light of the blest Deitie.
Vain mortals think on this, and raise your mind
Above the bodies life; strike through the skie
With piercing throbs and sighs, that you may find
His face. Base fleshly fumes your drowsie eyes thus blind.

34

So hath my Muse according to her skill
Discovered the soul in all her rayes,
The lowest may occasionate much ill,
But is indifferent. Who may dispraise
Dame Natures work? But yet you ought to raise
Your selves to higher state. Eternitie
Is the souls rest, and everlasting dayes:
Aspire to this and hope for victorie
I further yet shall prove her immortalitie.

139

Cant. 2.

From many arguments we show
The independencie
Of humane souls: That all Lives flow
From a free Deitie.

1

Three apprehensions do my mind divide
Concerning the souls preexistencie,
Before into this outward world she glide,
So hath my Muse with much uncertaintie
Exprest her self, so as her phantasie
Strongly inacted guides her easie pen;
I nought obtrude with sow'r anxietie,
But freely offer hints to wiser men.
The wise from rash assent in darksome things abstein.

2

Or souls be well awake but hovering,
Not fixt to ought, but by a Magick might
Drawable here and there, and so their wing
Struck with the steem of this low Mundane sprite
May lower flag and take its stooping flight
Into some plantall man, new edified
By his own plastick point. Or else (deep Night
Drawn on by drooping phansie) she doth slide
Into this world, and by her self that skill is tried;

140

3

Makes to her self this fleshly habitation;
For this worlds spirit hath provok'd these rayes:
Then drown in sleep she works that efformation
Of her own body, all its parts displayes,
As doth the senselesse plant. The two next wayes
Are these: A reall tricentreitie.
First centre ever wakes, unmoved stayes,
Hight Intellect. The next in sleep doth lie
Till the last centre burst into this open skie.

4

And then the middle wakes. But the last way
Makes but one centre, which doth sleep likewise
Till its low life hath reach'd this worlds glad day.
A fourth we'll adde that we may all comprise.
Take quite away all preexistencies
Of humane souls, and grant they're then first made
When they begin this bodies edifice,
And actually this outward world invade.
None of these wayes do show that they must ever fade.

5

The first way might be well occasioned
By what the soul in her self feels and tries.
She works sometime as though she quite had fled
All commerce with these low carnalities
Yet falls she down at last and lowly lies
In this base mansion, is so close contract
That sleep doth seise her actualities,
Retains no memory of that strange fact,
Nor of her self that soar'd in that high heavenly tract.

6

The second way that makes the soul tricentrall,
The highest awake, the other with sleep drownd,
May spring from hence. None would vouchsafe the entrall
Into this life, if they were but once bound
To that vast centre where all things are found,
Hight Intellect. The lowest is not awake,
Therefore the midst lies close in sleep upwound.
Three centres made, that souls may quite forsake
This baser world when union with the lowest they break.

141

7

Again, because this bodie's fashioned
Without our knowledge, reason doth suggest
That it could no wise be thus figured
From our own centre, and yet we not prest
To any adversion. Therefore we are drest
With this grosse clothing by some plantall spright
Centred in Nature. So that glorious vest
The Deiform intellect by our own might's
Not made, But we have rayes which each of these will fit.

8

Ardent desire, strong breathing after God,
At length may work us to that better place,
Body or clothing, that high sure aboad
That searching weather nor time can deface.
But to go on in our proposed race,
The third and fourth way have the same foundation,
Not multiplying beings to surpasse
Their use. What needs that numerous clos'd centration,
Like wastefull sand ytost with boisterous inundation?

9

Let wiser Clerks the truth dare to define
I leave it loose for men to muse upon
View at their leasure: But yet this call mine;
Though we should grant the souls condition
Before her deep incorporation
Into dull matter to be nothing more
But bare potentiality, yet none
Can prove from thence that she must fade therefore,
When to its earth this earth the trusty fates restore.

10

For though she and her body be at once,
Yet of her body she doth not depend
But it of her: she doth its members branch,
Pierce, bind, digest, and after makes it wend
At her own will, when she hath brought to end
Her curious work, and hath consolidate
Its tender limbs which earst did feebly bend
Through weaknesse; then this world she contemplates,
And life still blazing higher seeks an heavenly state.

142

11

Breaths after the first fountain of all life,
Her sweet Creatour, thither doth aspire,
Would see his face, nor will she cease this strife
Till he fulfill her thirsty fierce desire:
Nothing can quench this so deep rooted fire
But his own presence. So she 'gins despise
This bodies pleasures, ceaseth to admire
Ought fair or comely to these outward eyes:
Or if she do, from hence she higher doth arise.

12

But can she higher rise then her own head?
Therefore her spring is God: thence doth she pend,
Thence did she flow, thither again she's fled.
When she this life hath lost, and made an end
Of this low earthly course, she doth ascend,
Unto her circles ancient Apogie
Lifted aloft, not again to descend,
Nor stoups nor sets that Sunne, but standeth free
On never shaken pillars of Æternitie.

13

But still this truth more clearly to evince,
Remember how all things are from one light,
It shall thy reason forceably convince
That nought but God destroyes a centrall spright.
If he sucks in his beams, eternall night
Seiseth upon that life, that it no'te flow
In actuall efflux, hath no being quite
But Gods own power. He lets his breath out go,
The self-same things again so eas'ly doth he show.

14

Let be Noon day, the welkin clear, the Moon
I'th' nether world, reflecting the Suns rayes
To cheer the irksome night. Well! That being done,
Call out some wondrous might, that listlesse stayes
In slower phansies. Bid't break all delayes;
Surround with solid dark opacity
The utmost beams that Phœbus light displayes,
Softly steal on with equall distancy,
Till they have close clapt up all his explendency.

143

15

All's now in darknesse: tell me, what's become
Of that infinity of rayes that shone?
Where second centres from whence out did come
Other faint beams? what be they all quite flone?
All perish'd quite? You stiflers now be gone.
Let fall that smoring mantle. Do not straight
All things return? The nether world the Moon,
The Sun enlightens us. The self same light
Now shines, that shone before this deep and dismall Night.

16

If not the same. Then like to flowing stream
You deem the light that passeth still away,
New parts ever succeeding. The Sun-beam
Hath no reflexion then, if it decay
So fast as it comes forth: Nor were there day;
For it would vanish 'fore it could arrive
At us. But in a moment Sol doth ray.
One end of his long shafts then we conceive
At once both touch himself and down to us do dive.

17

Beside, this air is not the sustentation
Of spreaden light; for then as it did move
The light would move. And sturdy conflictation
Of struggling winds, when they have fiercely strove,
Phœbus fair golden locks would rudely move
Out of their place; and Eastern winds at morn
Would make more glorious dayes, while light is drove
From that bright quarter: Southern blasts do burn
From midday sun, but yet Northwinds like light have born.

18

What then must be the channell of this river,
If we'll have light to flow as passing stream?
So plain it is that Nature doth dissever
The light and th'air, that th'air the Suns bright beams
Doth not uphold as the warmth of his gleams
Or heat that ledgeth there. From this firm might
Nought leaning on the Air, well may we't deem
Some subtile body, or some grosser spright
Depending of fair Phœbus, of no other wight.

144

19

And when these rayes were forced to retire
Into their fountain, they were not so gone
But that the same sprong out from the first fire.
So fine spun glittering silk crumpled in one
Changeth not 'ts individuation
From what it was, when it was gaily spread
In fluttering winds to th'admiration
Of the beholder. Thus is nought so dead
But God can it restore to its old livelyhed.

20

For all the creature's but the out gone-rayes
Of a free sunne, and what I meaned most
Of him alone depend. He deads their blaze
By calling in his breath. Though things be tost
And strangely chang'd, yet nought at all is lost
Unlesse he list. Nor then so lost but he
Can them return, In every thing compost
Each part of th'essence its centreity
Keeps to it self, it shrinks not to a nullity.

21

When that compounded nature is dissolv'd,
Each centre's safe, as safe as second light
Or drove into the Sun, or thence out-rol'd.
So all depend on th'Universall spright
From hight to depth, as they are ranked right
In their due orders. Lifes full pregnancy
Breaks out when friendly sympathy doth smite.
The higher rank the higher energie
From natures lowly lap to Gods sublimity:

22

But well may man be call'd the epitome
Of all things. Therefore no low life him made.
The Highest holds all in His capacity.
Therefore mans soul from Gods own life outray'd,
His outgone Centre's on that centre staid.
What disadvantage then can the decay
Of this poore carcase do, when it doth fade?
The soul no more depends on this frail clay,
Then on our eye depends bright Phœbus glist'ring ray.

145

23

But in this argument we'll no longer stay,
Consider now the souls conversion
Into her self. Nought divisible may
Close with it self by revolution.
For then or part in this reflection,
Is drove into a part, or part to th'whole,
Or whole to part, or near compression
The whole into the whole doth closely roll.
But easily all these wayes right reason will controll.

24

If part turn into part, part into whole,
Whole into part, the thing doth not convert
Into it self; the thing it self is all
Not part of't self: if all to all revert,
Each part then into each part is insert.
But tell me then how is their quantity
If every part with each part is refert?
Thus swallowed up, they'l have no distancy;
So you destroy suppos'd divisibility.

25

Wherefore that thing is individuous
What ever can into it self reflect,
Such is the soul as hath been prov'd by us
Before, and further now we do detect
By her foure wheels: The first hight Intellect,
Wherewith she drives into her Nature deep
And finds it out; next Will, this doth affect
Her self found out. Her self then out doth peep
Into these acts, she into both doth eas'ly creep.

26

But this conversion's from the body free;
Begins not thence, nor thither doth return:
Nor is the soul worse then her energie,
If in her acts she be far higher born
Then they should 'pend on this base corse forlorn:
Then also she hath no dependency
Upon this body, but may safely scorn
That low condition of servility,
And blame all that averre that false necessity.

146

27

If she should issue from this nether spring,
Nearer she kept to her Originall
She were the stronger, and her works would bring
To more perfection; but alas! they fall
They fail by near approch. The best of all
Wax weak and faint by too close union
With this foul fount. Might intellectuall
Grows misty by this strait conjunction;
The will is woxen weak, its vigour quite is gone.

28

But O! how oft when she her self doth cut
From nearer commerce with the low delight
Of things corporeall, and her eyes doth shut
To those false fading lights, she feels her spright
Fill'd with excessive pleasure, such a plight
She finds that it doth fully satisfie
Her thirsty life. Then reason shines out bright,
And holy love with mild serenity
Doth hug her harmlesse self in this her purity.

29

What grave monitions and sure prophesie
Have men in sicknesse left? a true testation
Of the souls utter independency
On this poore crasie corse. May that narration
Of Aristotles move easie perswasion
Of his Endemus, to whom sick at Phere
While sleep his senses bound, this revelation
A gentle youth did bring with goodly chear,
And jolly blith deportment, chasing needlesse fear.

30

Told him that sicknesse would not mortall prove,
He should grow well er'e long, but deaths drad power
On that towns tyrant should be shortly drove,
Swift vengeance on his cursed head should showr:
Both proved true. I could in plenty poure
Such like examples, as of Pherecyde,
Calanus, him of Rhodes, and others more;
But it is needlesse, 'tis a truth well tried,
The higher works the soul the more she is untied.

147

31

Then quite set loose from this her heavy chain
Shee is in happiest plight, so far she is
From being nought or perishing. Again,
We find such utter contrarieties
Betwixt the bodies and her qualities
That we can no wayes think she pends at all
Of that with which she has such repugnancies.
What thing doth fight with its Originall?
The spring and stream be alwayes homogeneall.

32

But the high heaven-born soul sprung out from Jove
Ever is clashing with the foolery
Of this dull body, which the sense doth love,
And erring phansie. It were long to try
In every thing: O how 'twould magnifie
The hight of pleasures that fall under sense.
This well describ'd would prove its Deity.
A vast round body cloth'd with th'excellence
Of glorious glistring light through the wide aire extense.

33

Bravely adorn'd with diverse colours gay,
Even infinite varieties that shine
With wondrous brightnesse, varnish'd with the ray
Of that clear light, with motion circuline
Let turn about and stir up sounds divine,
That sweetly may affect th'attentive ear.
Adde fragrant odours waft with gentle wind,
Adde pleasant taste, soft touch to Venus dear;
This is the bodies God, this is its highest sphear.

34

But from far higher place and brighter light
Our reason checks us for this vanity,
Calls to us, warns us that that empty sight
Lead not our soul unto Idolatry,
Make us not rest in easie falsity.
If thou be stirred up by working fire
To search out God, to find the Deity;
Take to thy self not what thine eyes admire
Of any outward sense, or what sense can desire.

148

35

Behold a light far brighter then the Sun!
The Sun's a shadow if you them compare,
Or grosse Cimmerian mist; the fairest Noon
Exceeds not the meridian night so far
As that light doth the Sun. So perfect clear
So perfect pure it is, that outward eye
Cannot behold this inward subtile starre,
But indisperst is this bright Majesty,
Yet every where out shining in infinitie;

36

Unplac'd, unparted, one close Unity,
Yet omnipresent; all things, yet but one;
Nor streak'd with gaudy multiplicity,
Pure light without discolouration,
Stable without circumvolution,
Eternall rest, joy without passing sound:
What sound is made without collision?
Smell, taste, and touch make God a grosse compound;
Yet truth of all that's good is perfectly here found.

37

This is a riddle unto outward sense:
And heavie phansie, that can rise no higher
Then outward senses, knows no excellence
But what those Five do faithfully inspire
From their great God, this world; nor do desire
More then they know: wherefore to consopite
Or quench this false light of bold phansies fire,
Surely must be an act contrary quite
Unto this bodies life, and its low groveling spright.

38

Wherefore the body's not Originall
Of humane soul when she doth thus resist
That principle: which still more clearly shall
Be proved. Oft when either drowsie mists
Provoke to sleep, or worst of senses lists
To ease his swelling veins, or stomach craves
His wonted food, that he too long hath mist,
Or our dry lungs cool liquor fain would have,
Or when in warre our heart suggests the fear of grave:

149

39

Yet high desire of truth, and deep insight
Into Gods mystery makes us command
These low attractions; and our countries right
Bids march on bravely, stout and stifly stand
In bloudy fight, and try't by strength of hand.
Thus truth and honesty so sway our will,
That we no longer doubt to break the band
Of lower Nature, and this body kill
Or vex, so we the Laws of reason may fulfill.

40

This proves the soul to sit at liberty,
Not wedg'd into this masse of earth, but free
Unloos'd from any strong necessity
To do the bodies dictates, while we see
Clear reason shining in serenity,
Calling above unto us, pointing to
What's right and decent, what doth best agree
With those sweet lovely Ideas that do show
Some glimps of their pure light. So Sol through clouds doth flow.

41

How oft do we neglect this bodies life,
And outward comely plight, for to adorn
Our soul with virtuous ornaments? and strive
To fat our mind with truth, while it's forlorn,
Squalid, half-nasty, pallid, wan, deform?
Can this desire from the base body spring?
No sure such brave atchievements be yborn
Within the soul, tend to her perfecting,
See th'independent mind in her self circuling!

42

Best plight of body hinders such like acts.
How doth she then upon the body pend?
To do those subtle, high, pure, heavenly facts?
What? doth the Sun his rayes that he out-sends
Smother or choke? though clouds that upward wend
May raised be by him, yet of those clouds
That he doth congregate he no'te depend.
Nor doth the soul that in this flesh doth croud
Her self rely on that thick vapour where she's shroud.

150

43

But still to prove it clearer: If the mind
Without the bodyes help can operate
Of her own self, then nothing can we find
To scruple at, but that souls separate
Safely exist, not subject unto fate,
Nothing depending on their carcases,
That they should fade when those be ruinate:
But first perpend well both their properties
That we may better see their independencies.

44

The living body where the soul doth 'bide
These functions hath, phansie, sense, memory.
How into sense these outward forms do glide
I have already told, and did descry
How presentifick circularity
Is spread through all: there is one Mundane spright
And body, vitall corporality
We have from hence. Our souls be co[illeg.]unite
With the worlds spright and body, with these herself she has dight.

45

Our body struck by evolution
Of outward forms spread in the worlds vast spright,
Our listning mind by its adversion
Doth notice take, but nothing is empight
In it. Of old Gods hand did all forms write
In humane souls, which waken at the knock
Of Mundane shapes. If they were naked quite
Of innate forms, though heaven and earth should rock
With roring winds, they'd hear no more then senselesse stock.

46

Phansy's th'impression of those forms that flit
In this low life: They oft continue long,
When as our spright more potently is hit
By their incursions and appulses strong,
Like heated water, though a while but hung
On fiercer fire, an hot impression
Long time retains; so forms more stoutly flung
Against our spright make deep insculption;
Long time it is till their clear abolition.

151

47

Hence springeth that which men call memory,
When outward object doth characterize
Our inward common spright; or when that we
From our own soul stir up clear phantasies
Which be our own elicited Idees,
Springing from our own centrall life, by might
Of our strong Fiat as oft as we please.
With these we seal that under grosser spright,
Make that our note-book, there our choisest notions write.

48

But sith it is not any part of us,
But longeth unto the great world, it must
Be chang'd; for course of Time voraginous
With rapid force is violently just,
Makes each thing pay with what it was in trust.
The common life sucks back the common spright,
The body backward falls into the dust;
It doth it by degrees. Hence phancie, sight,
And memory in age do not their functions right.

49

Often disease, or some hard casualtie
Doth hurt this spirit, that a man doth lose
The use of sense, wit, phansie, memory;
That hence rash men our souls mortall suppose
Through their rude ignorance; but to disclose
The very truth, our soul's in safety
In that distemper, that doth ill dispose
Her under spright. But her sad misery
Is that so close she's tied in a prone Unitie,

50

Leans on this bodies false security,
Seeks for things there, not in herself, nor higher,
Extremely loves this bodies company,
Trusts in its life, thither bends her desire:
But when it gins to fail, she's left i'th' mire.
Yet hard upon us hangs th'Eternall light
The ever-live Idees, the lamping fire
Of lasting Intellect, whose nearnesse might
Illumin, were our minds not lost in that frail spright.

152

51

That spright and we are plain another thing:
Which now I'll clearly show that we may see
Our independency on his existing,
Which prove I must from eithers property.
That spright hath no perceptibility
Of his impressions: Phantasie nor sense
Perceive themselves; often with open eye
We look upon a man in our presence,
And yet of that near object have no cognoscence.

52

And so of Phansies that be fresh enough,
Even deeply seald upon that lower spright,
Unlesse we seek them out and pierce them through
With aiming animadversion, they in night
Do lurk unknown to us, though they be bright
In their own selves. Again, some object may
In its great vigour, lustre, sweying might
This spirit wound by its fierce riving ray;
Our sight is hurt by th'eye of the broad blasing day.

53

Beside the senses each one are restraind
To his own object: so is Phantasie.
That in the spirits compasse is containd;
As likewise the low naturall memory.
But sooth to say, by a strong sympathy
We both are mov'd by these, and these do move.
As the light spider that makes at a fly,
Her selfe now moves the web she subt'ly wove,
Mov'd first by her own web, when here the fly did rove.

54

Like spider in her web, so do we sit
Within this spirit, and if ought do shake
This subtile loom we feel as it doth hit;
Most part into adversion we awake,
Unlesse we chance into our selves betake
Our selves, and listen to the lucid voice
Of th'Intellect, which these low tumults slake:
But our own selves judge of what ere accloyes
Our muddied mind, or what lifts up to heavenly joyes.

153

55

All the five senses, Phansie, Memorie,
We feel their work, distinguish and compare,
Find out their natures by the subtiltie
Of sifting reason. Then they objects are
Of th'understanding, bear no greater share
In this same act then objects wont to do.
They are two realties distinguish'd clear
One from the other, as I erst did show.
She knows that spright, that spright our soul can never know.

56

Sense, Phansie, Memorie, as afore was said
Be hurt by stronger objects, or be spoild
By longer exercise: Our soul ne're fades,
But doth her spright commiserate long toild
With agitation, when she feels it moild
Descends to comfort it, and gives it rest;
But she grows quicker, vaster, never foild
With contemplations that this spright molest:
The inward soul's renew'd as cannot be exprest.

57

How soul and spright be severed we see,
But how't works by it self is not yet shown;
I mean without this sprights assistencie,
Though not quite by her self. High light doth crown
Her summitie, when sleep that spright doth drown
Rapt into highest heavens in ecstasie
She sees such things as would low life confound,
Enrage with a tumultuous agonie,
Burst this pent spright for want of fit capacitie.

58

Then is she joynd with the Eternall Idees,
Which move our souls as sights do here below:
Joynd with the spright of God we gaze on these,
As by the Mundane spright th'Out-world we know.
Our soul hangs twixt them both, and there doth go
Where either spright doth snatch her. Either raise
Her inward forms, which leap out nothing slow
When sympathie them calls. Thus she displayes
Her inward life, Gods light views with her wakened rayes.

154

59

When we confute a pregnant falsitie
Cloth'd with strong phantasmes in our snared mind,
As this suppose, The earths stabilitie,
What help can we in our low phansie find,
Possest of this impression? what shall bind
This stubborn falshood so inveterate?
That spright so stifly set can't be inclin'd
By ought but by the soul that contemplates
Truth by her self, brings out her forms that be innate?

60

Flies she to sense? sense pleads for Ptolemee.
Flies she to her low phansie? that's so swayd
By sense, and fore-imprest Astronomie,
By botch'd inculcate paradigmes made
By senses dictate, that they'll both perswade
That Philolaus and wise Heraclide
Be frantick both, Copernicus twice mad.
She cannot then this question well decide.
By ought but her own forms that in her self reside.

61

Which she calls out unto her faithfull aid,
Commands deep silence to fond phantasie,
Whose odious prating truth hath oft betraid,
And in her stead brought in rash falsitie,
Seated in sowr inert stupiditie.
Then farewell sense, and what from sense hath sprong,
Saith she, I'll contemplate in puritie,
And quit my self of that tumultuous throng:
What then she finds shall be unfold in my next song.

155

Cant. III.

That th'earth doth move, proofs Physicall
Unto us do descrie;
Adde reasons Theosophicall,
Als adde Astronomie.

1

Blest souls first Authours of Astronomie!
Who clomb the heavens with your high reaching mind,
Scal'd the high battlements of the lofty skie,
To whom compar'd this earth a point you find;
Your bodies lesse, what measure hath defin'd?
What art that mighty vastnesse? Such high facts
The ancient Giants swoln with raging wind
Could not effect. A subtile Parallax,
A dark Eclipse do quite obscure their braving acts.

2

O the great might of mans high Phantasie!
Which with a shade or a divided line,
That nought, this but a thin exilitie,
Can do farre more then strength enrag'd with tine,
Hoysted with haughty pride. That brood combine
To clamber up to heaven. Hill upon hill,
Ossa upon Olympus doth recline:
Their brawnie arms redoubled force doth fill,
While they their spirits summon t'effect their furious will.

156

3

But all in vain they want the inward skill.
What comes from heaven onely can there ascend.
Not rage nor tempest that this bulk doth fill
Can profit ought, but gently to attend
The souls still working, patiently to bend
Our mind to sifting reason, and clear light,
That strangely figur'd in our soul doth wend
Shifting its forms, still playing in our sight,
Till something it present that we shall take for right.

4

The busie soul it is that hither hent
By strength of reason, the true distancies
Of th'erring Planets, and the vast extent
Of their round bodies without outward eyes
Hath view'd, told their proportionalities,
Confounded sense by reasons strange report
(But wiser he that on reason relies
Then stupid sense low-sunken into dirt)
This weapon I have got none from me may extort.

5

O You stiff-standers for ag'd Ptolemce,
I heartily praise your humble reverence
If willingly given to Antiquitie;
But when of him in whom's your confidence,
Or your own reason and experience
In those same arts, you find those things are true
That utterly oppugne our outward sense,
Then are you forc'd to sense to bid adieu,
Not what your sense gainsayes to holden straight untrue.

6

Though contraire unto sense, though it be new
(But sooth to sayen th'earths motion is of tri'd
Antiquitie, as I above did shew:
In Philolaus and in Heraclide
Those subtile thoughts of old did close reside)
Yet reason ought to bear away the bell.
But irefull ignorance cannot abide
To be outtopd, reprochfully she'll yell,
Call's mad, when her own self doth with foul furie swell.

157

7

But let them bark like band-dogs at the Moon,
That mindlesse passeth on in silencie:
I'll take my flight above this outward sunne,
Regardlesse of such fond malignitie,
Lift my self up in the Theologie
Of heavenly Plato. There I'll contemplate
The Archtype of this sunne, that bright Idee
Of steddie Good, that doth his beams dilate
Through all the worlds, all lives and beings propagate.

8

But yet in words to trifle I will deigne
A while: They may our mind fitly prepare
For higher flight; we larger breath may gain
By a low hovering. These words they are
All found in that old Oracle of Clare.
That heavenly power which Iao hight
The highest of all the Gods thou mayst declare,
In spring named Zeus, in summer Helios bright,
In autumn call'd Jao, Aides in brumall night.

9

These names do plainly denotate the sunne,
In Spring call'd Zeus, from life or kindly heat;
In winter, 'cause the day's so quickly done,
He Aides hight, he is not long in sight;
In Summer, 'cause he strongly doth us smite
With his hot darts, then Helios we him name
From Eloim or Eloah so hight;
In Autumn Jao, Jehovah is the same:
So is the word deprav'd by an uncertain fame.

10

So great similitude twixt Phœbus light
And God, that God himself the Nations deem
The sunne. The learned Seventy 've boldly pight
A tent therein for the true Eloim,
The sensible Deity you'll reckon him,
If Hermes words bear with you any sway,
Or if you Christian Clerks do ought esteem,
In Davids odes they make Gods Christ a day;
His father's then the sunne from whence this light doth ray.

158

11

Then by all the wide worlds acknowledgement,
The sunne's a type of that eternall light
Which we call God, a fair delineament
Of that which Good in Plato's school is hight
His T'agathon with beauteous rayes bedight.
Let's now consult with their Theologie,
And that Idea with our inward sight
Behold, casheering sensibility
Then in clear reason view this correspondency.

12

One steddy Good, centre of essencies,
Unmoved Monad, that Apollo hight,
The Intellectuall sunne whose energies
Are all things that appear in vitall light,
Whose brightnesse passeth every creatures sight,
Yet round about him stird with gentle fire
All things do dance; their being, action, might,
They thither do direct with strong desire,
To embosome him with close embracements they aspire.

13

Unseen, incomprehensible He moves
About himself each seeking entity
That never yet shall find that which it loves.
No finite thing shall reach infinity,
No thing dispers'd comprehend that Unity,
Yet in their ranks they seemly foot it round,
Trip it with joy at the worlds harmony
Struck with the pleasure of an amorous stound,
So dance they with fair flowers from unknown root ycrownd.

14

Still falling short they never fail to seek,
Nor find they nothing by their diligence;
They find repast, their lively longings eek
Rekindled still, by timely influence.
Thus all things in distinct circumference
Move about Him that satisfies them all.
Nor be they thus stird up by wary sense
Or foresight, or election rationall,
But blindly reel about the heart of Lives centrall.

159

15

So doth the Earth one of the erring Seven
Wheel round the fixed sunne, that is the shade
Of steddy Good, shining in this Out-heaven
With the rest of those starres that God hath made
Of baser matter, all which be array'd
With his far-shining light. They sing for joy,
They frisque about in circulings unstay'd,
Dance through the liquid air, and nimbly toy
While Sol keeps clear their sprite, consumes what may accloy.

16

Better the indigent be mov'd, then he
That wanteth nought: He fills all things with light
And kindly heat: through his secundity
Peoples the world; by his exciting sprite
Wakens the plants, calls them out of deep night.
They thrust themselves into his fostring rayes,
Stretch themselves forth stird by his quickning might.
And all the while their merry roundelayes
(As lightsome phansies deem) each Planet spritely playes.

17

But sooth to say that sound so subtile is
Made by percussion of th'ethereall fire
Against our air (if it be not transmisse
By its exility,) that none ought admire
That we no'te hear what well we mought desire
Heavens harmony. 'Cording to others lear
The sound's so big that it cannot retire
Into the windings of a mortall ear;
No more than Egypt can Niles Catadupa bear.

18

There ought to be certain proportion
Betwixt the object and the outward sense.
Rash man that dost inferre negation
From thy dead ear, or non-experience.
Then let them dance and sing, raise influence
From lively motion, that preserves their sprite
From foul corruption: motion's the best sense
To keep off filth in children of cold Night,
Whose life is in dull matter; but the sunne's all Light.

160

19

Therefore full safely he may steddy stond,
Unmov'd, at least not remov'd out of place.
I'll not deny but that he may turn round
On his own centre. So the steps we'll trace
Of Essence, Plato's On, which steddy stayes
And moves at once, that same Iao hight
In that old Clarian Oracle, that sayes
It is the sunne. This answer will aright
To Jove or Plato's On as done those schools descry't.

20

That same first Being, Beauty, Intellect,
Turns to his father (of whom he was born)
In a brief instant. But who can detect
Such hidden mysteries? back mine eyes I'll turn,
Lest in this light like fluttering moth I burn.
Enough is shown of correspondency
Twixt this worlds sunne and centre of hid Morn,
The radiant light of the deep Deity.
Thus have I fairly prov'd the sunnes stability.

21

Then must the earth turn round, or we want day,
Or never be in night. Now I'll descend
Cloth'd with this truth. As wrathfull dogs do bay
At spectres solemn Cynthia doth send;
So now I backward to the senses wend:
They'll bark at th'shape of my disguised mind,
As stranger wights, they wrathfully will rend
This uncouth habit. They no such thing find
'Mongst their domestick forms, to whom they are more kind.

22

And weaker reason which they wont misguide
Will deem all this nothing mysterious,
But my strong winged Muse feeble to slide
Into false thoughts and dreams vertiginous,
And plainly judge us woxen furious,
Thus in our rage to shake the stable earth,
Whirling her round with turns prodigious;
For she doth stedfast stand as it appear'th
From the unshaken buildings she so safely bear'th.

161

23

If she should move about, then would she sling
From of her self those fair extructed loads
Of carved stone: The air aloud would sing
With brushing trees: Beasts in their dark aboads
Would brained be by their own caves; th'earth strowd
With strange destruction. All would shatter'd lie
In broken shivers. What mad frantick mood
Doth thus invade wary Philosophy,
That it so dotes on such a furious falsitie?

24

But still more subt'ly this cause to pursue,
The clouds would alwayes seem to rise from th'East,
Which sense and oft-experience proves untrue;
They rise from all the quarters, South, North, West,
From every part, as Æolus thinketh best.
Again the Earths sad stupid gravity
Unfit for motion shows her quiet rest:
Lastly an arrow shot unto the sky
Would not return unto his foot that let it fly.

25

Adde unto these that contrariety
Of motion, when as the self same things
At the same time do back and forward hie:
As when for speed the rider fiercely dings
His horse with iron heel, layes the loose strings
Upon his neck, westward they swiftly scoure,
When as the Earth, finishing her dayly rings,
Doth Eastward make with all her might and power,
She quite hath run her stage at end of twice twelve houres.

26

These and like phansies do so strongly tye
The slower mind to aged Ptolemee,
That shamefull madnesse 't were for to deny
So plain a truth as they deem this to be.
But yet, alas! if they could standen free
From prejudice, and heavie swaying sense
That dims our reason that it cannot see
What's the pure truth, enough in just defense
Of Pythagore we find though with small diligence.

162

27

One single truth concerning unity
Of sprights and bodies, and how on Form may
Inact a various Corporeity,
Keep't up together and her might display
Through all the parts, make't constantly obey
The powerfull dictates of its centrall spright,
Which being one can variously play:
This lore if we but once had learnd aright,
All what was brought afore would vanish at first sight.

28

For that Magnetick might doth so combine
Earth, Water, Air, into one animate,
Whose soul or life so sweetly 't doth incline,
So surely, easly, as none can relate
But he that's exercis'd in every state
Of moving life. What? Can the plastick spright
So variously his branching stock dilate
Downward to hell upward to heaven bright,
And strangely figur'd leaves and flowers send into sight?

29

Can one poore single Centre do all this
In a base weed that suddenly decayes?
And shall not the earths life that is transmisse
Through sea and air, and with its potent rayes
Informs all this (all this on that life stayes)
Shall't not obtain the like variety
Of inward ruling motion? Your minds raise,
O sluggish men! single centrality
You'l find shall do, what ere's admit by phantasie.

30

Now see if this clear apprehension
Will not with ease repell each argument
Which we rehears'd with an intention
For to refute. The earths swift movement,
Because 'tis naturall not violent,
Will never shatter buildings. With straight line
It binds down strongly each partic'larment
Of every edifice. All stones incline
Unto that Centre; this doth stoutly all combine:

163

31

Nor is lesse naturall that circular motion,
Then this which each part to the centre drives:
So every stone on earth with one commotion
Goes round and yet withall right stifly strives
To reach the centre, though it never dives
So deep. Who then so blind but plainly sees
How for our safety Nature well contrives,
Binding all close with down-propensities?
But now we'll answer make to the loud-singing trees.

32

Walls, Towers, Trees, would stir up a strange noise,
If th'air stood still, while the earth is hurled round
As doth the switch oft shak'd by idle boyes
That please themselves in varying of the sound.
But this objection we with reason sound
Have well prevented, while we plainly taught
Earth, Water, Air, in one to be fast bound
By one spermatick spright, which easly raught
To each part: Earth, Sea, Air so powerfully hath it caught.

33

All these as one round entire body move
Upon their common Poles; that difficulty
Of stirring sounds, so clearly we remove.
That of the clouds with like facility
We straight shall chace away. In th'air they ly
And whirl about with it, and when some wind
With violence afore him makes them fly,
Then in them double motion we find,
Eastward they move, and whither by these blasts they're inclin'd.

34

What they pretend of the Earths gravity,
Is nought but a long taken up conceit:
A stone that downward to the earth doth hy
Is not more heavie then dry straws that jet
Up to a ring made of black shining jeat.
Each thing doth tend to the loud-calling might
Of sympathy. So 'tis a misconceit
That deems the earth the onely heavie weight.
They ken not the strange power of the strong centrall spright.

164

35

Were there a shiver cut from off the Moon
And cast quite off from that round entire masse,
Would't fall into our mouths? No, it would soon
Make back to th'centre from whence forc'd it was:
The same in Mars and Sol would come to passe,
And all the stars that have their proper centres.
So gravity is nought but close to presse
Unto one Magick point, there near to enter;
Each sympathetick part doth boldly it adventure.

36

Thus in each starry globe all parts may tend
Unto one point, and mean time turn around;
Nor doth that sway its circling ought offend:
These motions do not at all confound
One th'others course. The Earth's not heavy found,
But from that strong down-pulling centrall sway,
Which hinders not but that it may turn round,
Sith that it moves not a contrary way.
Which answer I will bend against the fifth assay:

37

An arrow shot into the empty air,
Which straight returning to the bowmans foot.
The Earths stability must proven clear.
Thus these bad archers do at random shoot,
Whose easie errour I do thus confute.
The arrow hath one spirit with this sphere,
Forc'd upward turns with it, mov'd by the root
Of naturall motion. So when back't doth bear
It self, still Eastward turns with motions circular.

38

So 'tis no wonder when it hath descended
It falleth back to th'place from whence it flew,
Sith all this while its circular course hath bended
Toward the East, and in proportion due
That arcuall Eastern motion did pursue:
Nearer the earth the slower it must go;
These Arks be lesse, but in the heavens blew
Those Arks increase, it must not be so slow
Thus must it needs return unto its idle bow.

165

39

Nor ought we wonder that it doth conform
Its motions to the circles of the aire,
Sith water in a wooden bucket born
Doth sit it self unto each periphere,
By hight or depth, as you shall change the sphere.
So lowly set more water 't will contain,
'Cause its round tumour higher then doth bear
It self up from the brims. So may't be sayen
The lowlier man the larger graces doth obtain.

40

But now to answer to the last objection,
Tis not impossible one thing to move
Contrary wayes, which by a fit refection
I strongly will evince and clearly prove.
Take but the pains higher for to remove
A clock with hanging plummet. It goes down
At that same time you heave it high above
Its former place. Thus fairly have we won
The field 'gainst stupid sense, that reason fain would drown.

41

Now let's go on (we have well cleard the way)
More plainly prove this seeming paradox
And make this truth shine brighter then midday,
Neglect dull sconses mowes and idle mocks.
O constant hearts, as stark as Thracian rocks,
Well grounded in grave ignorance, that scorn
Reasons sly force, its light slight subtile strokes.
Sing we to these wast hills, dern, deaf, forlorn,
Or to the cheerfull children of the quick-ey'd Morn?

42

To you we sing that live in purer light,
Escap'd the thraldome of down-drooping sense,
Whose nimble spirit and clear piercing sight
Can easly judge of every conference
Withouten prejudice, with patience
Can weigh the moments of each reason brought;
While others in tempestuous vehemence
Blow all away with bitter blasts. Untought
In subtilties, they shew themselves in jangling stout.

166

43

I have the barking of bold sense confuted,
Its clamorous tongue thus being consopite,
With reasons easie shall I be well suited,
To show that Pythagore's position's right.
Copernicks, or whosever dogma't hight.
The first is that that's wisely signifi'd
By Moses Maymons son, a learned wight,
Who saith each good Astronomer is ty'd
To lessen the heavens motions vainly multiply'd,

44

And the foul botches of false feigned Orbs:
Whose uselesse number reason must restrain,
That oft the loose luxuriant phansie curbs,
And in just bounds doth warily contain:
To use more means then needs is all in vain.
Why then, O busie sonnes of Ptolemee!
Do you that vast star-bearing sphere constrain
To hurl about with such celerity,
When th'earth may move without such strange velocity?

45

What needlesse phansy's this that that huge sphere
In one short moment must thus whirl around,
That it must fly six hundred thousand sheere
Of Germane miles. If that will not confound,
For pomp adde fourty thousand more, that 'bound;
Three thousand more, if it were requisite,
You might annex, and more if they have found
The measure right; when as the earth's slow flight
One sixteenth of a mile her scarcely doth transmit.

46

But if this All be liquid, pervious,
One fine Ethereall (which reason right
Will soon admit: for 'tis ridiculous
Thus for to stud the heaven with nails bright,
The stars in fluid sky will standen tight,
As men do feigne the earth in the soft aire
To be unmov'd) How will proportion fit?
So vast a difference there doth appear
Of motions in those stars that the same bignesse bear.

167

47

Besides that difficulty will remain
Of unconceivable swift motion
In the Equinoctiall stars, where some contain
This earthy globes mighty dimension,
Ten thousand times twise told. They hurry on
With the same swiftnesse I set down before,
And with more pains. A globes extension,
The bigger that it grows, groweth still more
Nigh to a flat fac'd figure, and finds resistance sore.

48

But now that all the heavens be liquid, hence
I'll fetch an argument. Those higher stars
They may as well in water hang suspense
As do the Planets. Venus orb debars
Not Mars, nor enters he with knocks and jars;
The soft fi{n}e yielding Æther gives admission:
So gentle Venus to Mercurius dares
Descend, and finds an easie intromission,
Casts ope that azur curtain by a swift discission.

49

That famous star nail'd down in Cassiopee,
How was it hammer'd in your solid sky?
What pinsers pull'd it out again, that we
No longer see it, whither did it fly?
Astronomers say 'twas at least as high
As the eighth sphere. It gave no parallax,
No more then those light lamps that there we spy.
But prejudice before her self she'll tax
Of holy writ & the heavens she'll make a nose of wax.

50

What man will now that's not vertiginous
Hurrie about his head these severall lights
So mighty vast, with so voracious
And rapid course whirling them day and night
About the earth, when the earths motion might
Save that so monstrous labour, with lesse pains,
Even infinitely lesse? But thoughts empight
Once in the mind do so possesse the brains,
That hard it is to wash out those deep ancient stains.

168

51

Two things there be whose reason's nothing clear:
Those cool continuall breathings of East wind
Under the line; the next high Comets are,
In which Philosophers three motions find?
Concerning which men hither to are blind,
That have not mov'd the earth unto their aid;
Diurnall and an annuall course they have mind
Like to the sunnes, beside, by what they're sway'd
To North or South. This myst'ry's easly thus display'd.

52

The Ecliptick course, and that diurnall moving,
Is but apparent as the sunnes, not true:
But that the earth doth move, that still wants proving,
You'll say. Then if you will, these Comets shew
One proof for her two motions. Whence issue
Those meteors turnings? what shall hale them on,
And guide their steps, that in proportion due
They dance Sols measures? what occasion
Or fruit can be of that strange double motion?

53

Nought but the Earths circumvolution
Doth cause this sight, and but in outward show
This sight of double Sunlike motion
Seen in the Comets. For the winds that blow
Under the Æquinoctiall, who doth know
Any other cause, that still they breathe from th'East?
That constant feat from whence else can it flow,
Save from the Earths swift hurring from the West?
Mid part is strongliest rouz'd the Poles do sleep in rest.

54

Wherefore men under th'Æquinoctiall,
Where the earths course most rapid is and swift,
Sensibly 'ie dash'd 'gainst that Aereall
Pure liquid essence. That clear aire is left
Not snatch'd away so fast, not quite bereft
Of its own Nature, nor like th'other skie
Unmoved quite; but slow pac'd is ycleft
And driven close together; sensibly
So feel we that fine aire that seems from East to flie.

169

55

Those parts be in farre greater puritie
Devoid of earthy vapours. Thence it is
They're not so easly turn'd by sympathie,
The air there having lesse of earthinesse;
So that they move not with one speedinesse,
The earth and it. Yet curious men have fun
Something like this, even in the mid-land Seas
Ships foure times sooner the same stages run,
When Westward they do flie, then when they there begun.

56

But that disgracement of Philosophie
From flux and reflux of the Ocean main
Their monethly and yearly change; this Theorie
Might take't away and shew the causes plain.
Some parts of th'Earth do much more swiftnesse gain,
When as their course goes whirling on one way
With th'annuall motion, which must needs constrain
The fluid Sea with unexpected sway.
Long time it were this mystery fully to display.

57

Wherefore I'll let it passe, my self betake
Unto some reasons Astronomicall,
To which if't please the nimble mind t'awake
And shake off prejudice, that wont forestall
The ablest wit, I fear not but he'll fall
Into the same opinion, magnifie
That subtile spirit that hath made this All,
And hath half-hid his work from mortall eye,
To sport and play with souls in sweet philosophie,

58

But with crabb'd mind wisdome will nere consort,
Make her abode with a sowr ingenie;
That harmlesse spright her self will nere disport
With bloudy zeal, currish malignitie,
With wrathfull ignorance, grave hypocrisie.
Mirth, and Free mindednesse, Simplicitie,
Patience, Discreetnesse, and Benignitie,
Faithfulnesse, heart-struck Teneritie;
These be the lovely playemates of pure veritie.

170

59

The Eternall Son of God, who Logos hight,
Made all things in a fit proportion;
Wherefore, I wote, no man that judgeth right
In Heaven will make such a confusion,
That courses of unlike extension,
Vastly unlike, in like time shall be run
By he flight stars. Such huge distension
Of place shews that their time is not all one;
Saturn his ring no'te finish as quick as the Moon.

60

Yet if the Earth stand stupid and unmov'd,
This needs must come to passe. For they go round
In every twise twelve houres, as is prov'd
By dayly experience. But it would confound
The worlds right order, if't were surely found
A reall motion. Wherefore let it be
In them but seeming, but a reall round
In th'Earth it self. The world so's setten free
From that untoward disproportionalitie.

61

For so the courses of the erring Seven
With their own orbs will fitly well agree;
Their Annuall periods in the liquid Heaven
They onely finish then: which as they be
Or lesse or greater, so the time they flie
In their own circlings hath its difference.
The Moon a moneth, Saturn years ten times three;
Those have the least and bigg'st circumference.
So all their times and orbs have mutuall reference.

62

Next light's, the Planets dark opacitie,
Which long time hath been found in the low Moon:
Hills, Valleys, and such like asperitie
Through optick glasses thence have plainly shone:
By the same trick it hath been clearly shown
That Venus Moon-like grows corniculate
What time her face with flusher light is blown:
Some such like things others have contemplate.
In Mercurie, about the Sunne both circulate.

171

63

When Venus is the furthest off from us.
Then is she in her full. When in her full,
She seemeth least; which proves she's exterous
Beyond the Sunne, and further off doth roll.
But when her circling nearer down doth pull,
Then gins she swell, and waxen bug with horn,
But loose her light, parts clad with darknesse dull
She shows to us, She and Mercury ne're born
Farre from the Sunne, proves that about him both do turn.

64

They both opake, as also is the Moon
That turns about the Earth (so turn those foure
'Bout Jupiter, tend him as he doth run
His annuall course) That Tellus so may scoure
Th'Ethereall Plain, and have the self same power
To run her circuits in the liquid skie
About the Sunne, the mind that doth not lour,
Drooping in earthy dregs, will not deny,
Sith we so well have prov'd the starres opacitie.

65

About the great the lesser lamps do dance,
The Medicean foure reel about Jove;
Two round old Saturn without Nominance,
Luna about the earth doth nimbly move:
Then all as it doth seemly well behove,
About the bigg'st of all great Phœbus hight
With joy and jollitie needs round must rove,
Tickled with pleasure of his heat and light.
What tumbling tricks they play in his farre-piercing sight!

66

Next argument (could I it well expresse
With Poets pen) it hath so mighty force,
That an ingenious man 'twould stoutly presse
To give assent unto the Annuall course
Of this our earth. But prejudice the nurse
Of ignorance stoppeth all free confession,
Als keeps the way that souls have not recourse
To purer reason, chok'd with that oppression.
This argument is drawn from the stars retrocession.

172

67

Planets go back, stand still, and forward flie
With unexpected swiftnesse: What's the cause
That they thus stagger in the plain-pav'd skie?
Or stupid stand, as if some dull repose
Did numb their spirits and their sinews lose?
Here 'gins the wheel-work of the Epicycle:
Thus patch they Heaven more botch'dly then old cloths
This pretty sport doth make my heart to tickle
With laughter, and mine eyes with merry tears to trickle.

68

O daring phansie! that dost thus compile
The Heavens from hasty thoughts, such as fall next;
Wary Philosophers cannot but smile
At such feat gear, at thy rude rash context.
An heap of Orbs disorderly perplext,
Thrust in on every hint of motion,
Must be the wondrous art of Nature, next
Here working under God. Thus, thus vain man
Intitles alwayes God to his opinion;

69

Thinks every thing is done as he conceives;
Would bind all men to his religion;
All the world else of freedome he bereaves,
He and his God must have Dominion,
The truth must have her propagation:
That is his thought, which he hath made a God,
That furious hot inust impression
Doth so disturb his veins, that all abroad
With rage he roves, and all gainsayers down hath trod.

70

But to return from whence my Muse hath flown,
All this disordred superfluity
Of Epicycles, or what else is shown
To salve the strange absurd enormity
Of staggering motions in the azure skie;
Both Epicycles and those turns enorm
Would all prove nought, if you would but let flie
The earth in the Ecliptick line yborn,
As I could well describe in Mathematick form.

173

71

So could I (that's another argument)
From this same principle most clearly prove
In regresse and in progresse different
Of the free Planets: Why Saturn should rove
With shorter startings, give back lesse then Jove;
Jove lesse then Mars; why Venus flincheth out
More then Mercurius; why Saturn moves
Ofter in those back jets then Jove doth shoot;
But Mercury more oft then Venus and Mars stout,

72

And why the Sunne escap'd an Epicycle,
When as th'old prodigall Astronomie
On th'other six bestowed that needlesse cycle;
Why Saturn, Jove, and Mars be very nigh
Unto the Earth, show bigger in our eye
At Eventide when they rise Acronicall;
Why far remov'd with so vast distancy
When they go down with setting Cronicall:
All these will plain appear from th'earths course Annuall.

73

Many other reasons from those heauenly motions
Might well be drawn, but with exility
Of subtile Mathematicks obscure notions,
A Poets pen so fitly no'te agree;
And curious men will judge't a vagrancy
To start thus from my scope. My pitched end
Was for to prove the immortality
Of humane souls: But if you well attend,
My ship to the right port by this bow'd course did bend.

74

For I have clearly show'd that stout resistence
Of the pure soul against the Mundane spright
And body, that's the lower mans consistence;
How it doth quell by force of reason right
Those grosse impressions which our outward sight
Seald in our lower life: From whence we see
That we have proper independent might,
In our own mind, behold our own Idee,
Which needs must prove the souls sure immortality.

174

Cant. 4.

Justice, true faith in the first good,
Our best perswasion
Of blest eternity unmov'd,
The earths conflagration.

1

It doth me good to think what things will follow
That well prov'd thesis in my former song;
How we in liquid heavens more swift then swallow
Do sail on Tellus lap that doth among
The other starres of right not rudely throng,
We have what highest thoughts of man desire:
But highest thoughts of man are vain and wrong.
In outward heaven we burn with hellish fire,
Hate, envie, couetise, revenge, lust, pride and ire.

2

In the eighth sphear Andromeda from chains
Is not releast; fearfull Orion flies
The dreadfull Scorpion. Alas! what gains
Then is 't to live in the bright starry skies?
It no man can exeem from miseries.
All you that seek for true felicity
Rend your own hearts: There God himself descries
Himself; there dwels his beautious Majesty;
There shines the sun of righteousnesse in goodly glee.

175

3

And you who boldly all Gods providence
Confine to this small ball, that Tellus hight,
And dream not of a mutuall influence,
And how that she may shine with beames bright
At a farre distance clad with Sols lent light,
As Venus and the Moon; O you that make
This earth Gods onely darling dear delight,
All th'other orbs merely for this orbs sake
So swiftly for to run with labour never slack,

4

To dance attendance on their Princesse Earth
In their quick circuits, and with anger keen
Would bite him, that or serious or in mirth
Doubts the prerogative of your great Queen!
Best use of that your Theory, I ween,
Is this; that as your selves monopolize
All the whole world, so your selves back again
You wholly give to God. Who can devise
A better way? Mans soul to God this closely tyes.

5

But if the Earth doth thankfully reflect
Both light and influence to other starres,
As well as they to it, where's the defect?
That sweet subordination it mars;
Gods love to us then not so plain appears:
For then the starres be mutually made
One for another: Each all the good then bears
Of th'Universe, for 'ts single labour paid
With the joint pains of all that in the heavens wade.

6

Rare reason! why! then God would be too good.
What judgeth so but envie, and vain pride,
And base contract self-love? which that free floud
Of bounty hath so confidently tied
Unto it self alone. Large hearts deride
This pent hypocrisie. Is he good to me?
That grace I would not ere should be deny'd
Unto my fellow: My felicity
Is multiply'd, when others I like happy see.

176

7

But if the rolling starres with mutuall rayes
Serve one another; sweet fraternity
And humble love, with such like lore we'll raise,
While we do see Gods great benignity
Thus mutually reflected in the skie,
And these round-moving worlds communicate
One with another by spread sympathy:
This all things friendly will concatenate;
But let more hardy wits that truth determinate.

8

It me behoves t'hold forward on my way,
Leaving this uncouth strange Philosophy,
In which my lightsome pen too long did play,
As rigid men in sad seuerity
May deem; but we right carelesse leave that free
Unto their censure. Now more weighty thought
Doth sway our mind, thinking how all doth flee
Whatever we have painfully ytaught
So little fruits remain of all my skill hath wraught,

9

O th'emptinesse of vain Philosophy!
When thin-spun reason and exile discourse
Make the soul creep through a strait Theory,
Whither the blunter mind can never force
Her self; yet oft, alas! the case is worse
Of this so subtile wight, when dangers deep
Approch his life, then his who learnings sourse
Did never drink of, nere his lips did steep
In Plato's springs, nor with low gown the dust did sweep.

10

Certes such knowledge is a vanity,
And hath no strength t'abide a stormy stour;
Such thin slight clothing, will not keep us dry
When the grim heavens, all black and sadly soure
With rage and tempest, plenteously down shower
Great flouds of rain. Dispread exility
Of slyer reasons fails: Some greater power
Found in a lively vigorous Unity
With God, must free the soul from this perplexity.

177

11

Say now the dagger touch'd thy trembling breast,
Couldst thou recall the reasons I have shown
To prove th'immortall state of men deceast?
Evolved reason cannot stand at one
Stoutly to guard thy soul from passion.
They passe successively like sand i'th' glasse;
While thou look'st upon this the other's gone.
But there's a plight of soul such virtue has
Which reasons weak assistance strangely doth surpasse.

12

The just and constant man, a multitude
Set upon mischief cannot him constrain
To do amisse by all their uprores rude,
Not for a tyrants threat will he ere stain
His inward honour. The rough Adrian
Tost with unquiet winds doth nothing move
His steddy heart. Much pleasure he doth gain
To see the glory of his Master Jove,
When his drad darts with hurrying light through all do rove.

13

If Heaven and Earth should rush with a great noise,
He fearlesse stands, he knows whom he doth trust,
Is confident of his souls after joyes,
Though this vain bulk were grinded into dust.
Strange strength resideth in the soul that's just.
She feels her power how't commands the sprite
Of the low man, vigorously finds she must
Be independent of such feeble might
Whose motions dare not 'pear before her awfull fight.

14

But yet my Muse, still take an higher flight,
Sing of Platonick Faith in the first Good,
That Faith that doth our souls to God unite
So strongly, tightly, that the rapid floud
Of this swift flux of things, nor with foul mud
Can stain, nor strike us off from th'unity,
Wherein we stedfast stand, unshak'd, unmov'd,
Engrafted by a deep vitality.
The prop and stay of things is Gods benignity.

178

15

Als is the rule of his Oeconomie.
No other cause the creature brought to light
But the first Goods pregnant fecundity:
He to himself is perfect full delight;
He wanteth nought, with his own beams bedight
He glory has enough. O blasphemy!
That envy gives to God or soure despight!
Harsh hearts! that seign in God a tyranny,
Under pretense t'encrease his sovereign Majesty.

16

When nothing can to Gods own self accrew,
Who's infinitely happy; sure the end
Of this creation simply was to shew
His flowing goodnesse, which he doth out send
Not for himself; for nought can him amend;
But to his creature doth his good impart,
This infinite Good through all the world doth wend
To fill with heavenly blisse each willing heart.
So the free Sunne doth 'light and 'liven every part.

17

This is the measure of Gods providence,
The key of knowledge, the first fair Idee,
The eye of truth, the spring of living sense,
Whence sprout Gods secrets, the sweet mystery
Of lasting life, eternall charity.
But you O bitter men and soure of sprite!
Which brand Gods name with such foul infamy
As though poor humane race he did or slight,
Or curiously view to do them some despight,

18

And all to shew his mighty excellency,
His uncontrolled strength: fond men! areed,
Is't not as great an act from misery
To keep the feeble, as his life to speed
With fatall stroke? The weak shak'd whisling reed
Shows Boreas wondrous strong! but ignorance
And false conceit is the foul spirits meed;
Gods lovely life hath there no enterance;
Hence their fond thoughts for truth they vainly do advance.

179

19

If God do all things simply at his pleasure
Because he will, and not because its good,
So that his actions will have no set measure;
Is't possible it should be understood
What he intends? I feel that he is lov'd
Of my dear soul, and know that I have born
Much for his sake; yet is it not bence prov'd
That I shall live, though I do sigh and mourn
To find his face; his creatures wish he'll slight and scorn.

20

When I breathe out my utmost vitall breath,
And my dear spirit to my God commend,
Yet some foul feigne close lurking underneath
My serious humble soul from me may rend:
So to the lower shades down we shall wend,
Though I in hearts simplicity expected
A better doom; sith I my steps did bend
Toward the will of God, and had detected
Strong hope of lasting life, but now I am rejected.

21

Nor of well being, nor subsistency
Of our poor souls, when they do hence depart,
Can any be assur'd, if liberty
We give to such odde thoughts, that thus pervert
The laws of God, and rashly do assert
That will rules God, but Good rules not Gods will.
What ere from right, love, equity, doth start,
For ought we know then God may act that ill,
Onely to show his might, and his free mind fulfill.

22

O belch of hell! O horrid blasphemy!
That Heavens unblemish'd beauty thus dost stain
And brand Gods nature with such infamy:
Can Wise, Just, Good, do ought that's harsh or vain?
All what he doth is for the creatures gain,
Not seeking ought from us for his content:
What is a drop unto the Ocean main?
All he intends is our accomplishment.
His being is self-full, self-joy'd, self-excellent.

180

23

He his fair beams through all has freely [illeg.]:
Purge but thy soul that thou mayst take them in.
With froward hypocrite he never went,
That finds pretexts to keep his darling sinne.
Through all the earth this Sprite takes pains to winne
Unto himself such as be simply true,
And with malignant pride resist not him,
But strive to do what he for right doth shew;
So still a greater light he brings into their view.

24

All Lives in severall circumference
Look up unto him and expect their food;
He opes his hand, showrs down their sustinence:
So all things be yfild with their wish'd good,
All drink, are satisfi'd from this free floud.
But circling life that yet unsettled is
Grows straight, as it is further still remov'd
From the first simple Good, obtains lesse blisse,
Sustains sharp pains inflicted by just Nemesis.

25

But why do I my soul loose and disperse
With mouldring reason, that like sand doth flow.
Life close united with that Good, a verse
Cannot declare, nor its strange virtue show.
That's it holds up the soul in all her wo,
That death, nor hell, nor any change doth fray.
Who walks in light knows whither he doth go;
Our God is light, we children of the day.
God is our strength and hope, what can us then dismay?

26

Goodnesse it self will do to us this good,
That godly souls may dwell with him for aye.
Will God forsake what of himself's belov'd?
What ever Lives may shrink into cold clay;
Yet good mens souls deaths hests shall not obey:
Where there's no incompossibility
Of things, Gods goodnesse needs must bear the sway.
You virtuous brood take't for sure verity,
Your souls shall not fall short of blest eternity.

181

26

But yet bold men with much perplexity
Will here object against this principle,
Heaping up reasons (strange fecundity
Of ignorance!) that goodly might to quell
Of my last argument, so fairly well
Set down, right strongly the unsettled spright
To have confirmed at my last far-well:
But contrair forces they bring into sight,
And proudly do provoke me with that rout to fight.

27

Whence was't, say they, that God the creature made
No sooner? why did infinite delay
Precede his work? should God his goodnesse staid
So long a time? why did he not display
From infinite years this out-created ray?
The mighty starres why not inhabited,
When God may souls proportion to their clay
As well as to this earth? why not dispred
The world withouten bounds, endlesse uncompassed?

28

Poore souls! why were they put into this cave
Of misery, if they can well exist
Without the body? Why will not God save
All mankind? His great wisdome if it list
Could so contrive that they'd at last desist
From sinning, fallen into some providence
That sternly might rebuke them that have mist
Their way, and work in them true penitence:
Thus might they turn to God with double diligence.

29

Why be not damned souls devoyd of sense,
If nothing can from wickednesse reclaime,
Rather then fry in pain and vehemence
Of searching agony? or why not frame
Another form, so with new shape and name
Again to turn to life? One centrall spright
Why may't not many forms in it contain,
Which may be wak'd by some magnetick might,
'Cording as is the matter upon which they light?

182

30

For when too severall kinds by Venus knit
Do cause a birth, from both the soul doth take
A tincture; but if free it were transmit
Uncloth'd with th'others seed, then it would make
One simple form; for then they could not slake
One th'others working. Why is the World still
Stark nought, through malice, or through blind mistake?
Why had the first-made-man such a loose will,
That his innumerous of-spring he should fouly spill.

31

Why was not this unlucky world dissolv'd
As soon as that unhappy Adam fell?
I itch till of this knot I be resolv'd:
So many myriads tumble down to hell,
Although partakers of Gods holy spell.
Beside, tis said, they that do not partake
Of Christian lore, for ever they must dwell
With cursed fiends, and burn in brimstone lake.
Such drery drad designes do make my heart to quake.

32

One of a multitude of myriads
Shall not be sav'd but broyl in scorching wo;
Innumerous mischiefs then to mischiefs addes
This worlds continuance if that be so:
Ill infinitely more then good doth grow.
So God would show much more benignity
If he the ribs of heaven about would strow,
Powder the earth; choke all vitality.
Call back the creature to its ancient nullity.

33

But thou who ere thou art that thus dost strive
With fierce assault my groundwork to subvert,
And boldly dost into Gods secrets dive,
Base fear my manly face no'te make m'avert.
In that odde question which thou first didst stert
I'll plainly prove thine incapacity
And force thy feeble feet back to revert,
That cannot climb so high a mystery.
I'll shew thee strange perplexed inconsistency.

183

34

Why was this world from all infinity
Not made? say'st thou: why? could it be so made
Say I. For well observe the sequency:
If this Out-world continually hath wade
Through a long long spun-time that never had
Beginning, then there as few circulings
Have been in the quick Moon as Saturn sad;
And still more plainly this clear truth to sing,
As many years as dayes or fleeting houres have been.

35

For things that we conceive are infinite,
One th'other no'te surpasse in quantity.
So I have prov'd with clear convincing light,
This world could never from infinity
Been made. Certain deficiency
Doth alwayes follow evolution:
Nought's infinite but tight eternity
Close thrust into it self: extension
That's infinite implies a contradiction.

36

So then for ought we know this world was made
So soon as such a Nature could exist;
And though that it continue, never fade,
Yet never will it be that that long twist
Of time prove infinite, though nere desist
From running still. But we may safely say
Time past compar'd with this long future list
Doth show as if the world but yesterday
Were made, and in due time Gods glory out may ray.

37

Then this short night and ignorant dull ages
Will quite be swallowed in oblivion;
And though this hope by many surly Sages
Be now derided, yet they'll all be gone
In a short time, like Bats and Owls yflone
At dayes approch. This will hap certainly
At this worlds shining conflagration.
Fayes, Satyrs, Goblins the night merrily
May spend, but ruddy Sol shall make them all to fly.

184

38

The roaring Lions and drad beasts of prey
Rule in the dark with pitious cruelty;
But harmlesse man is maister of the day,
Which doth his work in pure simplicity.
God blesse his honest usefull industry.
But pride and covetize, ambition,
Riot, revenge, self love, hypocrisie,
Contempt of goodnesse, forc'd opinion;
These and such like do breed the worlds confusion.

39

But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse
Seemeth to vaunt as in got victory,
And with puissant stroke the head to bruize
Of her stiffe foe, and daze his phantasie,
Captive his reason, dead each faculty:
Yet in her self so strong a force withstands
That of her self afraid, she'll not aby,
Nor keep the field. She'll fall by her own hand
As Ajax once laid Ajax dead upon the strand.

40

For thus her self by her own self's oppos'd;
The Heavens the Earth the universall Frame
Of living Nature God so soon disclos'd
As he could do, or she receive the same.
All times delay since that must turn to blame,
And what cannot he do that can be done?
And what might let but by th'all powerfull Name
Or Word of God, the Worlds Creation
More suddenly were made then mans swift thought can runne?

41

Wherefore that Heavenly Power or is as young
As this Worlds date; or else some needlesse space
Of time was spent, before the earth did clung
So close unto her self and seas embrace
Her hollow breast, and if that time surpasse
A finite number then infinity
Of years before this Worlds Creation passe.
So that the durance of the Deity
We must contract or strait his full Benignity.

185

42

But for the cradle of the Cretian Jove,
And guardians of his vagient Infancie
What sober man but sagely will reprove?
Or drown the noise of the fond Dactyli
By laughter loud? Dated Divinitie
Certes is but the dream of a drie braine
God maim'd in goodnesse, inconsistencie;
Wherefore my troubled mind is now in pain
Of a new birth, which this one Canto 'll not contain.

187

Democritus Platonissans,

OR AN ESSAY upon the INFINITY OF WORLDS out of Platonick Principles. Annexed To this second part of the Song of the SOUL, as an Appendix thereunto.

Αγαθος ην το παν τοδε ο συνιστας, αγαθω () ουδεις πει ουδενος ουδεποτε εγγινεται φθονος. Τουτου δ' ()τος ων παντα οπμαλιστα εβουληθη γεεαι ()πλησια αμ()δ. Plat.

Pythagoras Terram Planetam quendam esse censuit qui circa solem in centro mundi defixum converteretur. Pythagoram secuti sunt Philolaus, Seleucus, Cleanthes, &c. imò PLATO jam senex, ut narrat Theophrastus. Libert. Fromond. de Orbe terræ immobili.

191

'Gainst boundlesse time th'objections made,
And wast infinity
Of worlds, are with new reasons weigh'd,
Mens judgements are left free.

1

Hence, hence unhallowed ears & hearts more hard
Then winter clods fast froze with Northern wind.
But most of all, foul tongue I thee discard
That blamest all that thy dark strait'ned mind,
Cannot conceive: But that no blame thou find;
Whate're my pregnant Muse brings forth to light,
She'll not acknowledge to be of her kind,
Till Eagle-like she turn them to the sight
Of the eternall Word all deckt with glory bright.

2

Strange sights do straggle in my restlesse thoughts,
And lively form with orient colours clad
Walk in my boundlesse mind, as men ybrought
Into some spacious room, who when they've had
A turn or two, go out, although unbad.
All these I see and know, but entertain
None to my friend but who's most sober sad;
Although, the time my roof doth them contain
Their presence doth possesse me till they out again.

192

3

And thus possest, in silver trump I sound
Their guise, their shape, their gesture and array,
But as in silver trumpet nought is found
When once the piercing sound is past away,
(Though while the mighty blast therein did stay,
Its tearing noise so terribly did shrill,
That it the heavens did shake, and earth dismay)
As empty I of what my flowing quill
In heedlesse hast elswhere, or here, may hap to spill.

4

For 'tis of force and not of a set will.
Ne dare my wary mind afford assent
To what is plac'd above all mortall skill.
But yet our various thoughts to represent
Each gentle wight will deem of good intent.
Wherefore with leave th'infinitie I'll sing
Of Time, of Space: or without leave; I'm brent
With eagre rage, my heart for joy doth spring,
And all my spirits move with pleasant trembeling.

5

An inward triumph doth my soul up-heave
And spread abroad through endlesse 'spersed air.
My nimble mind this clammie clod doth leave,
And lightly stepping on from starre to starre
Swifter then lightning, passeth wide and farre,
Measuring th'unbounded Heavens and wastfull skie;
Ne ought she finds her passage to debarre,
For still the azure Orb as she draws nigh
Gives back, new stars appear, the worlds walls 'fore her flie.

6

For what can stand that is so badly staid?
Well may that fall whose ground-work is unsure.
And what hath wall'd the world but thoughts unweigh'd
In freer reason? That antiquate, secure,
And easie dull conceit of corporature,
Of matter, quantitie, and such like gear
Hath made this needlesse, thanklesse inclosure,
Which I in full disdain quite up will tear
And lay all ope, that as things are they may appear.

193

7

For other they appear from what they are
By reason that their Circulation
Cannot well represent entire from farre
Each portion of the Cuspis of the Cone
(Whose nature is elsewhere more clearly shown)
I mean each globe, whether of glaring light
Or else opake, of which the earth is one.
If circulation could them well transmit
Numbers infinite of each would strike our 'stonishd sight;

8

All in just bignesse and right colours dight.
But totall presence without all defect
'Longs onely to that Trinity by right,
Ahad, Æon, Psyche with all graces deckt,
Whose nature well this riddle will detect;
A circle whose circumference no where
Is circumscrib'd, whose Centre's each where set,
But the low Cusp's a figure circular,
Whose compasse is ybound, but centre's every where.

9

Wherefore who'll judge the limits of the world
By what appears unto our failing sight
Appeals to sense, reason down headlong hurld
Out of her throne by giddie vulgar might.
But here base senses dictates they will dight
With specious title of Philosophie,
And stiffly will contend their cause is right
From rotten rolls of school antiquity,
Who constantly denie corporall Infinitie.

10

But who can prove their corporalitie
Since matter which thereto's essentiall
If rightly sifted's but a phantasie.
And quantitie who's deem'd Originall
Is matter, must with matter likewise fall.
What ever is, is Life and Energie
From God, who is th'Originall of all;
Who being everywhere doth multiplie
His own broad shade that endlesse throughout all doth lie.

194

11

He from the last projection of light
Ycleep'd Shamajim, which is liquid fire
(It Æther eke and centrall Tasis hight)
Hath made each shining globe and clumperd mire
Of dimmer Orbs. For Nature doth inspire
Spermatick life, but of a different kind.
Hence those congenit splendour doth attire
And lively heat, these darknesse dead doth bind,
And without borrowed rayes they be both cold and blind.

12

All these be knots of th'universall stole
Of sacred Psyche; which at first was fine,
Pure, thin, and pervious till hid powers did pull
Together in severall points and did encline
The nearer parts in one clod to combine.
Those centrall spirits that the parts did draw
The measure of each globe did then define,
Made things impenetrable here below,
Gave colour, figure, motion, and each usuall law.

13

And what is done in this Terrestriall starre
The same is done in every Orb beside.
Each flaming Circle that we see from farre
Is but a knot in Psyches garment tide.
From that lax shadow cast throughout the wide
And endlesse world, that low'st projection
Of universall life each thing's deriv'd
What er'e appeareth in corporeall fashion;
For body's but this spirit, fixt, grosse by conspissation.

14

And that which doth conspissate active is;
Wherefore not matter but some living sprite
Of nimble nature which this lower mist
And immense field of Atoms doth excite,
And wake into such life as best doth fit
With his own self. As we change phantasies
The essence of our soul not chang'd a whit
So do these Atomes change their energies
Themselves unchanged into new Centreities.

195

15

And as our soul's not superficially
Colourd by phantasms, nor doth them reflect
As doth a looking-glasse such imag'rie
As it to the beholder doth detect:
No more are these lightly or smear'd or deckt
With form or motion which in them we see,
But from their inmost Centre they project
Their vitall rayes, not merely passive be,
But by occasion wak'd rouse up themselves on high.

16

So that they're life, form, sprite, not matter pure,
For matter pure is a pure nullitie,
What nought can act is nothing, I am sure;
And if all act, that is they'll not denie
But all that is is form: so easily
By what is true, and by what they embrace
For truth, their feigned Corporalitie
Will vanish into smoke, But on I'll passe,
More fully we have sung this in another place.

17

Wherefore more boldly now to represent
The nature of the world, how first things were
How now they are: This endlesse large Extent
Of lowest life (which I styled while ere
The Cuspis of the Cone that's every where)
Was first all dark, till in this spacious Hall
Hideous through silent horrour torches clear
And lamping lights bright shining over all
Were set up in due distances proportionall.

18

Innumerable numbers of fair Lamps
Were rightly ranged in this hollow hole,
To warm the world and chace the shady damps
Of immense darknesse, rend her pitchie stole
Into short rags more dustie dimme then coal.
Which pieces then in severall were cast
(Abhorred relicks of that vesture foul)
Upon the Globes that round those torches trac'd,
Which still fast on them stick for all they run so fast.

196

19

Such an one is that which mortall men call Night,
A little shred of that unbounded shade.
And such a Globe is that which Earth is hight;
By witlesse Wizzards the sole centre made
Of all the world, and on strong pillars staid.
And such a lamp or light is this our Sun,
Whose fiery beams the scorched Earth invade.
But infinite such as he, in heaven won,
And more then infinite Earths about those Suns do run;

20

And to speak out; though I detest the sect
Of Epicurus for their manners vile,
Yet what is true I may not well reject.
Truth's incorruptible, ne can the style
Of vitious pen her sacred worth defile.
If we no more of truth should deign t'embrace
Then what unworthy mouths did never soyle,
No truths at all 'mongst men would finden place
But make them speedy wings and back to Heaven apace.

21

I will not say our world is infinite,
But that infinity of worlds there be
The Centre of our world's the lively light
Of the warm sunne, the visible Deity
Of this externall Temple. Mercurie
Next plac'd and warm'd more throughly by his rayes,
Right nimbly 'bout his golden head doth fly:
Then Venus nothing slow about him strayes,
And next our Earth though seeming sad full sprightly playes.

22

And after her Mars rangeth in a round
With fiery locks and angry flaming eye,
And next to him mild Jupiter is found,
But Saturn cold wons in our outmost sky.
The skirts of his large Kingdome surely ly
Near to the confines of some other worlds
Whose Centres are the fixed starres on high,
'Bout which as their own proper Suns are hurld
Joves, Earths, and Saturns; round on their own axes twurld.

197

23

Little or nothing are those starres to us
Which in the azure Evening gay appear
(I mean for influence but judicious
Nature and carefull Providence her dear
And matchlesse work did so contrive whileere,
That th'Hearts or Centres in the wide world pight
Should such a distance each to other bear,
That the dull Planets with collated light
By neighbour suns might cheared be in dampish night.

24

And as the Planets in our world (of which
The sun's the heart and kernell) do receive
Their nightly light from suns that do enrich
Their sable mantle with bright gemmes, and give
A goodly splendour, and sad men relieve.
With their fair twinkling rayes, so our worlds sunne
Becomes a starre elsewhere, and doth derive
Joynt light with others, cheareth all that won
In those dim duskish Orbs round other suns that run.

25

This is the parergon of each noble fire
Of neighbour worlds to be nightly starre,
But their main work is vitall heat t'inspire
Into the frigid spheres that 'bout them fare,
Which of themselves quite dead and barren are
But by the wakening warmth of kindly dayes,
And the sweet dewie nights they well declare
Their seminall virtue, in due courses raise
Long hidden shapes and life, to their great Makers praise.

26

These with their suns I severall worlds do call,
Whereof the number I deem infinite:
Else infinite darknesse were in this great Hall
Of th'endlesse Universe; For nothing finite
Could put that immense shadow unto flight.
But if that infinite Suns we shall admit,
Then infinite worlds follow in reason right.
For every Sun with Planets must be fit,
And have some mark for his farre-shining shafts to hit.

198

27

But if he shine all solitarie, alone,
What mark is left? what aimed scope or end
Of his existence? wherefore every one
Hath a due number of dim Orbs that wend
Around their centrall fire. But wrath will rend
This strange composure back'd with reason stout.
And rasher tongues right speedily will spend
Their forward censure, that my wits run out
On wool-gathering, through infinite spaces all about.

28

What sober man will dare once to avouch
An infinite number of dispersed starres?
This one absurdity will make him crouch
And eat his words; Division nought impairs
The former whole, nor he augments that spares.
Strike every tenth out, that which doth remain,
An equall number with the former shares,
And let the tenth alone, th'whole nought doth gain,
For infinite to infinite is ever the same.

29

The tenth is infinite as the other nine,
Or else, nor they, nor all the ten entire
Are infinite. Thus one infinite doth adjoyn
Others unto it and still riseth higher.
And if those single lights hither aspire,
This strange prodigious inconsistency
Groweth still stranger, if each fixed fire
(I mean each starre) prove Suns and Planets flie
About their flaming heads amid the thronged skie.

30

For whatsoever that there number be
Whether by seavens, or eights, or fives, or nines,
They round each fixed lamp; Infinity
Will be redoubled thus by many times.
Besides each greater Planet th'attendance finds
Of lesser, Our Earths handmaid is the Moon,
Which to her darkned side right duly shines,
And Jove hath foure, as hath been said aboven,
And Saturn more then foure if the plain truth were known:

199

31

And if these globes be regions of life
And severall kinds of plants therein do grow,
Grasse, flowers, hearbs, trees, which the impartiall knife
Of all consuming Time still down doth mow,
And new again doth in succession show;
Which also's done in flies, birds, men and beasts;
Adde sand, pearls, pebbles, that the ground do strow,
Leaves, quills, hairs, thorns, blooms, you may think the rest
Their kinds by mortall penne cannot be well exprest:

32

And if their kinds no man may reckon well,
The summe of successive particulars
No mind conceive nor tongue can ever tell.
And yet this mist of numbers (as appears)
Belongs to one of these opacous sphears,
Suppose this Earth; what then will all those Rounds
Produce? No Atlas such a load upbears.
In this huge endlesse heap o'rewhelmed, drown'd,
Choak'd, stifled, lo! I lie, breathlesse, even quite confound.

33

Yet give me space a while but to respire,
And I my self shall fairly well out-wind;
Keep this position true, unhurt, entire,
That you no greater difficulty find
In this new old opinion here defin'd
Of infinite worlds, then one world doth imply.
For if we do with steddy patience mind
All is resolv'd int' one absurdity,
The grant of something greater then infinitie.

34

That God is infinite all men confesse,
And that the Creature is some realtie
Besides Gods self, though infinitely lesse.
Joyn now the world unto the Deity.
What? is there added no more entity
By this conjunction, then there was before?
Is the broad breasted earth? the spacious skie
Spangled with silver light, and burning Ore?
And the wide bellowing Seas, whose boyling billows roar,

200

35

Are all these nothing? But you will reply;
As is the question so we ought restrain
Our answer unto Corporeity.
But that that phantasie of the body's vain
I did before unto you maken plain.
But that no man depart unsatisfi'd
A while this Universe here will we feign
Corporeall, till we have gainly tride,
If ought that's bodily may infinite abide.

36

What makes a body saving quantity?
What quantitie unlesse extension?
Extension if, 't admit infinity
Bodies admit boundlesse dimension.
That some extension forward on doth run
Withouten limits, endlesse, infinite
Is plain from Space, that ever paceth on
Unstop'd, unstaid, till it have filled quite
That immense infinite Orb where God himself doth sit.

37

But yet more sensibly this truth to show
If space be ended set upon that end
Some strong arm'd Archer with his Parthian bow,
That from that place with speedy force may send
His fleeter shafts, and so still forward wend.
Where? When shall he want room his strength to trie?
But here perversly subtill you'l contend
Nothing can move in mere vacuity,
And space is nought, so not extended properly.

38

To solve these knots I must call down from high
Some heavenly help, feather with Angels wing
The sluggish arrow, If it will not flie,
Sent out from bow stiff-bent with even string,
Let Angels on their backs it thither bring
Where your free mind appointed had before,
And then hold on, till in your travelling
You be well wearied, finding ever more
Free passage for their flight, and what they flying bore:

201

39

Now to that shift that sayes Vacuity
Is nought, and therefore not at all extent
We answer thus: There is a distancy
In empty space, though we be well content
To balk that question (for we never meant
Such needlesse niceties) whether that it be
A reall being; yet that there's parts distent
One from another, no mans phantasie
Can e're reject if well he weigh't and warily.

40

For now conceive the air and azure skie
All swept away from Saturn to the Sunne,
Which eath is to be wrought by him on high.
Then in this place let all the Planets runne
(As erst they did before this feat was done)
If not by nature, yet by divine power,
Ne one hairs breadth their former circuite shun
And still for fuller proof, th'Astronomer
Observe their hights as in the empty heavens they scoure.

41

Will then their Parallaxes prove all one
Or none, or different still as before;
If so, their distances by mortall men
Must be acknowledg'd such as were of yore,
Measur'd by leagues, miles, stades nor lesse nor more
From circuit unto circuit shal be found
Then was before the sweeping of the floor.
That distance therefore hath most certain ground
In emptinesse we may conclude with reason sound.

42

If distance now so certainly attend
All emptinesse (as also mensuration
Attendeth distance) distance without end
Is wide disperst above imagination
(For emptinesse is void of limitation)
And this unbounded voidnesse doth admit
The least and greatest measures application;
The number thus of th'greatest that doth fit
This infinite void space is likewise infinite.

202

43

But what so e're that infinite number be,
A lesser measure will a number give
So farre exceeding in infinity
That number as this measure we conceive
To fall short of the other. But I'll leave
This present way and a new course will trie
Which at the same mark doth as fully drive
And with a great deal more facility.
Look on this endlesse Space as one whole quantity.

44

Which in your mind in't equall parts divide,
Tens, hundreds, thousands, or what pleaseth best.
Each part denominate doth still abide
An infinite portion, else not all the rest
Makes one infinitude.
For if one thousandth part may be defin'd
By finite measures eas'ly well exprest,
A myriad suppose of miles assign'd
Then to a thousand myriads is the whole confin'd.

45

Wherefore this wide and wast Vacuity,
Which endlesse is out stretched thorough all.
And lies even equall with the Deity,
Nor is a thing meerly imaginall,
(For it doth farre mens phantasies forestall
Nothing beholden to our devicefull thought)
This inf'nite voidnesse as much our mind doth gall,
And has as great perplexities ybrought
As if this empty space with bodies were yfraught.

46

Nor have we yet the face once to deny
But that it is, although we mind it not;
For all once minded such perplexity
It doth create to puzzled reason, that
She sayes and unsayes, do's she knows not what.
Why then should we the worlds infinity
Misdoubt, because when as we contemplate
Its nature, such strange inconsistency
And unexpected sequels, we therein descry?

203

47

Who dare gainsay but God is every where
Unbounded, measurelesse, all Infinite;
Yet the same difficulties meet us here
Which erst us met and did so sore affright
With their strange vizards. This will follow right
Where ever we admit Infinity
Every denominated part proves streight
A portion infinite, which if it be,
One infinite will into myriads multiply.

48

But with new argument to draw more near
Our purpos'd end. If God's omnipotent
And this omnipotent God be every where,
Where e're he is then can he eas'ly vent
His mighty virtue thorough all extent.
What then shall hinder but a roscid air
With gentle heat eachwhere be 'sperst and sprent
Unlesse omnipotent power we will empair,
And say that empty space his working can debarre

49

Where now this one supposed world is pight
Was not that space at first all vain and void?
Nor ought said; no, when he said, Let't be light.
VVas this one space better then all beside,
And more obedient to what God decreed?
Or would not all that endlesse Emptinesse
Gladly embrac'd (if he had ever tride)
His just command? and what might come to passe
Implies no contradictious inconsistentnesse.

50

VVherefore this precious sweet Ethereall dew
For ought we know, God each where did distill,
And thorough all that hollow Voidnesse threw
And the wide gaping drought therewith did fill,
His endlesse overflowing goodnesse spill
In every place; which streight he did contrive
Int' infinite severall worlds, as his best skill
Did him direct and creatures could receive:
For matter infinite needs infinite worlds must give.

204

51

The Centre of each severall world's a Sunne
With shining beams and kindly warming heat,
About whose radiant crown the Planets runne,
Like reeling moths around a candle light.
These all together, one world I conceit.
And that even infinite such worlds there be,
That inexhausted Good that God is hight
A full sufficient reason is to me,
Who simple Goodnesse make the highest Deity.

52

Als make himself the key of all his works
And eke the measure of his providence;
The piercing eye of truth to whom nought lurks
But lies wide ope unbar'd of all pretence.
But frozen hearts! away! flie farre from hence,
Unlesse you'l thaw at this celestiall fire
And melt into one mind and holy sense
With Him that doth all heavenly hearts inspire,
So may you with my soul in one assent conspire.

53

But what's within, uneath is to convey
To narrow vessels that are full afore.
And yet this truth as wisely as I may
I will insinuate, from senses store
Borrowing a little aid. Tell me therefore
When you behold with your admiring eyes
Heavens Canopie all to be spangled o're
With sprinkled stars, what can you well devize
Which causen may such carelesse order in the skies?

54

A peck of peasen rudely poured out
On plaister store, from hasty heedlesse hond
Which lie all carelesse scattered about,
To sight do in as seemly order stond,
As those fair glistering lights in heaven are found.
If onely for this world they were intended,
Nature would have adorn'd this azure Round
With better Art, and easily have mended
This harsh disord'red order, and more beauty lended.

205

55

But though these lights do seem so rudely throwen
And scattered throughout the spacious sky,
Yet each most seemely sits in his own Throne
In distance due and comely Majesty;
And round their lordly seats their servants high
Keeping a well-proportionated space
One from another, doing chearfully
Their daily task. No blemish may deface
The worlds in severall dekt with all art and grace:

56

But the appearance of the nightly starres
Is but the by-work of each neighbour sun;
Wherefore lesse marvell if it lightly shares
Of neater Art; and what proportion
Were fittest for to distance one from one
(Each world I mean from other) is not clear.
Wherefore it must remain as yet unknown
Why such perplexed distances appear
Mongst the dispersed lights in Heaven thrown here and there.

57

Again, that eminent similitude
Betwixt the starres and Phœbus fixed light,
They being both with steddinesse indu'd
No whit removing whence they first were pight
No serious man will count a reason slight
To prove them both, both fixed suns and stars
And Centres all of severall worlds by right,
For right it is that none a sun debarre
Of Planets which his just and due retinue are.

58

If starrs be merely starres not centrall lights
Why swell they into so huge bignesses?
For many (as Astronomers do write)
Our sun in bignesse many times surpasse.
If both their number and their bulks were lesse
Yet lower placed, light and influence
Would flow as powerfully, & the bosome presse
Of the impregned Earth, that fruit from hence
As fully would arise, and lordly affluence.

206

59

Wherefore these fixed Fires mainly attend
Their proper charge in their own Universe,
And onely by the by of court'sie lend
Light to our world, as our world doth reverse
His thankful rayes so far as he can pierce
Back unto other worlds. But farre aboven
Further then furthest thought of man can traverse,
Still are new worlds aboven and still aboven,
In th'endlesse hollow Heaven, and each world hath his Sun.

60

An hint of this we have in winter-nights,
When reason may see clearer then our eye,
Small subtil starres appear unto our sights
As thick as pin-dust scattered in the skie.
Here we accuse our seeing facultie
Of weaknesse, and our sense of foul deceit,
We do accuse and yet we know not why.
But the plain truth is, from a vaster hight
The numerous upper worlds amaze our dazzled sight.

61

Now sith so sarre as sense can ever try
We find new worlds, that still new worlds there be;
And round about in infinite numbers lie,
Further then reach of mans weak phantasie
(Without suspition of temerity)
We may conclude; as well as men conclude
That there is air farre 'bove the mountains high,
Or that th'Earth a sad substance doth include
Even to the Centre with like qualities indu'd.

62

For who did ever the Earths Centre pierce,
And felt or sand or gravell with his spade
At such a depth? what Histories rehearse
That ever wight did dare for to invade
Her bowels but one mile in dampish shade?
Yet I'll be bold to say that few or none
But deem this globe even to the bottome made
Of solid earth, and that her nature's one
Throughout, though plain experience hath it never shown.

207

63

But sith sad earth so farre as they have gone
They still descry, eas'ly they do inferre
Without all check of reason, were they down
Never so deep, like substance would appear,
Ne dream of any hollow horrour there.
My mind with like uncurb'd facility
Concludes from what by sight is seen so clear:
That ther's no barren wast vacuity
Above the worlds we see, but still new worlds there ly,

64

And still and still even to infinity.
Which point since I so fitly have propos'd,
Abating well the inconsistency
Of harsh infinitu de therein suppos'd
And prov'd by reasons never to be loos'd
That infinite space and infinite worlds there be;
This load laid down, I'm freely now dispos'd
A while to sing of times infinity;
May infinite Time afford me but his smallest fee.

65

For smallest fee of time will serve my turn
This part for to dispatch, sith endlesse space
(Whose perplext nature well mans brains might turn,
And weary wits disorder and misplace)
I have already passed: for like case
Is in them both. He that can well untie
The knots that in those infinite worlds found place,
May easily answer each perplexity
Of these worlds infinite matters endlesse durancie.

66

The Cuspis and the Basis of the Cone
Were both at once dispersed every where;
But the pure Basis that is God alone:
Else would remotest sights as big appear
Unto our eyes as if we stood them near.
And if an Harper harped in the Moon,
His silver sound would touch our tickled ear:
Or if one hollowed from highest Heaven aboven,
In sweet still Evening-tide, his voice would hither roame.

208

67

This all would be if the Cuspe of the Cone
Were very God. Wherefore I rightly 't deem
Onely a Creaturall projection,
Which flowing yet from God hath ever been,
Fill'd the vast empty space with its large streem.
But yet it is not totall every where
As was even now by reason rightly seen:
Wherefore not God, whose nature doth appear
Entirely omnipresent, weigh'd with judgement clear.

68

A reall infinite matter, distinct
And yet proceeding from the Deitie
Although with different form as then untinct
Has ever been from all Eternity.
Now what delay can we suppose to be,
Since matter alway was at hand prepar'd
Before the filling of the boundlesse sky
With framed Worlds; for nought at all debar'd.
Nor was His strength ungrown, nor was His strength empair'd.

69

How long would God be forming of a fly?
Or the small wandring moats that play in th'sun?
Least moment well will serve none can deny,
His Fiat spoke and streight the thing is done.
And cannot He make all the World as soon?
For in each Atom of the matter wide
The totall Deity doth entirely won,
His infinite presence doth therein reside,
And in this presence infinite powers do ever abide.

70

VVherefore at once from all eternity
The infinite number of these VVorlds He made,
And will conserve to all infinitie,
And still drive on their ever moving trade,
And steddy hold what ever must be staid;
Ne must one mite be minish'd of the summe,
Ne must the smallest atom ever fade,
But still remain though it may change its room;
This truth abideth strong from everlasting doom.

209

71

Ne fear I what hard sequel after-wit
Will draw upon me; that the number's one
Of years, moneths, dayes, houres, and of minutes fleet
Which from eternitie have still run on.
I plainly did confesse awhile agone
That be it what it will that's infinite
More infinites will follow thereupon,
But that all infinites do justly fit
And equall be, my reason did not yet admit.

72

But as my emboldened mind, I know not how,
In empty Space and pregnant Deitie
Endlesse infinitude dares to allow,
Though it begets the like perplexitie:
So now my soul drunk with Diuinitie,
And born away above her usuall bounds
With confidence concludes infinitie
Of Time of Worlds, of firie flaming Rounds;
Which sight in sober mood my spirits quite confounds.

73

And now I do awhile but interspire
A torrent of objections 'gainst me beat,
My boldnesse to represse and strength to tire.
But I will wipe them off like summer sweat,
And make their streams streight back again retreat.
If that these worlds, say they, were ever made
From infinite time, how comes't to passe that yet
Art is not perfected, nor metalls fade,
Nor mines of grimie coal low-hid in griefly shade.

74

But the remembrance of the ancient Floud
With ease will wash such arguments away.
Wherefore with greater might I am withstood.
The strongest stroke wherewith they can assay
To vanquish me is this; The Date or Day
Of the created World, which all admit;
Nor may my modest Muse this truth gainsay
In holy Oracles so plainly writ.
Wherefore the Worlds continuance is not infinite.

210

75

Now lend me, Origen! a little wit
This sturdy stroke right fairly to avoid,
Lest that my rasher rhymes, while they ill fit
With Moses pen, men justly may deride
And well accuse of ignorance or pride.
But thou, O holy Sage! with piercing sight
Who readst those sacred rolls, and hast well tride
With searching eye thereto what fitteth right,
Thy self of former Worlds right learnedly dost write:

76

To weet that long ago there Earths have been
Peopled with men and beasts before this Earth,
And after this shall others be again
And other beasts and other humane birth.
Which once admit, no strength that reason bear'th
Of this worlds Date and Adams efformation,
Another Adam once received breath
And still another in endlesse repedation,
And this must perish once by finall conflagration.

77

Witnesse ye Heavens if what I say's not true,
Ye flaming Comets wandering on high,
And new fixt starres found in that Circle blue,
The one espide in glittering Cassiopie,
The other near to Ophiuchus thigh.
Both bigger then the biggest starres that are,
And yet as farre remov'd from mortall eye
As are the furthest, so those Arts declare
Unto whose reaching sight Heavens mysteries lie bare.

78

Wherefore these new-seen lights were greater once
By many thousand times then this our sphear
Wherein we live, 'twixt good and evil chance.
Which to my musing mind doth strange appear
If those large bodies then first shaped were.
For should so goodly things so soon decay?
Neither did last the full space of two year.
Wherefore I cannot deem that their first day
Of being, when to us they sent out shining ray.

211

79

But that they were created both of old,
And each in his due time did fair display
Themselves in radiant locks more bright then gold,
Or silver sheen purg'd from all drossie clay.
But how they could themselves in this array
Expose to humane sight who did before
Lie hid, is that which well amazen may
The wisest man and puzzle evermore.
Yet my unwearied thoughts this search could not give o're.

80

Which when I'd exercis'd in long pursuit
To finden out what might the best agree
With wary reason, at last I did conclude
That there's no better probability
Can be produc'd of that strange prodigie,
But that some mighty Planet that doth run
About some fixed starre in Cassiopie
As Saturn paceth round about our Sun,
Unusuall light and bignesse by strange fate had wonne.

81

Which I conceive no gainer way is done
Then by the seazing of devouring fire
On that dark Orb, which 'fore but dimly shone
With borrowed light, not lightened entire,
But halfed like the Moon.
And while the busie flame did siez throughout,
And search the bowels of the lowest mire
Of that Saturnian Earth; a mist broke out,
And immense mounting smoke arose all round about.

82

Which being gilded with the piercing rayes
Of its own sun and every neighbour starre,
It soon appear'd with shining silver blaze,
And then gan first be seen of men from farre.
Besides that firie flame that was so narre
The Planets self, which greedily did eat
The wastning mold, did contribute a share
Unto this brightnesse; and what I conceit
Of this starre doth with that of Ophiuchus fit.

212

83

And like I would adventure to pronounce
Of all the Comets that above the Moon,
Amidst the higher Planets rudely dance
In course perplex, but that from this rash doom
I'm bet off by their beards and tails farre strown
Along the skie, pointing still opposite
Unto the sunne, however they may roam;
Wherefore a cluster of small starres unite
These Meteors some do deem, perhaps with judgement right.

84

And that their tayls are streams of the suns light
Breaking through their near bodies as through clouds.
Besides the Optick glasse has shown to sight
The dissolution of these starrie crouds.
Which thing if't once be granted and allow'd,
I think without all contradiction
They may conclude these Meteors are routs
Of wandering starres, which though they one by one
Cannot be seen, yet joyn'd cause this strange vision.

85

And yet methinks, in my devicefull mind
Some reasons that may happily represse
These arguments it's not uneath to find.
For how can the suns rayes that be transmisse
Through these loose knots in Comets, well expresse
Their beards or curld tayls utmost incurvation?
Beside, the conflux and congeries
Of lesser lights a double augmentation
Implies, and 'twixt them both a lessening coarctation.

86

For when as once these starres are come so nigh
As to seem one, the Comet must appear
In biggest show, because more loose they lie
Somewhat spread out, but as they draw more near
The compasse of his head away must wear,
Till he be brought to his least magnitude;
And then they passing crosse, he doth repair
Himself, and still from his last losse renew'd
Grows till he reach the measure which we first had view'd.

213

87

And then farre distanc'd they bid quite adiew,
Each holding on in solitude his way.
Ne any footsteps in the empty Blew
Is to be found of that farre-shining ray.
Which processe sith no man did yet bewray,
It seems unlikely that the Comets be
Synods of starres that in wide Heaven stray:
Their smallnesse eke and numerositie
Encreaseth doubt and lessens probabilitie.

88

A cluster of them makes not half a Moon,
What should such tennis-balls do in the skie?
And few'll not figure out the fashion
Of those round firie Meteors on high.
Ne ought their beards much move us, that do lie
Ever cast forward from the Morning sunne,
Nor back cast tayls turn'd to our Evening-eye,
That fair appear when as the day is done.
This matter may lie hid in the starres shadowed Cone,

89

For in these Planets conflagration,
Although the smoke mount up exactly round,
Yet by the suns irradiation
Made thin and subtil no where else its found
By sight, save in the dim and duskish bound
Of the projected Pyramid opake,
Opake with darknesse, smoke and mists unsound
Yet gilded like a foggie cloud doth make
Reflexion of fair light that doth our senses take.

90

This is the reason of that constant site
Of Comets tayls and beards: And that their show's
Not pure Pyramidall, nor their ends seem streight
But bow'd like brooms, is from the winds that blow,
I mean Ethereall winds, such as below,
Men finden under th'Equinoctiall line.
Their widend beards this aire so broad doth strow
Incurvate, and or more or lesse decline:
If not let sharper wits more subtly here divine.

214

91

But that experiment of the Optick glasse
The greatest argument of all I deem,
Ne can I well encounter nor let passe
So strong a reason if I may esteem
The feat withouten fallacie to been,
Nor judge these little sparks and subtile lights
Some ancient fixed starres though now first seen,
That near the ruin'd Comets place were pight,
On which that Optick instrument by chance did light

92

Nor finally an uncouth after-sport
Of th'immense vapours that the searching fire
Had boyled out, which now themselves consort
In severall parts and closely do conspire,
Clumper'd in balls of clouds and globes entire
Of crudled smoke and heavy clunging mists;
Which when they've stayed a while at last expire;
But while they stay any may see that lists
So be that Optick Art his naturall sight assists.

93

If none of these wayes I may well decline
The urging weight of this hard argument,
Worst is but parting stakes and thus define:
Some Comets be but single Planets brent,
Others a synod joyn'd in due consent:
And that no new found Meteors they are,
Ne further may my wary mind assent
From one single experience solitaire,
Till all-discovering Time shall further truth declare.

94

But for the new fixt starres there's no pretence,
Nor beard nor tail to take occasion by,
To bring in that unluckie inference
Which weaken might this new built mysterie.
Certes in raging fire they both did frie.
A signe whereof you rightly may aread
Their colours changeable varietie,
First clear and white, then yellow, after red,
Then blewly pale, then duller still, till perfect dead.

215

95

And as the order of these colours went,
So still decreas'd that Cassiopean starre,
Till at the length to sight it was quite spent:
Which observations strong reasons are,
Consuming fire its body did empare
And turn to ashes. And the like will be
In all the darksome Planets wide and farre.
Ne can our Earth from this state standen free
A Planet as the rest, and Planets fate must trie.

96

Ne let the tender heart too harshly deem
Of this rude sentence: for what rigour more
Is in consuming fire then drowning stream
Of Noahs floud which all creatures chok'd of yore,
Saving those few that were kept safe in store
In that well builded ship? All else beside
Men, birds, and beasts, the lion, buck, and bore
Dogs, kine, sheep, horses all that did abide
Upon the spacious Earth, perish'd in waters wide.

97

Nor let the slow and misbelieving wight
Doubt how the fire on the hard earth may seize;
No more then how those waters earst did light
Upon the sinfull world. For as the seas
Boyling with swelling waves aloft did rise,
And met with mighty showers and pouring rain
From Heavens spoues, so the broad flashing skies
With brimstone thick and clouds of fiery bain
Shall meet with raging Etna's and Vesuvius flame.

98

The burning bowels of this wasting ball
Shall gullup up great flakes of rolling fire,
And belch out pitchie flames, till over all
Having long rag'd, Vulcan himself shall tire
And (th'earth an asheap made) shall then expire:
Here Nature laid asleep in her own Urn
With gentle rest right easly will respire,
Till to her pristine task she do return
As fresh as Phenix young under th'Arabian Morn.

216

99

O happy they that then the first are born,
While yet the world is in her vernall pride:
For old corruption quite away is worn
As metall pure so is her mold well tride.
Sweet dews, cool breathing airs, and spaces wide
Of precious spicery wafted with soft wind:
Fair comely bodies goodly beautfi'd
Snow-limb'd, rose-cheek'd, ruby-lip'd, pearl-ted, star-eyn'd.
Their parts each fair in fit proportion all combin'd.

100

For all the while her purged ashes rest
These relicks dry suck in the heavenly dew,
And roscid Manna rains upon her breast,
And fills with sacred milk sweet fresh and new,
Where all take life and doth the world renew;
And then renew'd with pleasure be yfed.
A green soft mantle doth her bosome strew
With fragrant herbs and flowers embellished,
Where without fault or shame all living creatures bed.

101

Ne ought we doubt how Nature may recover
In her own ashes long time buried.
For nought can ever consume that centrall power
Of hid spermatick life, which lies not dead
In that rude heap, but safely covered;
And doth by secret force suck from above
Sweet heavenly juice, and therewith nourished
Till her just bulk, she doth her life emprove,
Made mother of much children that about her move.

102

Witnesse that uncouth bird of Arabie
Which out of her own ruines doth revive
With all th'exploits of skilfull Chymistrie,
Such as no vulgar wit can well believe.
Let universall Nature witnesse give
That what I sing's no feigned forgerie.
A needlesse task new fables to contrive,
But what I sing is seemly verity
Well suting with right reason and Philosophie.

217

103

But the fit time of this mutation
No man can finden out with all his pains.
For the small sphears of humane reason run
Too swift within his narrow compast brains.
But that vast Orb of Providence contains
A wider period; turneth still and slow.
Yet at the last his aimed end he gains.
And sure at last a fire will overflow
The aged Earth, and all must into ashes go.

104

Then all the stately works and monuments
Built on this bottome shall to ruine fall.
And all those goodly Statues shall be brent
Which were erect to the memoriall
Of Kings, and Kæsars, ne may better 'fall
The boastfull works of brave Poetick pride
That promise life and fame perpetuall;
Ne better fate may these poore lines abide.
Betide what will to what may live no lenger tide!

105

This is the course that never-dying Nature
Might ever hold from all Eternitie
Renuing still the faint decayed creature
Which would grow stark and drie as aged tree,
Unlesse by wise preventing Destinie
She were at certain periods of years
Reduced back unto her Infancie,
Which well fram'd argument (as plainly appears)
My ship from those hard rocks and shelves right safely stears.

106

Lo! now my faithfull muse hath represented
Both frames of Providence to open view,
And hath each point in orient colours painted
Not to deceive the sight with seeming shew
But earnest to give either part their due;
Nor urging th'uncouth strange perplexitie
Of infinite worlds and Time, then of a new
Softening that harsher inconsistency
To fit the immense goodnesse of the Deity.

218

107

And here by curious men't may be expected
That I this knot with judgement grave decide,
And then proceed to what else was objected.
But, ah! What mortall wit may dare t'areed
Heavens counsels in eternall horrour hid?
And Cynthius pulls me by my tender ear,
Such signes I must observe with wary heed:
Wherefore my restlesse Muse at length forbear.
Thy silver sounded Lute hang up in silence here.

3. ANTIPSYCHOPANNYCHIA

OR The third Book of the song of the SOUL: Containing a Confutation of the sleep of the Soul after death.

Το () της αιησεως, ψυχης εστιν ευδουσης. Οσον γαρ () σωματε ψυχης, τουτο ευδει, η () αληθινη εγρηγορσις, αληθινη απο σωματος, ου μετα σωματος αναστασις, Plotin. Ennead. 3.

Εγω ειμι η αναστασις και η ζωη. Ο πιστευων εις εμε καν αποθανη ζησε: () πας ο ζων () πιστευων εις εμε, ου μη αποθανη εις τον αιωνα, John 11.

219

Cant. 1.

Adams long sleep, will, mind compar'd
With low vitality,
The fondnesse plainly have unbar'd
Of Psychopannychie.

1

The souls ever durancy I sung before,
Ystruck with mighty rage. A powerfull fire
Held up my lively Muse and made her soar
So high that mortall wit, I fear, she'll tire
To trace her. Then a while I did respire.
But now my beating veins new force again
Invades, and holy fury doth inspire.
Thus stirred up I'll adde a second strain,
Lest, what afore was said may seem all spoke in vain.

2

For sure in vain do humane souls exist
After this life, if lull'd in listlesse sleep
They senselesse lie wrapt in eternal mist,
Bound up in foggy clouds, that ever weep
Benumming tears, and the souls centre steep
With deading liquour, that she never minds
Or feeleth ought. Thus drench'd in Lethe deep,
Nor misseth she her self, nor seeks nor finds
Her self. This mirksome state all the souls actions binds.

220

3

Desire, fear, love, joy, sorrow, pleasure, pain,
Sense, phancy, wit, forecasting providence,
Delight in God, and what with sleepy brain
Might sute, slight dreams, all banish'd farre from hence.
Nor pricking nor applauding conscience
Can wake the soul from this dull Lethargie;
That 'twixt this sleepy state small difference
You'll find and that men call Mortality.
Plain death's as good as such a Psychopannychie.

4

What profiteth this bare existency,
If I perceive not that I do exist?
Nought longs to such, nor mirth nor misery
Such stupid beings write into one list
With stocks and stones. But they do not persist,
You'll say, in this dull dead condition.
But must revive, shake off this drowsie mist
At that last shrill loud-sounding clarion
Which cleaves the trembling earth, rives monuments of stone:

5

Has then old Adam snorted all this time
Under some senselesse sod with sleep ydead?
And have those flames, that steep Olympus climbe
Right nimbly wheeled or'e his heedlesse head
So oft, in heaps of years low buried:
And yet can ken himself when he shall rise
Wakend by piercing trump, that farre doth shed
Its searching sound? If we our memories
And wit do lose by sicknesse, falls, sloth, lethargies;

6

If all our childhood quite be waste away
With its impressions, so that we forget
What once we were, so soon as age doth sway
Our bowed backs, sure when base worms have eat
His mouldring brains, and spirits have retreat
From whence they came, spread in the common fire,
And many thousand sloping sunnes have set
Since his last fall into his ancient mire,
How he will ken himself reason may well admire:

221

7

For he must know himself by some impression
Left in his ancient body unwash'd out,
Which seemeth strange. For can so long succession
Of sliding years that great Colosses mought
Well moulder into dust, spare things ywrought
So slightly as light phantasms in our brain,
Which oft one yeare or moneth have wrenched out
And left no footsteps of that former stain,
No more then's of a cloud quite melted into rain?

8

And shall not such long series of time,
When Nature hath dispread our vitall spright
And turn'd our body to its ancient slime,
Quite wash away what ever was empight
In that our spirit? If flesh and soul unite
Lose such impressions, as were once deep seald
And fairly glistered like to comets bright
In our blew Chaos, if the soul congeald
With her own body lose these forms as I reveald,

9

Then so long time of their disjunction
(The body being into dust contract,
The spright diffus'd, spread by dispersion)
And such Lethean sleep that doth contract
The souls hid rayes that it did nothing act
Must certainly wipe all these forms away
That sense or phansie ever had impact.
So that old Adam will in vain assay
To find who here he was, he'll have no memorie.

10

Nor can he tell that ere he was before:
And if not tell, he's as if then first born.
If as first born, his former life's no store.
Yet when men wake they find themselves at morn.
But if their memory away were worn
With one nights sleep, as much as doth respect
Themselves, these men they never were beforn,
This day's their birth-day: they cannot conject
They ever liv'd till now, much lesse the same detect.

222

11

So when a man goes hence, thus may he say,
As much as me concerns I die now quite.
Adiew, good self! for now thou goest away,
Nor can I possibly thee ever meet
Again, nor ken thy face, nor kindly greet.
Sleep and dispersion spoyls our memory.
So my dear self henceforth I cannot weet.
Wherefore to me it's perfectly to die,
Though subtiler Wits do call't but Psychopannychie.

12

Go now you Psychopannychites! perswade
To comely virtues and pure piety
From hope of ioy, or fear of penance sad.
Men promptly may make answer, Who shall try
That pain or pleasure? When death my dim eye
Shall close, I sleep not sensible of ought:
And tract of time at least all memory
Will quite debarre, that reacquainten mought
My self with mine own self, if so my self I sought.

13

But I shall neither seek my self, nor find
My self unsought: Therefore not deprehend
My self in joy or wo. Men ought to mind
What longs unto them. But when once an end
Is put unto this life, and fate doth rend
Our retinence; what follows nought at all
Belongs to us: what need I to contend,
And my frail spright with present pain to gall
For what I nere shall judge my self did ere befall;

14

This is the uncouth state of sleeping soul,
Thus weak of her own self without the prop
Of the base body, that she no'te out-roll
Her vitall raies: those raies Death down doth lop,
And all her goodly beauty quite doth crop
With his black claws. Wisdome, love, piety,
Are straight dried up: Death doth their fountain stop,
This is those sleepers dull Philosophy,
Which fairly men invites to foul impiety.

223

15

But if we grant, which in my former song
I plainly prov'd, that the souls energie
Pends not on this base corse, but that self-strong
She by her self can work, then when we fly
The bodies commerce, no man can deny
But that there is no interruption
Of life; where will puts on, there doth she hie
Or if she's carried by coaction.
That force yet she observes by presse adversion.

16

And with most lively touch doth feel and find
Her self. For either what she most doth love
She then obtains; or else with crosse, unkind
Contrary life since her decease th'hath strove,
That keeps her wake, and with like might doth move
To think upon her self, and in what plight
She's fallen. And nothing able to remove
Deep searching vengeance, groans in this sad Night,
And rores, and raves, and storms, and with her self doth fight.

17

But hearty love of that great vitall spright,
The sacred fount of holy sympathy;
Prepares the soul with its deep quickning might
To leave the bodies vain mortality
Away she flies into Eternity,
Finds full accomplishment of her desire;
Each thing would reach its own centrality:
So Earth with Earth, and Moon with Moon conspire.
Our selves live most, when most we feed our Centrall fire.

18

Thus is the soul continually in life
Withouten interruption, if that she
Can operate after the fatall knife
Hath cut the cords of lower sympathy:
Which she can do, if that some energie
She exercise (immur'd in this base clay)
Which on frail flesh hath no dependency,
For then the like she'll do, that done away.
These independent acts, tis time now to display.

224

19

All comprehending Will, proportionate
To whatsoever shall fall by Gods decree
Or prudent sufferance, sweetly spread, dilate,
Stretch'd out t'embrace each act or entity
That creep from hidden cause that none can see
With outward eyes. Next Intellect, whose hight
Of working's then, when as it stands most free
From sense and grosser phansie, deep empight
In this vild corse, which to purg'd minds yields small delight.

20

Both Will and Intellect then worketh best,
When Sense and Appetite be consopite,
And grosser phansie lull'd in silent rest:
Then Will grown full with a mild heavenly light
Shines forth with goodly mentall rayes bedight,
And finds and feels such things as never pen
Can setten down, so that unexpert wight
May reade and understand. Experienc'd men
Do onely know who like impressions sustain:

21

So far's the Soul from a dependency
(In these high actions) on the body base.
And further signe is want of memory
Of these impressions wrought in heavenly place,
I mean the holy Intellect: they passe
Leaving no footsteps of their former light,
When as the soul from thence descended has.
Which is a signe those forms be not empight
In our low proper Chaos or Corporeall spright.

22

For then when we our mind do downward bend
Like things we here should find: but all is gone
Soon as our flagging souls so low descend
As that straight spright. Like torch that droppeth down
From some high tower, held steddy clearly shone,
But in its fall leaves all its light behind,
Lies now in darknesse on the grail, or stone,
Or dirty earth: That erst so fully shin'd,
Within a glowing coal hath now its light confin'd.

225

23

So doth the soul when from high Intellect
To groveling sense she takes her stooping flight,
Falling into her body, quite neglect,
Forget, forgo her former glorious sight.
Grosse glowing fire for that wide shining light;
For purest love, foul fury and base passion;
For clearest knowledge, fell contentious fight
Sprong from some scorching false inust impression
Which she'll call truth, she gains. O witlesse Commutation!

24

But still more clear her independent might
In understanding and pure subtile will
To prove: I will assay t'explain aright
The difference ('ccording to my best skill)
'Twixt these and those base faculties that well
From union with the low consistency
Of this Out-world, that when my curious quill,
Hath well describ'd their great disparity,
To th'highest we may give an independency.

25

The faculties we deem corporeall,
And bound unto this earthy instrument
(So bound that they no'te operate at all
Without the body there immerse and meint)
Be hearing, feeling, tasting, sight, and sent.
Adde lower phansie, Mundane memory:
Those powers be all or more or lesse ypent
In this grosse life: We'll first their property
Set down, and then the others contrariety.

26

This might perceives not its own instrument.
The taste discovers not the spungy tongue;
Nor is the Mundane spright (through all extent)
From whence are sense and lower phansie sprong
Perceived by the best of all among
These learned Five, nor yet by phantasie:
Nor doth or this or those so nearly throng
Unto themselves as by propinquity
To apprehend themselves. They no'te themselves descry;

226

27

Nor e're learn what their own impressions be.
The mind held somewhere else in open sight,
What ever lies, unknown unto the eye
It lies, though there its image be empight,
Till that our soul look on that image right.
Wherefore themselves the senses do not know,
Nor doth our phansie; for each furious wight
Hath phansie full enough, so full't doth show
As sense; nor he, nor's phansie doth that phansie know.

28

Age, potent objects, too long exercise
Do weaken, hurt, and much debilitate
Those lower faculties. The Sun our eyes
Confounds with dazeling beams of light so that
For a good while we cannot contemplate
Ought visible: thus thunder deafs the eare,
And age hurts both, that doth quite ruinate
Our sense and phansie: so if long we heare
Or see, 't sounds not so sweet, nor can we see so clear.

29

Lastly, the Senses reach but to one kind
Of things. The eye sees colours, so the eare
Hears sounds, the nostrills snuff perfumed wind;
What grosse impressions the out-senses bear
The phansie represents, sometimes it dare
Make unseen shapes, with uncouth transformation,
Such things as never in true Nature are.
But all this while the phansies operation
To laws bodily is bound: such is her figuration.

30

This is the nature of those faculties
That of the lower Mundane spright depend.
But in our Intellect farre otherwise
We'st see it, if we pressely will attend
And trace the parallels unto the end.
There's no self-knowledge. Here the soul doth find
Her self. If so, then without instrument.
For what more fit to show our inward mind
Then our own mind? But if't be otherwise defin'd;

227

31

Then tell me, Knows she that fit instrument?
If she kens not that instrument, how can
She judge, whether truely it doth represent
Her self? there may be foul delusion.
But if she kens this Organ; straight upon
This grant, I'll ask how kens she this same tole?
What? by another? by what that? so go on
Till to infinity you forward roll,
An horrid monster count in Philosophick school.

32

The soul then works by 't self, and is self-liv'd,
Sith that it acts without an instrument:
Free motions from her own self deriv'd
Flow round. But to go on. The eyes yblent
Do blink even blind with objects vehement,
So that till they themselves do well recure
Lesse matters they no'te see. But rayes down sent
From higher sourse the mind doth maken pure,
Do clear, do subtilize, do fix, do settle sure.

33

That if so be she list to bend her will
To lesser matters, she would it perform
More excellently with more art and skill:
Nor by long exercise her strength is worn;
Witnesse wise Socrates, from morn to morn
That stood as stiff as any trunck of tree:
What eye could bear in contemplation
So long a fix'dnesse, none so long could see,
Its watery tears would wail its frail infirmity.

34

Nor feeble eld, sure harbinger of death,
Doth hinder the free work of th'Intellect.
When th'eye growes dim and dark that it unneath
Can see through age, the mind then close collect
Into her self, such mysteries doth detect
By her far-piercing beams, that youthfull heat
Doth count them folly and with scorn neglect,
His ignorance concludes them but deceit;
He hears not that still voyce, his pulse so loud doth beat.

228

35

Lastly sense, phansie, though they be confin'd
To certain objects, which to severall
Belong; yet sure the Intellect or mind
Apprehends all objects, both corporeall,
As colours, sounds; and incorporeall,
As virtue, wisdome, and the higher spright,
Gods love and beauty intellectuall;
So that its plain that she is higher pight
Then in all acts to pend on any earthly might:

36

If will and appetite we list compare,
Like difference we easly their discover,
This pent, contract, yfraught with furious jar
And fierce antipathy. It boyleth over
With fell revenge; or if new chance to cover
The former passion; Suppose lust or fear:
Yet all are tumults, but the will doth hover
No whit enslav'd to what she findeth here,
But in a free suspence her self doth nimbly bear.

37

Mild, gentle, calm, quick, large, subtill, serene,
These be her properties which do increase
The more that vigour in the bodies vein
Doth waste and waxen faint. Desires decrease
When age the Mundane spright doth more release
From this straight mansion. But the will doth flower
And fairly spread, near to our last decease
Embraceth God with much more life and power
Then ever she could do in her fresh vernall hower.

38

Wherefore I think we safely may conclude
That Will and Intellect do not rely
Upon the body, sith they are indew'd
With such apparent contrariety
Of qualities to sense and phantasie,
Which plainly on the body do depend:
So that departed souls may phantasms free
Full well exert, when they have made an end
Of this vain life, nor need to Lethe Lake descend.

229

Cant. 2.

Bondage and freedom's here set out
By an inverted Cone:
The self-form'd soul may work without
Incorporation.

1

Fountain of beings! the vast deep abysse
Of Life and Love and penetrating Will,
That breaks through narrow Night & so transmiss
At last doth find it self! What mortall skill
Can reach this mystery? my trembling quill
Much lesse may set it forth; yet as I may
I must attempt this task for to fulfill.
He guide my pen while I this work assay
Who All, through all himself doth infinitely display.

2

My end's loose largenesse and full liberty
To finden out; Most precious thing I ween.
When centrall life her outgone energy
Doth spreaden forth, unsneep'd by foe-man keen,
And like unclouded Sunne doth freely shine;
This is right Liberty, whose first Idee
And measure is that holy root divine
Of all free life, hight Ahad, Unitie:
In all things He at once is present totally.

230

3

Each totall presence must be infinite:
So is He infinite infinity
Those infinites you must not disunite:
So is He one all spreaden Unity.
Nor must you so outspread this Deitie,
But that infinitie so infinite
Must be in every infinite: so we
Must multiply this infinite single sight
Above all apprehension of a mortall wit.

4

What is not infinitely infinite,
It is not simply infinite and free:
For straitnesse (if you do conceive aright)
Is the true daughter of deficiency.
But sith there's no defect in Unity.
Or Ahad, (Ahad this first centre hight
In Poetry as yet to vulgar eye
Unpublish'd) Him first freedome infinite
We may well style. And next is that eternall Light;

5

Sonne unto Ahad, Æon we him name
(In that same Poem) like his father free,
Even infinitely free I him proclaim
Every where all at once. And so is she
Which Psyche hight: for perfect Unity
Makes all those one. So hitherto we have
Unmeasurable freedome. Semele
Is next, whom though fair fluttering forms embrave,
Yet motion and defect her liberty deprave.

6

Imagination's not infinite,
Yet freer farre then sense; and sense more free
Then vegetation or spermatick spright.
Even absent things be seen by phantasie;
By sense things present at a distancie;
But that spermatick spright is close confin'd
Within the compasse of a stupid tree,
Imprison'd quite in the hard rugged rind,
Yet their defective Re'plication we find:

231

7

Farre more defective then in phantasie
Or sense; yet freer is the plastick spright
Then quantity, or single quality,
Like quantity it self out stretched right
Devoid of all reduplicative might:
If any such like qualities there were
So dull, so dead, so all devoid of light
As no communicative rayes to bear;
If there be such to Hyle they do verge most near.

8

But Hyle's self is perfect penurie,
And infinite straitnesse: Here we sinden nought,
Nor can do ought. If curiously we prie
Into this mirksome corner quite distraught
From our own life and being, we have brought
Our selves to nothing. Or the sooth to sayen
The subtilest soul her self hath never wrought
Into so strait a place, could nere constrain
Herself to enter, or that Hagge to entertain.

9

Lo! here's the figure of that mighty Cone,
From the strait Cuspis to the wide-spread Base,
Which is even all in comprehension.
What's infinitely nothing here hath place;
What's infinitely all things steddy stayes
At the wide Basis of this Cone inverse,
Yet its own essence doth it swiftly chace,
Oretakes at once; so swiftly doth it pierce
That motion here's no motion.

10

Suppose the Sunne so much to mend his pace,
That in a moment he did round the skie,
The nimble Night how swiftly would he chace
About the earth? so swift that scarce thine eye
Could ought but light discern. But let him hie
So fast, that swiftnesse hath grown infinite,
In a pure point of time so must he flie
Around this ball, and the vast shade of Night
Quite swallow up, ever steddy stand in open sight.

232

11

For that which from its place is not away
One point of time, how can you say it moves?
Wherefore the Sunne doth alwayes steddy stay
In our Meridian, as this reason proves.
And sith that in an instant round he roves,
The same doth hap in each Meridian line;
For in his instantaneous removes
He in them all at once doth fairely shine.
Nor that large stretchen space his freenesse can confine.

12

The Sun himself at once stands in each point
Of his diurnall circle: Thus we see
That rest and motion cannot be disjoynt,
When motion's swift even to infinity.
Here contrarieties do well agree,
Eternall shade and everlasting light
With one another here do well comply;
Instant returns of Night make one long Night.
Wherefore infinity is freedome infinite.

13

No hinderance to ought that doth arrive
To this free camp of fair Elysium,
But nearer that to Hyle things do dive,
They are more pent, and find much lesser room.
Thus sensuall souls do find their righteous doom
Which Nemesis inflicts, when they descend
From heavenly thoughts that from above do come
To lower life, which wrath and grief attend,
And scorching lust, that do the souls high honour blend.

14

Wherefore the soul cut off from lowly sense
By harmlesse fate, farre greater liberty
Must gain: for when it hath departed hence
(As all things else) should it not backward hie
From whence it came? but such divinity
Is in our souls that nothing lesse then God
Could send them forth (as Plato's schools descry)
Wherefore when they retreat a free abode
They'll find, unlesse kept off by Nemesis just rod.

233

15

But if kept off from thence, where is she then?
She dwells in her own self, there doth reside,
Is her own world, and more or lesse doth pen
Her self, as more or lesse she erst did side
With sense and vice, while here she did abide.
Steril defect and nere-obtaind desire
Create a Cone, whose Cusp is not more wide
Then this worlds Cone. Here close-contracted fire
Doth vex, doth burn, doth scorch with searching heat and ire.

16

Nor easly can she here fall fast asleep
To slake her anguish and tormenting pain:
What drisling mists may here her senses steep?
What foggie fumes benumb her moistned brain?
The flitten soul no sense doth then retain.
And sleep ariseth from a sympathie
With these low sprights that in this flesh remain.
But when from these the soul is setten free,
What sleep may bind her from continuall energie?

17

Here they'll reply, It is not a grosse sleep
That binds the soul from operation.
But sith that death all phantasms clean doth wipe
Out of the soul, she no occasion
Can have of Will or Intellection.
The corpse doth rot, the spirit wide is spread,
And with the Mundane life fallen into one:
So then the soul from these quite being fled,
Unmov'd of ought must lie, sunk in deep drowsihead

18

Nought then she hath whereon to contemplate,
Her ancient phantasms melt and glide away,
Her spright suck'd back by all-devouring fate
And spread abroad, those forms must needs decay
That were therein imprinted. If they stay,
Yet sith the soul from them is disunite,
Into her knowledge they can never ray.
So wants she objects the mind to excite:
Wherefore asleep she lies wrapt in eternall Night.

234

19

To which I answer, though she corporate
With no world yet, by a just Nemesis
Kept off from all; yet she thus separate
May oft be struck with potent rayes transmisse
From divers worlds, that with such mockeries
Kindling an hungry fire and eager will,
They do the wretched soul but Tantalize,
And with fierce choking flames and fury fill,
So vext, that if she could in rage herself she'd kill.

20

If any doubt of this perplexitie,
And think so subtil thing can suffer nought:
What's gnawing conscience from impietie
By highest parts of humane soul ywrought?
For so our very soul with pain is fraught,
The body being in an easie plight.
Through all the senses when you 've pressly sought,
In none of them you'll find this sting empight:
So may we deem this dart the soul it self to hit.

21

Again, when all the senses be ybound
In sluggish sloth, the soul doth oft create
So mighty pain, so cruelly doth wound
Herself with tearing tortures, as that state
No man awake could ever tolerate.
Which must be in herself; for once return'd
Unto her body new resuscitate
From sleep, remembring well how erst she mourn'd,
Marvels how all so soon to peace and ease is turn'd.

22

Wherefore the soul it self receiveth pain
From her own self, withouten sympathie
With something else, whose misery must constrain
To deep compassion. So if struck she be
VVith secret ray, or some strong energie
Of any world, or Lives that there remain,
She's kept awake. Besides fecunditie
Of her own nature surely doth contain
Innate Idees; This truth more fully I'll explain.

235

23

Strong forward bearing will or appetite,
A never wearied importunitie,
Is the first life of this deep centrall spright:
Thus thrusts she forth before her some Idee
Whereby herself now actuall she doth see.
Her mighty Fiat doth command each form
T'appear: As did that ancient Majestie
This world of old by his drad VVord efform,
And made the soul of man thus divine Deiform.

24

Thus in a manner th'humane soul creates
The image of her will, when from her centre
Her pregnant mind she fairly explicates
By actuall forms, and so doth safely enter
To knowledge of her self.
Flush light she sendeth forth, and live Idee's:
Those be the glasse whereby the soul doth paint her.
Sweet centrall love sends out such forms as please;
But centrall hate or fear foul shapes with evil ease.

25

The manner of her life on earth may cause
Diversity of those eruptions,
For will, desire, or custome do dispose
The soul to such like figurations:
Propension brings imaginations,
Unto their birth. And oft the soul lets flie
Such unexpected eructations,
That she her self cannot devisen why,
Unlesse she do ascribe it to her pregnancy.

26

It is an argument of her forms innate
Which blazen out, perchance when none descry.
This light is lost, sense doth so radiate
With Mundane life, till this poor carcase die.
As when a lamp, that men do sitten by,
In some wide hall in a clear winter night,
Being blown out or wasted utterly,
Unwares they find a sly still silver light;
The moon the wall or pavement with mild rayes hath dight:

236

27

So when the oyl of this low life is spent,
Which like a burning lamp doth waste away;
Or if blown out by fate more violent;
The soul may find an unexpected ray
Of light; not from full faced Cynthia,
But her own fulnesse and quick pregnancy:
Unthought of life her Nature may display
Unto her self; not by forc'd industry,
But naturally it sprouts from her fecundity.

28

Now sith adversion is a property
So deeply essentiall to the rationall soul,
This light or life from her doth not so fly,
But she goes with it as it out doth roll.
All spirits that around their raies extoll
Possesse each point of their circumference
Presentially. Wherefore the soul so full
Of life, when it raies out, with presse presence
Oretakes each outgone beam; apprends it by advertence.

29

Thus plainly we perceive th'activity
Of the departed soul; if we could find
Strong reason to confirm th'innate idee,
Essentiall forms created with the mind.
But things obscure no'te easly be defin'd.
Yet some few reasons I will venture at,
To show that God's so liberall and kind
As, when an humane soul he doth create,
To fill it with hid forms and deep idees innate.

30

Well sang the wise Empedocles of old,
That earth by earth, and sea by sea we see,
And heaven by heaven, and fire more bright than gold
By flaming fire, so gentle love descry
By love, and hate by hate. And all agree
That like is known by like. Hence they confesse
That some externall species strikes the eye
Like to its object, in the self-same dresse.
But my first argument hence I'll begin to presse.

237

31

If like be known by like, then must the mind
Innate idolums in it self contain,
To judge the forms she doth imprinted find
Upon occasions. If she doth not ken
These shapes that flow from distant objects, then
How can she know those objects? a dead glasse
(That light and various forms do gaily stain)
Set out in open streets, shapes as they passe
As well may see; Lutes hear each soaming diapase.

32

But if she know those species out sent
From distant objects; tell me how she knows
These species. By some other? You nere ment
To answer so. For straight the question goes
Unto another, and still forward flows
Even to infinity. Doth th'object serve
Its image to the mind for to disclose?
This answer hath as little sense or nerve:
Now reel you in a circle if you well observe.

33

Wherefore no ascititious form alone
Can make us see or hear; but when this spright
That is one with the Mundane's hit upon
(Sith all forms in our soul be counite
And centrally lie there) she doth beget
Like shapes in her own self; that energie
By her own centrall self who forth it let,
Is view'd. Her centrall omniformity
Thus easly keepeth off needlesse infinity.

34

For the quick soul by 't self doth all things know.
And sith withouten apt similitude
Nought's known, upon her we must needs bestow
Essentiall centrall forms, that thus endew'd
With universall likenesse ever transmew'd
Into a representing energie
Of this or that, she may have each thing view'd
By her own centrall self-vitality
Which is her self-essentiall omniformity.

238

35

If plantall souls in their own selves contain
That vitall formative fecundity,
That they a tree with different colour stain,
And divers shapes, smoothnesse, asperity,
Straightnesse, acutenesse, and rotundity,
A golden yellow, or a crimson red,
A varnish'd green with such like gallantry;
How dull then is the sensitive? how dead,
If forms from its own centre it can never spread?

36

Again, an Universall notion,
What object ever did that form impresse
Upon the soul? What makes us venture on
So rash a matter, as ere to confesse
Ought generally true? when neverthelesse
We cannot e're runne through all singulars.
Wherefore in our own souls we do possesse
Free forms and immateriall characters,
Hence 'tis the soul so boldly generall truth declares.

37

What man that is not dull or mad would doubt
Whether that truth (for which Pythagoras,
When he by subtile study found it out,
Unto the Muses for their helping grace
An Hecatomb did sacrifice) may passe
In all such figures wheresoever they be?
Yet all Rectangle Triangles none has
Viewed, as yet, none all shall ever see.
Wherefore this free assent is from th'innate Idee.

38

Adde unto these incorporeity
Apprehended by the soul, when sense nere saw
Ought incorporeall. Wherefore must she
From her own self such subtile Idols draw.
Again, this truth more clearly still to know,
Let's turn again to our Geometry.
What body ever yet could figure show
Perfectly perfect, as rotundity
Exactly round, or blamelesse angularity?

239

39

Yet doth the soul of such like forms discourse,
And finden fault at this deficiency,
And rightly term this better and that worse;
Wherefore the measure is our own Idee,
Which th'humane soul in her own self doth see.
And sooth to sayen when ever she doth strive
To find pure truth, her own profundity
She enters, in her self doth deeply dive;
From thence attempts each effence rightly to descrive.

40

Last argument, which yet is not the least.
Wise Socrates dispute with Theætete
Concerning learning fitly doth suggest.
A midwifes sonne ycleeped Phenarete,
He calls himself: Then makes a quaint conceit,
That he his mothers trade did exercise.
All witlesse his own self yet well did weet
By his fit questions to make others wise;
A midwife that no'te bear anothers birth unties.

41

Thus jestingly he flung out what was true,
That humane souls be swoln with pregnancy
Of hidden knowledge, if with usage due
They were well handled, they each verity
Would bringen forth from their fecunditie;
Wise framed questions would facilitate
This precious birth, stirre up th'inward Idee,
And make it streme with light from forms innate.
Thus may a skilfull man hid truth elicitate.

42

What doth the teacher in his action
But put slight hints into his scholars mind?
Which breed a solemn contemplation
Whether such things be so; but he doth find
The truth himself. But if truth be not sign'd
In his own Soul before, and the right measure
Of things propos'd, in vain the youth doth wind
Into himself, and all that anxious leasure
In answering proves uselesse without that hid treasure.

240

43

Nor is his masters knowledge from him flit
Into his scholars head: for so his brain
In time would be exhaust and void of wit,
So would the sory man but little gain
Though richly paid. Nor is't more safe to sam
As fire breeds fire, art art doth generate,
The soul with Corporeity't would stain:
Such qualities outwardly operate,
The soul within; her acts there closely circulate.

44

Wherefore the soul it self by her Idee,
Which is her self, doth every thing discover;
By her own Centrall Omniformity
Brings forth in her own self when ought doth move her;
Till mov'd a dark indifferency doth hover.
But fierce desire, and a strong piercing will
Makes her those hidden characters uncover.
Wherefore when death this lower life shall spill.
Or fear or love the soul with actuall forms shall fill.

241

Cant. 3.

Departed souls by living Night
Suckt in, for pinching wo
No'te sleep; or if with God unite,
For joyes with which they flow.

1

My hardest task is gone, which was to prove
That when the soul dy death's cut off from all,
Yet she within her self might live and move,
Be her own world, by life imaginall.
But sooth to sain, 't seems not so naturall.
For though a starre, part of the Mundane spright,
Shine out with rayes circumferentiall
So long as with this world it is unite;
Yet what 't would do cut off, so well we cannot weet.

2

But sith our soul with God himself may meet,
Inacted by His life, I cannot see
What scruple then remains that moven might
Least doubt, but that she wakes with open eye,
When Fate her from this body doth untie.
Wherefore her choisest forms do then arise,
Rowz'd up by union and large sympathy
With Gods own spright; she plainly then descries
Such plenitude of life, as she could nere devise.

242

3

If God even on this body operate,
And shakes this Temple when he doth descend,
Or with sweet vigour doth irradiate,
And lovely light and heavenly beauty lend.
Such rayes from Moses face did once extend
Themselves on Sinai hill, where he did get
Those laws from Gods own mouth, mans life to mend;
And from Messias on mount Saron set
Farre greater beauty shone in his disciples sight.

4

Als Socrates, when (his large Intellect
Being fill'd with streaming light from God above)
To that fair sight his soul did close collect,
That inward lustre through the body drove
Bright beams of beauty. These examples prove
That our low being the great Deity
Invades, and powerfully doth change and move.
Which if you grant, the souls divinity
More fitly doth receive so high a Majesty.

5

And that God doth illuminate the mind,
Is well approv'd by all antiquity;
With them Philosophers and Priests we find
All one: or else at least Philosophy
Link'd with Gods worship and pure piety:
Witnesse Pythagoras, Aglaophemus,
Zoroaster, thrice-mighty Mercury,
Wise Socrates, nothing injurious,
Religious Plato, and vice-taming Orpheus.

6

All these, addicted to religion,
Acknowledg'd God the fount of verity,
From whence flows out illumination
Upon purg'd souls. But now, O misery!
To seek to God is held a phantasie,
But men hug close their loved lust and vice,
And deem that thraldome a sweet liberty;
Wherefore reproch and shame they do devise
Against the braver souls that better things emprise.

243

7

But lo! a proof more strong and manifest:
Few men but will confesse that prophesie
Proceeds from God, when as our soul's possest
By his All-seeing spright; als ecstasie
Wherein the soul snatch'd by the Deity.
And for a time into high heaven hent
Doth contemplate that blest Divinity
So Paul and John that into Patmos went,
Heard and saw things inestimably excellent.

8

Such things as these, men joyntly do confesse
To spring from Gods own spirit immediately:
But if that God ought on the soul impresse
Before it be at perfect liberty,
Quite rent from this base body; when that she
Is utterly releast, she'll be more fit
To be inform'd by that divine Idee
Hight Logos, that doth every man enlight
That enters into life, as speaks the sacred Writ.

9

Behold a fit resemblance of this truth,
The Sun begetteth both colours and sight,
Each living thing with life his heat indew'th,
He kindles into act each plastick spright:
Thus he the world with various forms doth dight
And when his vigour hath fram'd out an eye
In any living wight, he fills with light
That Organ, which can plainly then descry
The forms that under his far-shining beams do ly.

10

Even so it is with th'intellectuall sunne,
Fountain of life, and all-discovering light,
He frames our souls by his creation,
Als he indews them with internall sight,
Then shines into them by his lucid spright.
But corporall life doth so obnubilate
Our inward eyes that they be nothing bright;
While in this muddy world incarcerate
They lie, and with blind passions be intoxicate.

244

11

Fear, anger, hope, fierce vengeance, and swoln hate,
Tumultuous joy, envie and discontent,
Self-love, vain glory, strife and fell debate,
Unsatiate covetise, desire impotent,
Low-sinking grief, pleasure, lust violent,
Fond emulation, all these dim the mind
That with foul filth the inward eye yblent,
That light that is so near it cannot find.
So shines the Sunne unseen on a trees rugged rind.

12

But the clean soul by virtue purifi'd
Collecting her own self from the foul steem
Of earthly life, is often dignifi'd
With that pure pleasure that from God doth streem,
Often's enlightn'd by that radiant beam,
That issues forth from his divinity,
Then feelingly immortall she doth deem
Her self, conjoynd by so near unity
With God, and nothing doubts of her eternitie.

13

Nor death, nor sleep nor any dismall shade?
Of low contracting life she then doth fear,
No troubled thoughts her settled mind invade,
Th'immortall root of life she seeth clear,
Wisheth she were for ever grafted here:
No cloud, no darknesse, no deficiency
In this high heavenly life doth ere appear;
Redundant fulnesse, and free liberty,
Easie flowing knowledge, never weary energy,

14

Broad open sight, eternall wakefulnesse,
Withouten labour or consuming pain:
The soul all these in God must needs possesse
When there deep-rooted life she doth obtain,
As I in a few words shall maken plain.
This bodies life by powerfull sympathy
The soul to sleep and labour doth constrain,
To grief, to wearinesse and anxiety,
In fire, to hideous sense of dread mortality.

245

15

But sith no such things in the Deity
Are to be found; Shee once incorporate
With that quick essence, she is setten free
From ought that may her life obnubilate,
What then can her contract or maken strait?
For ever mov'd by lively sympathy
With Gods own spright, an ever-waking state
She doth obtain. Doth heavens bright blazing eye
Ever close, ywrapt in sleep and dead obscurity?

16

But now how full and strong a sympathy
Is caused by the souls conjunction
With the high God, I'll to you thus descry.
All men will grant that spread dispersion
Must be some hinderance to close union:
Als must confesse that closer unity
More certainly doth breed compassion;
Not that there's passion in the Deity,
But something like to what all men call Sympathy.

17

Now sith the soul is of such subtlety,
And close collectednesse, in dispersion,
Full by her centrall omniformity,
Pregnant and big without distension;
She once drawn in by strong attraction
Should be more perfectly there counite
In this her high and holy union
Then with the body, where dispersion's pight:
(But such hard things I leave to some more learned wight)

18

The first pure Being's perfect Unity,
And therefore must all things more strongly bind
Then Lives corporeall, which dispersed be.
He also the first Goodnesse is defin'd
Wherefore the soul most powerfully's inclin'd
And strongly drawn to God. But life that's here,
When into it the soul doth closely wind,
Is often sneep'd by anguish and by fear,
With vexing pain and rage that she no'te easly bear.

246

19

Farre otherwise it fares in that pure life
That doth result in the souls Unity
With God: For there the faster she doth strive
To tie her selfe, the greater liberty
And freer welcome, brighter purity
She finds, and more enlargement, joy and pleasure
O'reflowing, yet without satietie,
Sight without end, and love withouten measure:
This needs must close unite the heart to that hid treasure.

20

This plainly's seen in that mysterious Cone
Which I above did fairly well descrive:
Their freenesse and incarceration
Were plainly setten forth. What down doth dive
Into the straitned Cuspis needs must strive
With stringent bitternesse, vexation,
Anxious unrest; in this ill plight they live:
But they that do ascend to th'top yflown
Be free, yet fast unite to that fair vision.

21

Thus purged souls be close conjoyn'd to God,
And closer union surer sympathy;
Wherefore so long as they make their abode
In Him, incorp'rate by due Unitie
They liven in eternall energie.
For Israels God nor slumbers, nor doth sleep;
Nor Israel lost in dull lethargie
Must listlesse ly, while numbing streams do steep.
His heavy head, overwhelmed in oblivion deep.

22

But here more curious men will straight enquire,
Whither after death the wicked soul doth go,
That long hath wallowed in the sinfull mire.
Before this question I shall answer to,
Again the nature of the soul I'll show.
She all things in her self doth centrally
Contain; what ever she doth feel or know,
She feels or knows it by th'innate Idee:
She's all proportion'd by her omniformity.

247

23

God, heaven, this middle world; deep glimmering hell
With all the lives and shapes that there remain,
The forms of all in humane souls do dwell:
She likewise all proportions doth contain
That fits her for all sprights. So they constrain
By a strong pulling sympathy to come,
And straight possesse that fitting vitall vein
That 'longs unto her, so her proper room
She takes as mighty Nemesis doth give the doom.

24

Now (which I would you presly should observe)
Though oft I have with tongue balbutient
Prattled to th'weaker ear (lest I should sterve
My stile with too much subtilty) I nere ment
To grant that there's any such thing existent
As a mere body: For all's life, all spright,
Though lives and sprights be very different.
Three generall sprights there be, Eternall Light
Is one, the next our World, the last Infernall Night.

25

This last lies next unto old Nothingnesse
Hight Hyle, whom I term'd point of the Cone:
Her daughter Night is full of bitternesse,
And strait constraint, and pent privation:
Her sturdy ray's scarce conquer'd by the moon.
The earths great shade breaks out from this hid spright,
And active is; so soon the Sun is gone,
Doth repossesse the aire shotten forth right.
From its hid centrall life, ycleep'd Infernall Night.

26

In this drad world is scorching Phlegethon;
Hot without flame, burning the vexed sense;
There hatefull Styx and sad Cocytus run,
And silent Acheron. All drink from hence,
From this damn'd spright receiven influence,
That in our world or poyson do outspue,
Or have an ugly shape and foule presence:
That deadly poison and that direfull hue
From this Nocturnall spright these uggly creatures {drew}

248

27

This is the seat of Gods eternall ire,
When unmixt vengeance he doth fully powre
Upon foul souls fit for consuming fire:
Fierce storms and tempests strongly doth he show
Upon their heads: His rage doth still devoure
The never dying soul. Here Satanas
Hath his full swing to torture every houre
The grisly ghosts of men; when they have passe
From this mid world to that most direfull dismall place.

28

Did Nature but compile one mighty sphere
Of this dark Stygian spright, and close collect
Its scatter'd being, that it might appear
Aloft in the wide heaven, it would project
Dark powerfull beams, that solar life ycheckt
With these dull choking rayes, all things would die.
Infernall poyson the earth would infect,
Incessant showrs of pitchie shafts let flie
Against the Sun with darknesse would involve the skie.

29

Nor is my Muse wox mad, that thus gives life
To Night or Darknesse, sith all things do live.
But Night is nothing (straight I'll end that strife)
Doth nought impressions to the sense derive?
If without prejudice you'll deigne to dive
Into the matter, as much realty
To darknesse as to coldnesse you will give.
Certes both night and coldnesse active be
Both strike the sense, they both have reall entity.

30

Again. 'tis plain that that nocturnall spright
Sends forth black eben-beams and mirksome rayes,
Because her darknesse as the Sunne his light
More clearly doth reflect on solid place,
As when a wall, a shade empighten has
Upon it, sure that shade farre darker is
Then is the aire that lies in the mid space.
What is the reason? but that rayes emisse
From centrall Night the walls reflexion multiplies.

249

31

The light's more light that strikes upon the wall,
And much more strongly there affects the eye,
Then what's spread in the space aereall:
So 'tis with shadows that amid do lie
In the slight air; there scarce we them descrie,
But when they fall upon the wall or ground,
They gain a perfect sensibilitie.
Scarce ought in outgone light is to be found
But this Nocturnall ray's with like indowments crown'd.

32

But why doth my half wearied mind pursue
Dim sculking darknesse, a fleet nimble shade?
If Moses and wise Solomon speak true,
What we assert may safely well be said.
Did not a palpable thick Night invade
The Land of Egypt, such as men might feel
And handle with their hands? That darknesse ray'd
From nether Hell, and silently did steal
On th'enemies of God, as Scripture doth reveal.

33

The womb of Night then fully flowred out:
For that all-swaying endlesse Majestie
Which penetrateth those wide worlds throughout,
This thin spread darknesse that dispers'd doth lie
Summon'd by his drad voice, and strong decree.
Much therefore of that spirit close unite
Into one place did strike the troubled eye
With horrid blacknesse, and the hand did smite
With a clam pitchie ray shot from that Centrall Night.

34

This Centrall Night or Universall spright
Of wo, of want, of balefull bitternesse,
Of hatred, envy, wrath, and fell despight,
Of lust, of care, wasting disquietnesse,
Of warre, contention, and bloud-thirstinesse,
Of zeal, of vengeance, of suspicion
Of hovering horrour, and sad pensivenesse,
This Stygian stream through all the world doth run,
And many wicked souls unto it self hath wonne.

250

35

Lo! here's the portion of the Hypocrite,
That serveth God but in an outward show.
But his drad doom must passe upon his sprite,
Where it propends there surely must he go.
Due vengeance neither sleepeth nor is slow.
Hell will suck in by a strong sympathie
What's like unto it self: So down they flow,
Devouring anguish and anxietie
Do vex their souls, in piteous pains, alas! they lie.

36

Thus with live Hell be they concorporate,
United close with that self-gnawing sprite:
And this I wot will breed no sleeping state.
Who here descends finds one long restlesse Night.
May this the dreaming Psychopannychite
Awake, and make him seriously prepare
And purge his heart, lest this infernall might
Suck in his soul 'fore he be well aware.
Kill but the seeds of sinne then are you past this fear.

37

Thus have I prov'd by the souls union
With heaven and hell, that she will be awake
When she from this mid Nature is ygone.
But still more curious task to undertake;
And spenden time to speak of Lethe lake,
And whether at least some souls fall not asleep.
(Which if they do of Hell they do partake)
Whether who liv'd like plant or grazing sheep,
Who of nought else but sloth and growth doth taken keep;

38

Whose drooping phansie never flowred out,
Who relish'd nought but this grosse bodies food,
Who never entertaind an active thought,
But like down-looking beasts was onely mov'd
To feed themselves, whither this drousie mood
So drench the lowring soul and inly steep
That she lies senselesse drownd in Lethe floud;
Who will let dive into this mysterie deep:
Into such narrow subtilties I list not creep.

251

39

But well I wote that wicked crueltie,
Hate, envie, malice, and ambition,
Bloud-sucking zeal, and lawlesse tyrannie,
In that Nocturnall sprite shall have their wonne,
Which like this world admits distinction.
But like will like unto it strongly draw:
So every soul shall have a righteous doom.
According to our deeds God will bestow
Rewards: Unto the cruell he'll no mercy show.

40

Where's Nimrod now, and dreadfull Hannibal?
Where's that ambitious pert Pellean lad,
Whose pride sweld bigger then this earthly ball?
Where's cruell Nero, with the rest that had
Command, and vex'd the world with usage bad?
They're all sunk down into this nether hell;
Who erst upon the Nations stoutly strad
Are now the Devils footstool. His drad spell
Those vassals doth command, though they with fury swell.

41

Consuming anguish, styptick bitternesse,
Doth now so strangle their imperious will,
That in perpetuall disquietnesse
They roll and rave, and roar and rage their fill,
Like a mad bull that the slie hunters skill
Hath caught in a strong net. But more they strive
The more they kindle that tormenting ill.
Wo's me! in what great miserie they live!
Yet wote I not what may these wretched thralls relieve.

42

The safest way for us that still survive
Is this, even our own lust to mortifie;
So Gods own Will will certainly revive.
Thus shall we gain a perfect libertie,
And everlasting life. But if so be
We seek our selves with ardent hot desire,
From that Infernall Night we are not free;
But living Hell will kindle a fierce fire.
And with uncessant pains our vexed soul will tire.

252

43

Then the wild phansie from her horrid wombe
Will senden forth foul shapes. O dreadfull sight.
Overgrown toads fierce serpents thence will come,
Red-scaled Dragons with deep burning light
In their hollow eye-pits: With these she must fight;
Then thinks her self ill wounded, sorely stung.
Old fulsome Hags with scabs and skurf bedight,
Foul tarry spittle tumbling with their tongue
On their raw lether lips, these near will to her clung,

44

And lovingly salute against her will,
Closely embrace, and make her mad with wo:
She'd lever thousand times they did her kill,
Then force her such vile basenesse undergo.
Anon some Giant his huge self will show,
Gaping with mouth as vast as any Cave,
With stony staring eyes, and footing slow:
She surely deems him her live-walking grave,
From that dern hollow pit knows not her self to save.

45

After a while, tost on the Ocean main
A boundlesse sea she finds of misery;
The fiery snorts of the Leviathan
(That makes the boyling waves before him flie)
She hears, she sees his blazing morn-bright eye:
If here she scape, deep gulfs and threatning rocks
Her frighted self do straightway terrifie;
Steel-coloured clouds with rattling thunder knocks,
With these she is amaz'd, and thousand such like mocks.

46

All which afflict her even like perfect sense:
For waxen mad with her sore searching pain
She cannot easly find the difference,
But toils and tears and tugs, but all in vain;
Her self from her own self she cannot strain.
Nocturnall Life hath now let ope th'Idee
Of innate darknesse, from this fulsome vein
The soul is fill'd with all deformity.
But Night doth stirre her up to this dread energie.

253

47

But here some man more curious then wise
Perhaps will ask, where Night or Hell may be:
For he by his own self cannot devise,
Sith chearfull light doth fill the open sky.
And what's the earth to the souls subtilty?
Such men I'd carry to some standing pool,
Down to the water bid them bend their eye,
They then shall see the earth possest and full
Of heaven, dight with the sunne or starrs that there do roll.

48

Or to an hill where's some deep hollow Cave
Dreadfull for darknesse; let them take a glasse,
When to the pitchy hole they turned have
Their instrument, that darknesse will find place
Even in the open sunne-beams, at a space
Which measures twice the glasses distancy
From the Caves mouth. This well discovered has
How Hell and Heaven may both together lie,
Sith darknesse safely raies even in the sunny skie.

49

But further yet the mind to satisfie
That various apprehensions bearen down
And to hold up with like variety
Of well fram'd phantasms, lest she sink and drown
Laden with heavie thoughts sprong from the ground
And miry clods of this accursed earth
Whose dull suffusions make her often sown,
Orecome with cold, till nimble Reason bear'th
Unto her timely aid and on her feet her rear'th:

50

I will adjoyn to those three former wayes
To weet, of the Souls self-activity
Of Union with Hell, and Gods high rayes
A fourth contrivement, which all souls doth ty
To their wing'd Chariots, wherein swift they fly.
The fiery and airy Vehicles they hight
In Plato's school known universally.
But so large matter can not well be writ
In a few lines for a fresh Canticle more fit.

225

The Præexistency of the SOUL.

The Argument

Of the Souls Præexistency
Her Orb of Fire and Aire,
Of Ghosts, of Goblins, of Sorcery,
This Canto doth declare.

1

Rise then Aristo's son! assist my Muse
Let that hie spright which did inrich thy brains
With choice cōceits, some worthy thoughts infuse
Worthy thy title and the Readers pains.
And thou, O Lycian Sage! whose pen contains
Treasures of heavenly light with gentle fire,
Give leave a while to warm me at thy flames
That I may also kindle sweet desire
In holy minds that unto highest things aspire.

2

For I would sing the Præexistency
Of humane souls, and live once ore again
By recollection and quick memory
All what is past since first we all began.
But all too shallow be my wits to scan
So deep a point and mind too dull to clear
So dark a matter, but Thou, O more then man!
Aread thou sacred Soul of Plotin deare
Tell what we mortalls are, tell what of old we were.

256

3

A spark or ray of the Divinity
Clouded in earthy fogs, yclad in clay,
A precious drop sunk from Æternitie,
Spilt on the ground, or rather slunk away.
For then we fell when we gan first t'assay
By stealth, of our own selves something to been,
Uncentring our selves from our great stay.
Which fondly we new liberty did ween
And from that prank right jolly wights our selves did deem.

4

For then forthwith some thing beside our God
We did conceive our parted selves to be,
And loosened, first from that simple Good,
Then from great Æon, then from Plyche free,
We after fell into low phantasie,
And after that into corporeall sense,
And after sense embarkd as in a tree,
(First sown in earthly slime, then sprung from thence)
A fading life we lead in deadly influence.

5

Thus groaping after our own Centres near
And proper substance we grew dark, contract,
Swallow'd up of earthly life, ne what we were
Of old, through ignorance can we detect.
Like noble babe by fate or friends neglect
Left to the care of sorry salvage wight,
Grown up to manly years cannot conject
His own true parentage, nor read aright
What Father him begot, what womb him brought to light.

6

So we as stranger Infants elsewhere born
Can not divine from what spring we did flow
Ne dare these base alliances to scorn,
Nor lift our selves a whit from hence below,
Ne strive our Parentage again to know;
Ne dream we once of any other stock,
Since foster'd upon Rheas knees we grow,
In Satyres arms with many a mow and mock
Oft danc'd, and hairy Pan our cradle oft hath rock'd.

257

7

But Pan nor Rhea be our Parentage
We been the Of-spring of all-seeing Jove
Though now, whether through our own miscariage
Or secret force of fate, that all doth move
We be cast low, for why? the sportfull love
Of our great Maker (like as mothers dear
In pleasance from them do their children shove
That back again they may recoyl more near)
Shoves of our souls a while, the more them to endear.

8

Or whether Justice and due Equity
Expects the truth of our affection,
And therefore sets us 'twixt the Deitie
And the created world, that thereupon
We may with a free resignation
Give up our selves to him deserves us best.
That love is none that's by coaction.
Hence he our souls from his own self releast
And left us free to follow what the most us pleas'd.

9

And for this purpose did enrich our choice
By framing of the outward Universe.
The framing of this world a meet devise
Whereby Gods wisedome thorough all may pierce,
From hight to depth. In depth is vengeance fierce,
Whereby transgressing souls are sorely scourged
And back again are forced to reverse
By Nemesis deep-biting whips well urged,
And in sad sorrows bath well drench'd and soundly purged.

10

Thus nothing's lost of Gods fecundity.
But stretching out himself in all degrees
His wisedome, goodnesse and due equity
Are rightly rank'd, in all the soul them sees.
O holy lamps of God! O sacred eyes
Filled with love and wonder every where!
Ye wandring tapers to whom God descryes
His secret paths, great Psyches darlings dear!
Behold her works, but see your hearts close not too near.

258

11

But they so soon as vitall Orbs were made
That rolled round about each starry fire
Forth-with pursue, and strive them to invade;
Like evening flies that busily conspire
Following a Jade that travail long doth tire,
To seize his nodding head and suck his sweat.
But they suck'd in into the vitall mire
First died and then again reviv'd by heat
Did people all the Orbs by this audacious feat.

12

But infinite Myriads undipt as yet
Did still attend each vitall moveing sphear
And wait their turnes for generation fit
In airy bodies wafted here and there,
As sight and sympathy away did bear.
These corporate with bloud, but the first flight
Of fallen souls, ymeint with slimy gear
Rose from their earth, breaking their filmes slight:
As Storyes say, Nile living shapes sends forth to sight.

13

Here their third chariot cleep'd terrestiall
Great Psyches brood did enter; for before
They rode more light; first in cœlestiall
Or fiery chariots, wherein with Uranore
The care and thought of all the world they bore.
This is the Orb of pure quick life and sense
Which the thrice mighty Mercury of yore
Ascending, held with Angels conference
And of their comely shapes had perfect cognoscence.

14

In this the famous Tyanean swain
Lifted above the deadly charming might
Of the dull Carkasse could discover plain
From seven-hill'd Rome with speedy piercing sight
What they in Egypt did as Stories write.
This is that nimble quick vivacious Orb
All ear, all eye, with rayes round shining bright;
Sphear of pure sense which noe perpessions curb
Nor uncouth shapen Spectres ever can disturb.

259

15

Next this is that light Vehicle of air,
Where likewise all sense is in each part pight.
This is more grosse subject to grief and fear
And most what soil'd with bodily delight;
Sometimes with vengeance, envie, anger, spight.
This Orb is ever passive in sensation.
But the third wagon of the soul that hight
The terrene Vehicle, beside this passion
Hath organized sense, distinct by limitation.

16

These last be but the souls live sepulchres
Where least of all she acts, but afterward
Rose from this tomb, she free and lively fares
And upward goes if she be not debar'd
By Adrastias law nor strength empar'd
By too long bondage, in this Cave below.
The purged souls ascent nought may retard;
But earthly mindednesse may eath foreslow
Their flight, then near the ground in airy weeds they go;

17

Awak'd to life more ample then before,
If they their fortune good could then pursue.
But sith unwillingly they were ytore
From their dear carkasses their fate they rue,
And terrene thoughts their troubled minds embue:
So that in languishment they linger near
Their wonted homes and oft themselves they shew;
Sometimes on purpose, sometimes unaware
That wak'd by hasty call they streightway disappear.

18

For men that wont to wander in their sleep
By the fixt light of inward phantasie,
Though a short fit of death fast bounden keep
Their outward sense and all their Organes tye;
Yet forth they fare steared right steddily
By that internall guide: even so the ghosts
Of men deceas'd bedewed with the sky
And nights cold influence, in sleep yclos'd
Awake within, and walk in their forewonted coast.

260

19

In shape they walk much like to what they bore
Upon the earth: For that light Orb of air
Which they inact must yielden evermore
To phansies beck, so when the souls appear
To their own selves alive as once they were,
So cloath'd and conversant in such a place,
The inward eyes of phansie thither stear
Their gliding vehicle, that bears the face
Of him that liv'd, that men may reade what wight it was.

20

And often ask'd what would they, they descry
Some secret wealth, or hidden injury.
That first they broach that overmost doth ly
Within their minds: but vanish suddenly
Disturb'd by bold mans importunity.
But those that on set purpose do appear
To holden talk with frail mortality
Make longer stay. So that there is no fear
That when we leave this earthly husk we perish clear.

21

Or what is like to perfect perishing,
That inert deadlinesse our souls shall seize,
That neither sense nor phansies fountains spring,
But ever close in dull unactive ease.
For though that Death our spirits doth release
From this distinguish'd organizate sense,
Yet we may hear and see, what, where we please,
And walk at large when we are gone from hence
And with both men and ghosts hold friendly conference;

22

And all in virtue of that airy Waine
In which we ride when that of earth is gone,
Unlesse no terrene tinctures do us stein,
For then forthwith to heaven we be yflone,
In our swift fiery chariot thither drawn.
But least men deem me airy notions feigne:
All stories this sure truth do seem to own.
Wherefore my Muse! some few do not disdain,
Of many, to relate, more firm assent to gain.

261

23

But first lay out the treasures of the Air
That immense womb from whence all bodies spring.
And then the force of Phantasie declare.
Of Witches wonnes a while then maist thou sing
Their Stygian rites, and nightly revelling.
Then to the wished port to draw more near
Als tell of the untimely wandering
Of the sad ghosts of men that oft appear
All which to the hard search of truth, joynt light do bear;

24

Shew fitly how the præexistent soul
Inacts and enters bodies here below,
And then entire, unhurt, can leave this moul
And thence her airy Vehicle can draw,
In which by sense and motion they may know
Better then we what things transacted be
Upon the Earth; and when they list, may show
Themselves to friend or foe, their phantasie
Moulding their airy Orb to grosse consistency.

25

For sooth to sayn, all things of Air consist
And easly back again return to air.
Witnesse the carkases of man and beast
Which wast though teeth of Wolves them never tear,
Nor Crow nor Vulture do their flesh empare,
Yet all is wast and gone, no reliques seen
Of former shape, saving the bones bare,
And the bare bones by Time and Art, I ween,
First into liquour melt to air ychanged been.

26

Besides experience doth maken plain
How clouds be but the crudling of the air.
Take a round glasse let 't nought but air contain,
Close it with Hermes seal, then cover it over
With cinders warm, onely the top discover,
The gentle fire hard at the bottome pight
Thins the low air, which got above doth hover
Like a white fume embodying in the hight
With cooler parts, then turns to drops all crystall bright.

262

27

Not much unlike to the experiment
That learned Leech professes to have seen
Amongst the Alps, where the wind violent
Hammered out clouds with his strong blustring keen
'Gainst a steep rock, which streight themselves did teem
Upon the Earth and wet the verdant Plain,
Dissolved by the sight of Phœbus sheen.
But sometimes clouds afford, not onely rain
But bloud, stones, milk, corn, frogs, fire, earth and all contain.

28

Wherefore all bodies be of air compos'd
Great Natures all-complying Mercury,
Unto ten thousand shapes and forms dispos'd:
Like nimble quick-silver that doth agree
With gold with brasse or with what ere it be
Amalgamate, but brought unto the fire
Into an airy fume it all doth flie,
Though you before might turn to earth and mire
What into ancient air so quickly doth retire.

29

Wherefore the soul possest of matter meet
If she hath power to operate thereon
Can eath transform this Vehicle to sight,
Dight with due colour, figuration.
Can speak, can walk, and then dispear anon
Spreading her self in the dispersed air.
Then if she please recall again what's gone.
Those th'uncouth mysteries of phansie are
Then thunder farre more strong: more quick then lightning far

30

Some heavings toward this strange activity
We may observe even in this mortall state.
Here health and sicknesse of the phantasie
Often proceed, which working minds create,
And pox and pestilence do malleate
Their thoughts still beating on those objects ill,
Which doth the mastered bloud contaminate,
And with foul poysonous impressions fill
And last the precious life with deadly dolour kill.

263

31

And if't be true that learned Clerks do sayen
His phantasie whom a mad dog hath bit
With shapes of dogs doth all his Urine stain.
Women with child, if in their longing fit
They be differ'd, their eager appetite
So sharply edges the quick phantasie
That it the Signature doth carve and write
Of what she long'd for, on the Infants body,
Imprinting it so plain that all the world may see.

32

Those streaked rods plac'd by that Syrian swain
Before the sheep when they receiv'd the ramme,
(Whence the best part of Labans flock became
All spotted or'e, whereby his shepheard wan
The greater wages,) show what phansie can.
And boyes ore night when they went to their rest
By dreams grown up to th'stature of a man
And bony shapes in mens sad hearts exprest
Dear image of their love, and wrought by loves unrest:

33

Things farre more wonderfull then Cippus horn
Who in the field with so much earnestnesse
Viewing the fight of bulls rose in the Morn
VVith forked front: for though the fight did cease
Amongst th'enraged heards, yet ne're the lesse
His working phansie did the war revive.
Which on the bloud did make so strong impresse
In dewy sleep that humours did arrive
His knobby head and a fair pair of horns contrive:

34

All these declare the force of phantasie
Though working here upon this stubborn clay.
But th'airy Vehicle yields more easily
Unto her beck more nimbly doth obey.
Which truth the joynt confessions bewray
Of damned Hags and Masters of bold skill
Whose hellish mysteries fully to display
With pitchy darknesse would the Heavens fill
The earth would grone, trees sigh, and horrour all ore spill.

264

35

But he that out of darknesse giveth light
He guide my steps in this so uncouth way
And ill done deeds by children of the Night
Convert to good, while I shall thence assay
The noble souls conditions ope to lay,
And show her empyre on her ayry sphear
By what of sprights and specters Stories say.
For sprights and spectres that by night appear
Be or all one with souls or of a nature near.

36

Up then renowned Wizard, Hermite sage!
That twice ten years didst in the desert wonne,
Convers'dst with sprights in thy hid Hermitage
Since thou of mortals didst the commerce shun,
Well seen in these bad arts that have foredone
Many a bold wit, Up Marcus: tell again
That story to thy Thrax, who has thee wonne,
To Christian faith, the guise and haunts explain
Of all air-trampling ghosts that in the world remain.

37

There be six sorts of sprights. Lelurion
Is the first kind, the next are nam'd from Air
The first a loft, yet farre beneath the Moon
The other in this lower region fare.
The third Terrestriall, the fourth Watery are,
The fift be Subterranean, the last
And worst, Light-hating ghosts more cruel farre
Then Bear or Wolf with hunger hard opprest
But doltish yet and dull like an unweildy beast.

38

If this sort once possesse the arteries
Of forlorn man: Madnesse and stupor seize
His salvag'd heart, and death dwels in his eyes.
Ne is there remedy for this sad disease.
For that unworthy guest so senselesse is
And deaf, no Exorcist can make him hear,
But would in vain with Magick words chastise.
Others the thundring threats of Tartar fear
And the drad names of Angels that this office bear.

265

39

For they been all subject to passion.
Some been so grosse they hunger after food,
And send out seed of which worms spring anon,
And love to liggen warm in living bloud,
Whence they into the veins do often crowd
Of beasts as well as men, wherein they bathe
Themselves, and sponge-like suck that vitall flood,
As they done also in their aery path
Drink in each unctuous steam, which their dire thirst allayth.

40

Such be the four last kinds, foul, dull, impure
Whose inward life and phansy's more inert
And therefore usually in one shape endure.
But those of aire can easily convert
Into new forms and then again revert,
One while a man, after a comely maid,
And then all suddenly to make the flert,
Like leaping Leopard he'll thee invade
Then made a man again he'll comfort thee afraid.

41

Then straight more quick then thought or cast of eye
A snarling Dog, or brisled Boar he'll be;
Anon a jugge of milk if thou be drie,
So easily's turnd that aire-consistency
Through inward sport and power of phantasie.
For all things virtually are containd in aire.
And like the sunne, that fiery spirit free
Th'internall soul, at once the seed doth rear
Waken and ripe at once as if full ag'd they were.

42

Cameleon like thus they their colour change
And size contract, and then dilate again:
Like the soft earthworm hurt by heedlesse chance
Shrinks in her self to shun or ease her pain.
Nor done they onely thus themselves constrain
Into lesse bulk, but if with courage bold
And flaming brond thou strike these shades in twain,
A sudden smart they feel that cannot hold,
Close quick as cloven aire. So sang that Wizzard old.

266

43

And truth he said what ever he was told,
As even this present Age may verifie,
If any lists its stories to unfold
Of Hags of Hobgoblings of Incubi,
Abhorred dugs by devils sucken dry,
Of leaping lamps and of fierce flying stones
Of living wool, and such like witchery
Or prov'd by sight or self confessions
Which things much credence gain to past traditions.

44

Wherefore with boldnesse we will now relate
Some few in breif, as of th'Astorgan lad,
Whose peevish mother in fell ire and hate
Quite drunk with passion, through quick cholar mad
With execrations bold the devil bad,
Take him alive, which mood the boy no'te bear
But quits the room, walks out with spirit sad
Into the court, where, Lo! by night appear
Tall Giants with grim looks, rough limbs, black grizely hair.

45

These in a moment hoist him into th'air,
Away him bear more swift then bird can fly,
Straight to the destin'd place arrived are
Mongst craggy rocks, and bushy Mountains high,
Where up and down they drag the sorry boy;
His tender skin and goary flesh they tear
Till he gan on his Maker call and cry.
Which forc'd the villains home again him bear,
Where he the story told, restor'd by Parents care.

46

The walking Skeleton in Bolonia
Laden with rattling chains, that showd his grave
To th'watchfull Student, who without dismay
Bid tell his wants, and speak what he would have:
Thus cleared he the house by courage brave.
Nor may I passe the fair Cerdinian maid
Whose love a jolly swain did kindly crave,
And oft with mutuall solace with her stay'd;
Yet was no jolly swain but a deceitfull shade.

267

47

More harmlesse mirth may that mad spright commend
Who in an honest widows house did won
At Salamanca, who whole showers would send
Of stones that swifter then a whirlwind come
And yet where ere they hit no hurt is done.
But cursed cruell be those wicked Hags
Whom poysonous spight, envy and hate have won
T'abhorred sorcery, whose writhled bags
Fauld feinds oft suck and nestle in their loathsome rags.

48

Such as the Devil woes in homely form
Of swarthy man, or some black shaggy Curre,
Or vermine base, and in sad case forlorn
Them male-content to evil motions stirre,
Proffer their service adding a quick spurre
To meditated vengance, and fell teen,
Whose hellish voice they heare without demur,
Abjure God and his Sonne, who did redeem
The world, give up themselves to Satan and foul sinne.

49

Thus 'bodyed into that Stygian crue
Of damned wights made fast by their own bloud
To their bad Master, do his service due,
Frequent the assemblies, dance as they were wood
Around an huge black Goat, in loansome wood
By shady night, farre from or house or town,
And kisse with driveling lips in frantcik mood
His sacred breech. Catch that catch may anon
Each Feind has got his Hag for copulation.

50

O loathsome law! O filthy fond embrace!
The other root of cursed sorcery.
For if the streams of this bad art we trace
They lead to two foul springs, th'one Venerie
And coarsest Lust, the other near doth lie
And is ycleeped Vengeance, Malice, Hate,
Or restlesse Envy that would all destroy.
But both but from one seed do germinate
Hight uncurb'd Will, or strong Desire inordinate.

268

51

Wherefore I needs must humbly here adore
Him whose chaste soul enwombd in Virgin chast,
As chast a body amongst mortals wore,
Who never woman knew, ne once did taste
Of Hymens pleasures while this life did last.
Ah! my dear Lord! dread Sovereigne of souls
Who with thy life and lore so warmed hast
My wounded heart, that when thy Storie's told,
Sweet Love, methinks, in's silver wings me all infolds.

52

How do I hang upon thy sacred lips
More sweet then Manna or the hony-dew!
Thy speech, like rosie drops doth cool my wits
And calme my fierce affections untrue,
And winne my heart unto obeisance due.
Blest O thrice blessed be that holy hill
Whereon thou did'st instruct thy faithfull crue
In wayes of peace, of patience and good will
Forbidding base self-love, revenge and speeches ill.

53

Meek Lambe of God! the worlds both scourge and scorn!
How done th'infernall feinds thy face envy!
Thou light, they darknesse, they Night, thou the Morn!
Mild chariot of Gods lovely Majesty!
Exalted Throne of the Divinitie!
As thou with thine mak'st through the yielding aire
How do thy frighted foes before thee fly!
And grin and gnash their teeth for spight and fear
To see such awfull strength quite to themselves contraire.

54

Ho! you vain men that follow filthy lust
And swallow down revenge like pleasant wine.
Base earthly spirits! fly this sinfull dust.
See with what hellish Comrades you combine.
Als see whose lovely friendship you decline.
Even his whose love to you more strong then death
Did death abide, foul shame and evil tine.
But if sweet love your hearts may move uneath
Think how one fatall flame, shall burn all underneath.

269

55

Pans pipe shall then be mute, and Satyrs heel
Shall cease to dance ybrent in scorching fire;
For pleasure then each earthly spright shall feel
Deep searching pain; Revenge and base desire
Shall bear due vengeance, reap their worthy hire.
From thee, great Prince of souls! shall be their doome.
Then thou and thy dear Saints ascending higher
Shalt fly the fate, and quit this stinking room
With smouldry smoak, fierce fire, and loathsome stench o'rerun.

56

Go now you cursed Hags, salute your Goat
Whether with driveling lips or taper end,
Whereby at last you fire his hispide coat,
And then the deadly dust on mischief spend
As your Liege Lord these ashes doth commend
For wicked use, thundring this precept'drad,
Revenge, revenge, or I shall on you send
Due vengeance: Thus dismist th'Assembly bad
Hoyst up into the Air, fly home through clammy shade.

57

Which stories all to us do plainly prove
That airy sprights both speak, and hear, and see.
Why do not then the souls of mortalls move
In airy Chariots but stupid lie
Lock'd up in sloth and senselesse Lethargie.
Certes our soul's as well proportionate
To this aeriall weed as spirits free:
For neither can our souls incorporate
With naked Earth, the Air must ever mediate.

58

Which that bold Art which Necromaney hight
Doth know too well, and therefore doth prepare
A vap'rous vehicle for th'intended spright,
With reek of oyl, meal, milk, and such like gear,
Wine, water, hony; Thus souls fitted are
A grosser Carkas for to reassume.
And though Thessalian Hags their pains do spare
Sometimes they enter without Magick fume;
Witnesse ye Cretick wives, who felt their fruitlesse spume.

270

59

And therefore to prevent such hellish lust
They did by laws Municipall provide
That he that dar'd to rise out of his dust
And thus infest his wife, a stake should gride
His stubborn heart and's body burn beside.
Hereto belongs that story of the spright
Of fell Asuitus noted far and wide,
And of his faithfull comrade Asmund hight;
Twixt whom this law was made, as Danish Records write:

60

Which of them two the other did survive
Must be intomb'd with's fellow in one grave.
Dead Asuit therefore with his friend alive
His dog and horse all in one mighty Cave
Be shut together, yet this care they have,
That faithfull Asmund, be not lost for meat:
Wherefore he was well stor'd his life to save
And liv'd sometime in that infernall seat
Till Errick King of Sweads the door did open break.

61

For well he ween'd there was some treasure hid
Which might enrich himself, or'[illeg.] Army pay.
But when he had broke ope the brasen lid
Nought but a sory wight they finden may,
Whom out of darknesse brought to open day
The King beheld, dight with most deadly hue,
His cheek all gore, his ear quite bit away.
Then gan the King command the cause to shew,
To which Asmundus answers, as doth here ensue:

62

Why gaze you thus on my sad squalid face,
Th'alive needs languish must amongst the dead,
But this sore wound that further doth deface
My wasted looks, Asuitus (who first fed
On's horse and dog, and then with courage dred,
At me let fly) Asuit this wound me gave,
But well I quit my self, took off his head
With this same blade, his heart nayl'd to the Cave:
Thus I my self by force did from the monster save.

271

63

The soul of Naboth lies to Ahab told,
As done the learned Hebrew Doctours write,
His foe in mischief thereby to infold.
Go up to Ramoth Gilead and fight,
Go up and prosper, said the lying spright
The angry ghost of Naboth whom he slew
Unjustly, and possest his ancient right.
Hence his revengefull soul with speech untrue
Sat on his Prophets lips, and did with lies embue.

64

Ne may I passe that story sad of Saul
And Samuels ghost, whom he in great distresse
Consulted, was foretold his finall fall
By that old man, whom Endors sorceresse
Awak'd from pleasant vision and sweet ease,
Straitning a while his wonted liberty
By clammy air more close and thick compresse,
Then gan the mantled Sage Sauls destiny
To reade, and thine with his, dear Jonathan! to tye.

65

That lovely lasse Pausanias did kill
Through ill surmise she ment him treachery
How did her angry spirit haunt him still
That he could no where rest, nor quiet ly.
Her wronged ghost was ever in his eye.
And he that in his anger slew his wife,
And was exempt by Law from penalty,
Poore sorry man he led a weary life
Each night the Shrow him beat with buffes and boxes rife.

66

And love as well as hate the dead doth reach,
As may be seen by what Albumaron
Did once befall, that learnd Arabian Leach.
He of a late deceas'd Physition
Upon his bed by dream or vision
Receiv'd a soveraign salve for his sore eye,
And just Simonides compassion
Unto the dead that did unburied ly
On washed shore, him sav'd from jaws of destinie.

272

67

For he had perish'd in th'unruly waves,
And sudden storm, but lo! the thankfull spright
Of the interr'd by timely counsell saves,
Warning him of the danger he would meet
In his intended voyage,
Simonides desists by's counsell won:
The rest for want of faith or due foresight,
A prey to the devouring Seas become,
Their dashed bodies welter in the weedy scum.

68

In Artick Climes, an Isle that Thule hight
Famous for snowy monts, whose hoary head's
Sure signe of cold, yet from their fiery feet
They strike out burning stones with thunders dread,
And all the Land with smoak, and ashes spread:
Here wandring Ghosts themselves have often shown,
As if it were the region of the dead,
And men departed met with whom they've known
In seemly sort shake hands, and ancient friendship own.

69

A world of wonders hither might be thrown,
Of Sprights and spectres, as that frequent noise
Oft heard upon the Plane of Marathon,
Of neighing horses and of Martiall boyes.
The Greek, the Persian, nightly here destroyes
In hot assault, embroyl'd in a long war.
Foure hundred years did last these dreadfull toyes,
As doth by Attick Records plain appear,
The seeds of hate, by death so little slaked are.

70

Nor lists me speak of Remus Lemures,
Nor haunted house of slain Caligula,
Nor Julius stern Ghost, who will, with ease
May for himself of old or new purvey.
Thousand such stories in mens mouths do stray.
But sith it much perplexeth slower minds
To think our souls unhurt can passe away
From their dear corps so close thereto confin'd,
From this unweildy thought let's now their wits unbind.

273

71

For if that spirits can possesse our veins
And arteries (as usuall stories tell)
Use all our Organes act our nerves and brains
And by our tongue can future things foretell,
And safely yet keep close in this warme cell
For many years and not themselves impare
Nor lose ymeint with the bloud where they dwel,
But come out clever when they conjured are
And nimbly passe away soft gliding through the air:

72

Why scape not then the souls of men as clear
Since to this body they 're no better joyn'd
Then thorough it to feel, to see, to hear
And to impart the passions of the mind?
All which done by th'usurping spright we find.
As witnesse may that maid in Saxony,
Who meanly born of rude unlearned kind,
Not taught to reade, yet Greek and Latine she
Could roundly speak and in those tongues did prophesie.

73

Timotheus sister down in childbed laid
Distur'b, all-phrantick thorough deadly pain
Tearing the clothes, which much her friends dismai'd,
Mumbling strange words as confus'd as her brain
At last was prov'd to speak Armenian.
For an old man that was by chance in town
And from his native soyle Armenia came
The woman having heard of his renown
Sent to this aged Sire to this sick wight to come.

74

Lo! now has entred the Armenian Sage
With scalp all bald, and skin all brown and brent,
The number of his wrinkles told his age.
A naked sword in his dry hand he hent.
Thus standing near her bed strong threats he sent
In his own language, and her fiercely chid.
But she well understanding what he meant
Unto his threats did bold defiance bid.
Ne could his vaunts as yet the sturdy spirit rid.

274

75

Then gan he sternely speak and heave his hond
And feign'd himself enrag'd with hasty ire
As ready for to strike with flaming brond,
But she for fear shrunk back and did retire
Into her bed and gently did respire,
Muttering few easie words in sleepy wise.
So now whom erst tumultuous thoughts did tire
Compas'd to rest doth sweetly close her eyes,
Then wak'd, what her befell, in sober mood descryes.

76

Now, Thrax! thy Story adde of Alytas
Who got his freind into a Mountain high
Where he with him the loansome night did passe
In Stygian rites and hellish mystery.
First twiches up an herb that grew thereby,
Gives him to taste, then doth his eyes besmear
With uncouth salves, wherewith all suddenly
Legions of spirits flying here and there
Around their cursed heads do visibly appear.

77

Lastly into his mouth with filthy spaul
He spot, which done, a spirit like a Daw
His mouth did enter, and possessed all
His inward parts. From that time he gan know
Many secret things, and could events foreshow.
This was his guerdon this his wicked wage
From the inwoning of that Stygian Crow.
But who can think this bird did so engage
With flesh that he no'te scape the ruin of the cage.

78

No more do souls of men. For stories sayen
Well known 'mongst countrey folk, our spirits fly,
From twixt our lips, and thither back again,
Sometimes like Doves, sometime like to a Bee,
And sometime in their bodyes shape they be;
But all this while their carkase lyes asleep
Drown in dull rest sen of mortality;
At last these shapes return'd do slily creep
Into their mouth, then the dead clouds away they wipe.

275

79

Nor been these stories all but Countrey fictions.
For such like things even learned Clerks do write,
Of brasen sleep and bodi's derelictions.
That Proconnesian Sage that Atheus hight
Did oft himself of this dull body quit,
His soul then wandring in the easie aire.
But as to smoking lamp but lately light
The flame catch'd by the reek descends from farre,
So would his soul at last to his warm blood repair.

80

And Hermotime the Clazomenian
Would in like sort his body leave alone,
And view with naked soul both Hill and Plain
And secret Groves and every Region,
That he could tell what far and near was done:
But his curs'd foes the fell Cantharidæ
Assault his house when he was far from home,
Burn down to ashes his forsaken clay.
So may his wandring ghost for ever freely stray:

81

And 'tis an art well known to Wizards old
And wily Hags, who oft for fear and shame
Of the coarse halter, do themselves with-hold
From bodily assisting their night game.
Wherefore their carkasses at home retain.
But with their soules at those bad feasts they are,
And see their friends and call them by their name
And dance around the Goat and sing, har, har,
And kisse the Devils breech and taste his deadly chear.

82

A many stories to this purpose might
Be brought of men that in this Ecstacy
So senselesse ly that coales laid to their feet
Nor nips nor whips can make them ope their eye.
Then of a sudden when this fit's gone by,
They up and with great confidence declare
What things they heard and saw both far and nie,
Professing that their souls unbodied were
And roam'd about the earth in Countries here and there.

276

83

And to confirm the truth of this strange flight
They oft bring home a letter or a ring
At their return, from some far distant wight
Well known to friends that have the ordering
Of their forsaken corps that no live thing
Do tread or touch't, so safely may their spright
Spend three whole dayes in airy wandering.
A feat that's often done through Magick might,
By the Norvegian Hags as learned Authors write.

84

But now well wearied with our too long stay
In these Cimmerian fogs and hatefull mists
Of Ghosts of Goblins and drad sorcery,
From nicer allegations we'll desist.
Enough is said to prove that souls dismist
From these grosse bodies may be cloth'd in air
Scape free (although they did not præexist,)
And in these airy orbs feel, see, and hear
And moven as they list as did by proof appear.

85

But that in some sort souls do præexist
Seems to right reason nothing dissonant
Sith all souls both of trees, of men and beast
Been indivisible; And all do grant
Of humane souls though not of beast and plant:
But I elsewhere, I think, do gainly prove
That souls of beasts, by reasons nothing scant,
Be individuous, ne care to move
This question of a new, mens patiences to prove.

86

But if mens souls be individuous
How can they ought from their own substance shed?
In generation there's nought flows from us
Saving grosse sperm yspent in Nuptiall bed
Drain'd from all parts throughout the body spred,
And well concocted where me list not name.
But no conveyances there be that lead
To the souls substance, whereby her they drain
Of loosened parts, a young babe-soul from thence to gain.

277

87

Wherefore who thinks from souls new souls to bring
The same let presse the Sunne beams in his fist
And squeez out drops of light, or strongly wring
The Rainbow, till it die his hands, well prest.
Or with uncessant industry persist
Th'intentionall species to mash and bray
In marble morter, till he has exprest
A sovereigne eye-salve to discern a Fay.
As easily as the first all these effect you may.

88

Ne may queint similies this fury damp
Which say that our souls propagation
Is as when lamp we lighten from a lamp.
Which done withouten diminution
Of the first light, shows how the soul of man
Though indivisible may another rear
Imparting life. But if we rightly scan
This argument, it cometh nothing near.
To light the lamp's to kindle the sulphurious gear.

89

No substance new that act doth then produce
Onely the oyly atomes 't doth excite
And wake into a flame, but no such use
There is of humane sperm. For our free sprite
Is not the kindled seed, but substance quite
Distinct therefrom. If not, then bodies may
So changed be by nature and stiff fight
Of hungry stomacks, that what erst was clay
Then herbs, in time it self in sense may well display.

90

For then our soul can nothing be but bloud
Or nerves or brains, or body modifide.
Whence it will follow that cold stopping crud,
Hard moldy cheese, dry nuts, when they have rid
Due circuits through the heart at last shall speed
Of life and sense, look thorough our thin eyes
And view the Close wherein the Cow did feed
Whence they were milk'd, grosse Pie-crust will grow wise,
And pickled Cucumbers sans doubt Philosophize.

278

91

This all will follow if the soul be nought
But the live body. For mens bodies feed
Of such grosse meat. and if more fine be brought,
Suppose Snipes heads, Larks heels for Ladies meet
The broth of Barly, or that oily Sweet
Of th'unctious Grape, yet all men must confesse
These be as little capable of wit
And sense, nor can be so transform'd, I wisse.
Therefore no soul of man from seed traducted is.

92

Ne been they by th'high God then first create
When in this earthly mansion they appear.
For why should he so soon contaminate
So unspotted beauties as mens spirits are
Flinging them naked into dunghills here?
Soyl them with guilt and foul contagion?
When as in his own hand they spotlesse were
Till by an uncouth strange infusion
He plung'd them in the deep of Malediction.

93

Besides unworthily he doth surmise
Of Gods pure being and bright Majesty
Who unto such base offices him ties,
That He must wait on lawlesse Venery
Not onely by that large Causality
Of generall influence (for Creation
More speciall concourse all men deem to be)
But on set purpose He must come anon,
And ratifie the act which oft men wish undone.

94

Which is a rash and shamelesse bad conceit,
So might they name the brat Adeodatus,
What ever they in lawlesse love beget.
Again, what's still far more prodigious
When men are stung with fury poysonous
And burn with flames of lust toward brute beasts,
And overcome into conjunction rush,
He then from that foul act is not releast,
Creates a soul misplacing the unhappy guest.

279

95

Wherefore mans soul's not by Creation.
Nor is it generate as I prov'd before.
Wherefore let 't be by emanation
(If fully it did not præexist of yore)
By flowing forth from that eternall store
Of Lives and souls ycleep'd the World of life,
Which was, and shall endure for evermore.
Hence done all bodies vitall fire derive
And matter never lost catch life and still revive.

96

And what has once sprout out doth never cease
If it enjoy it self, a spray to be
Distinct and actuall, though if God please
He can command it into th'ancient tree.
This immense Orb of wast vitality
With all its Lives and Souls is every where,
And do's, where matter right prepar'd doth lie,
Impart a soul, as done the sunne beams clear
Insinuate themselves, where filth doth not debarre.

97

Thus may the souls in long succession
Leap out into distinct activity:
But sooth to say though this opinion
May seem right fair and plausible to be
Yet toils it under an hard difficulty.
Each where this Orb of life's with every soul;
Which doth imply the souls ubiquity.
Or if the whole Extent of Natures's full
Of severall souls thick set, what may the furthest pull?

98

What may engage them to descend so low
Remov'd farre from the steam of earthly mire?
My wits been here too scant and faith too slow.
Ne longer lists my wearied thoughts to tire.
Let bolder spirits to such hight aspire.
But well I wote, if there admitted were
A præexistency of souls entire,
And due Returns in courses circular
This course all difficulties with ease away would bear.

280

99

For then suppose they wore an airy sphear
Which choise or Nemesis suck'd lower down,
Thus without doubt they'll leave their carcase clear;
Like dispossessed spright when death doth come
And by rude exorcisme bids quit the room.
Ne let these intricacies perplex our mind
That we forget that ere we saw the sunne
Before this life. For who can call to mind
Where first he here saw sunne or felt the gentle wind.

100

Besides what wonder is 't, when fierce disease
Can so empair the strongest memory,
That so full change should make our spirits leese
What 'fore they had impress'd in phantasie.
Nor doth it follow thence that when we die
We nought retain of what pass'd in these dayes.
For Birth is Death, Death Life and Liberty.
The soul's not thence contract but there displayes
Her loosened self, doth higher all her powers raise.

101

Like to a light fast lock'd in lanthorn dark
Whereby, by night our wary steps we guide
In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark,
Some weaker rayes through the black top do glide,
And flusher streams perhaps from horny side.
But when we've past the perill of the way
Arriv'd at home, and laid that case aside,
The naked light how clearly doth it ray
And spread its joyfull beams as bright as Summers day.

102

Even so the soul in this contracted state
Confin'd to these strait instruments of sense
More dull and narrowly doth operate.
At this hole hears, the sight must ray from thence,
Here tasts, there smels; But when she's gone from hence,
Like naked lamp she is one shining sphear.
And round about has perfect cognoscence
What ere in her Horizon doth appear.
She is one Orb of sense, all eye, all airy ear.

281

103

Now have I well establish'd the fourth way
The souls of men from stupid sleep to save,
First Light, next Night, the third the soules Self-ray
Fourth the souls Chariot we named have
Whether moist air or fire all sparkling brave
Or temper mixt. Now how these foure agree,
And how the soul her self may dip and lave
In each by turns; how no redundancy
Ther's in them, might we tell, nor scant deficiency.

104

But cease my restlesse Muse be not too free,
Thy chiefest end thou hast accomplished
Long since, shak'd of the Psychopannychie
And rouz'd the soul from her dull drowsiehed.
So nothing now in death is to be dred
Of him that wakes to truth and righteousnesse.
The corps lies here, the soul aloft is fled
Unto the fount of perfect happinesse.
Full freedome joy and peace she lively doth possesse.

283

4. ANTIMONOPSYCHIA

Or The fourth part of the Song OF THE SOUL, Containing A confutation of the Unity of Souls.

Whereunto is annexed a Paraphrase upon Apollos answer concerning Plotinus his Soul departed this life.

Χαιρετ', εγω δ' υμιν θεος αμβ()οτος ουκ ετι θνητος.

285

The all-devouring Unitie
Of Souls I here disprove;
Show how they bear their memorie
With them when they remove.

1

Who yields himself to learning and the Muse,
Is like a man that leaves the steddy shore,
And skims the Sea. He nought then can refuse
What ever is design'd by Neptunes power,
Is fiercely drove in every stormy stoure,
Slave to the water and the whisling wind:
Even so am I, that whylom meant recover
The wished land, but now against my mind
Am driven fiercely back, and so new work do find.

2

What though the Rationall soul immortall be,
And safely doth exist this body gone,
And lies broad wake in her existency
In all souls that exist do prove but one.
Or; though a number, if oblivion
Of all things past, put them in such a state
That they can no-wise guesse that ere upon
This earth they trode, even this seems to abate
Their happinesse. They'll deem themselves then first create.

286

3

Wherefore to ease us of this double doubt,
With mighty force great Phœbus doth inspire
My raving mind. He'll bear me strongly out,
Till I have perfected his own desire;
Nor will he suffer me once to respire
Till I have brought this song unto an end.
O may it be but short though a quick fire!
Such rage and rapture makes the body bend,
Doth waste its fading strength and fainting spirits spend.

4

Now comes the story of Praxiteles
Into my mind, whom looking in a glasse,
With surly countenance, it did much displease,
That any should so sourely him outface;
Yet whom he saw his dogged self it was:
Tho he with angry fist struck his own shade.
Thus he the harmlesse mirior shattered has
To many shivers; the same shapes invade
Each piece, so numbers he of surly vizards made.

5

These shapes appeard from the division
Of the broke glasse: so rather phansies deem
That Rationall souls (whom they suppose but one)
By the divided matter many seem:
Bodies disjoind broke glasses they esteem:
Which if they did into one substance flow,
One single soul in that one glasse would shine,
If that one substance also were ygo,
One onely soul is left, the rest were but a show.

6

Well is their mind by this similitude
Explaind. But now lets sift the verity
Of this opinion, and with reason rude
Rub, crush, tosse, rifle this fine phantasie,
As light and thin as cob-webs that do fly
In the blew air, caus'd by th'Autumnall sun,
That boils the dew that on the earth doth lie.
May seem this whitish rag then is the scum,
Unlesse that wiser men make't the field-spiders loom.

287

7

But such deep secrets willingly I leave
To grand Philosophers. I'll forward go
In my proposed way. If they conceive
There's but on soul (though many seem in show)
Which in these living bodies here below
Doth operate (some such opinion
That Learned Arab held hight Aven-Roe)
How comes't to passe that she's so seldome known
In her own self? In few she thinks her self but one.

8

Seems not this Soul or Intellect very dull,
That in so few she can her self discover
To be but one in all, though all be full
Of her alone? Besides, no soul doth love her
Because she sucks up all: but what should move her
Thus to detest her self, if so that she's
But one in all? right reason surely drove her
Thus to condemne this lonesome Unitie
Of soul: which reasons her own operations be.

9

Thoughts good and bad that Universall mind
Must take upon it self; and every ill,
That is committed by all humane kind,
They are that souls. Alas, we have no will,
No free election, nor yet any skill,
But are a number of dull stalking trees
That th'universall Intellect doth fill
With its own life and motion: what it please
That there it acts. What strange absurdities are these?

10

All plotted mischief that sly reason wrought,
All subtill falsities that nimbly fly
About the world, that soul them all hath brought;
Then upon better thoughts with penalty
Doth sore afflict her self, doth laugh and cry
At the same time. Here Aristophanes
Doth maken sport with some spruse Comedy;
There with some Tragick strain sad Sophocles
Strikes the Spectatours hearts, makes many weeping eyes.

288

11

Such grief this soul must in her self conceive
And pleasure at one time. But here you'll say
We ought not grief or pleasure for to give
Unto the soul. To what then? This live clay?
It feels no grief if she were gone away:
Therefore the soul at once doth laugh and cry.
But in this Argument I'll no longer stay,
But forward on with swifter course will hie,
And finden out some grosser incongruity.

12

Let now two men conceiven any form
Within their selves, suppose of flaming fire;
If but one soul doth both their corpse inform,
There's but one onely species intire.
For what should make it two? The Idee of fire,
That is but one, the subject is but one,
One onely soul that all men doth inspire.
Let one man quench that form he thought upon,
That form is now extinct and utterly ygone;

13

So that the other man can think no longer,
Which all experience doth prove untrue.
But yet I'll further urge with reason stronger,
And still more clearly this fond falshood shew.
Can contraries the same subject imbew?
Yes; black and white, heat, cold may both possesse
The mind at once; but they a nature new
Do there obtain, they're not grosse qualities,
But subtill sprights that mutually themselves no'te presse.

14

But contradiction, can that have place
In any soul? Plato affirms Idees;
But Aristotle with his pugnacious race
As idle figments stifly them denies.
One soul in both doth thus Philosophise,
Concludes at once contradictoriously
To her own self. What man can here devise
A fit escape, if (what's sure verity)
He grant but the souls indivisibility?

289

15

Which stifly is maintaind in that same song
Which is ycleeped Psychathanasie,
And safely well confirm'd by reasons strong:
Wherefore I list not here the truth to try,
But wish the Reader to turn back his eye,
And view what there was faithfully displaid.
Now if there be but one centrality
Of th'Universall soul which doth invade
All humane shapes; how come these contradictions made?

16

For that one soul is judge of every thing,
And heareth all Philosophers dispute;
Herself disputes in all that jangling,
In reasoning fiercely doth her self confute,
And contradictions confidently conclude:
That is so monstrous that no man can think
To have least shew of truth. So this pursuit
I well might now leave off: what need I swink
To prove whats clearly true, and force out needlesse ink.

17

Again, she would the same thing will and nill
At the same time. Besides, all men would have
The self-same knowledge, art, experience, skill;
The frugall parent might his money save,
The Pedagoge his pains: If he engrave
His Grammer precepts but in one boyes mind,
Of decent manners: He doth thus embrave
With single labour all the youth you'll find
Under the hollow Heavens, they'll be alike inclin'd.

18

And every man is skill'd in every trade,
And every silent thought that up doth spring
In one mans brest, doth every man invade;
No counsel-keeper, nor no secret thing
Will then be found; They'll need no whispering
Not louder voice. Let Orators be dumb,
Nor need the eager auditours make a ring;
Though every one keep himself close at home,
The silent Preachers thoughts through all the world will roam,

290

19

Find each man out, and in a moment hit
With unavoided force: Or sooth to sain
They all begin at once to think what's fit,
And all at once anon leave off again.
A thousand such incongruities vain
Will follow from the first absurdity,
Which doth all souls into one centre strain,
And make them void of self-centrality.
Strange soul from whence first sprong so uncouth falsity.

20

Now all the arguments that I have brought
For to disprove the souls strange solitude,
That there is not one onely soul, well mought
Be urg'd (and will with equall strength conclude)
To prove that God his creature hath indew'd
With a self-centrall essence, which from his
Doth issue forth, with proper raies embew'd,
And that not all the very Godhead is:
For that would straight beget the like absurdities.

21

For he is indivisibly one being,
At once in every place and knoweth all;
He is omnipotent, infinite in seeing:
Wherefore if Creatures intellectuall
(And in that Order humane souls will fall)
Were God himself, they would be alike wise,
Know one anothers thoughts imaginall,
Which no man doth: such falshoods would arise
With many more, which an idiot might well despise.

22

Nor will mens souls that now be different
Be God himself hereafter, and all one:
For thus they were quite lost; their life ylent
And subtill being quite away are flone.
This is a perfect contradiction,
They are all one with God, and yet they are.
If they be one with God, then they alone
Did make themselves, and every rolling starre:
For God alone made these, and God himself they are.

291

23

Before the Sun and all the host of heaven,
The earth, the sea, and mans deep centrall spright;
Before all these were made, was not God even
With his own self? what then him moven might
To waste his words and say, Let there be light.
If the accomplishment of all things be,
That all be God himself. This is not right.
No more perfection, no more Entity
There's then, then was in that eternall Silency.

24

Or will you say, that God himself delights
To do and undo? But how can this stand
With self-sufficiency? There's nought that might
Adde to His happinesse (if I understand
His nature right.) But He with open hand
Doth easly feed the Creature that he made
As easly. Wherefore if the truth be scand
This Goodnesse would that nought should be decay'd;
His mind is all should live; no life he would should fade.

25

But if the small consummation
Of all things make the Creature Deiform,
As Plato's school doth phrase it; there is none
That thence need fear to come to any harm:
For God himself will then inact, inform,
And quicken humane souls at the last day;
And though the Devil rore, and rage, and storm,
Yet Deaths drad power shall be done away,
Nor living Night on men her poysonous beams shall ray.

26

He hasten it that makes that glorious day!
For certainly it is no fearfull thing
But unto pride, and love of this base clay:
Its their destruction, but the perfecting
Of the just souls. It unto them doth bring
Their full desire, to be more close unite
With God, and utter cleans'd from all their sin.
Long was the world involv'd in cloudy Night,
But at the last will shine the perfect Christian light.

292

27

Thus the souls numerous plurality
I've prov'd, and shew'd she is not very God;
But yet a decent Deiformity
Have given her: thus in the middle trod
I safely went, and fairly well have row'd
As yet. Part of my voyage is to come,
Which is to prove that the souls new aboad
In heaven or hell (what ever is her doom)
Nought hinders but past forms even there again may bloom.

28

Which if they did not, she could never tell
Why she were thus rewarded, wherefore ill
Or good she doth enjoy, whether ill or well
She lived here. Remembrance death did spill.
But otherwise it fares; as was her will
And inclination of her thirsty spright,
Impressions of like nature then doth fill
Her lively mind, whether with sad affright
Disturb'd, which she long fear'd; or in hop'd-for delight.

29

The life that here most strongly kindled was
(Sith she awakes in death) must needs betray
The soul to what nearest affinity has
With her own self, and likenesses do sway
The mind to think of what ever did play
In her own self with a like shape or form;
And contraries do help the memory:
So if the soul be left in case forlorn,
Remembrance of past joy makes her more deeply mourn.

30

'Tis also worth our observation,
That higher life doth ever comprehend
The lower vitall acts: sensation
The soul some sitten hint doth promptly lend
To find out plantall life; sense is retaind
In subtiller manner in the phantasie;
Als reason phantasies doth well perpend:
Then must the souls highest capacity
Contain all under life. Thus is their Memory.

293

31

This faculty is very intimate
And near the Centre, very large and free,
Extends it self to whatsoever that
The soul peracts. There is no subtilty
Of Intellect, of Will, nor Phantasie.
No Sense, nor uncouth strange impression
From damned Night, or the blest Deity,
But of all these she hath retention,
And at their fresh approach their former shapes can own.

32

This memorie the very bond of life
You may well deem. If it were cut away
Our being truly then you might contrive
Into a point of time. The former day
Were nought at all to us: when once we lay
Our selves to sleep, we should not know at morn
That e're we were before; nor could we say
A whit of sense: so soon as off we turn
One word, that's quite forgot. Coherence thus is torn.

33

Now sith it is of such necessitie,
And is the bundle of the souls duration,
The watchman of the soul, lest she should flie
Or steal from her own self, a sure fixation
And Centrall depth it hath, and free dilation,
That it takes notice of each energie
Of Phansie, Sense, or any Cogitation.
Wherefore this virtue no dependencie
Hath of this body, must be safe when it doth die.

34

But if dispersed lifes collection,
Which is our memory, safely survive
(Which well it may, sith it depends not on
The Mundane spirit) what can fitly drive
It into action? In heaven she doth live
So full of one great light, she hath no time
To such low trifles, as past sights, to dive,
Such as she gathered up in earthly slime:
Foreknowledge of herself is lost in light divine.

294

35

But can she here forget our radiant Sunne?
Of which its maker is the bright Idee,
This is His shadow; or what she hath done
Now she's rewarded with the Deitie?
Suppose it: Yet her hid Centralitie
So sprightly's quickned with near Union
With God, that now lifes wished liberty
Is so encreas'd, that infinitely sh' has fun
Herself, her deep'st desire unspeakably hath wonne.

36

And deep desire is the deepest act,
The most profound and centrall energie,
The very selfnesse of the soul, which backe
With piercing might, she breaks out, forth doth flie
From dark contracting death, and doth descry
Herself unto herself; so thus unfold
That actuall life she straightwayes saith, is I.
Thus while she in the body was infold,
Of this low life, as of herself oft tales she told.

37

In dangerous sicknesse often saith, I die;
When nought doth die but the low plantall man,
That falls asleep: and while Nature doth tie
The soul unto the body; she nere can
Avoid it, but must feel the self-same pain,
The same decay, if hereto she her mind
Do bend. When stupid cold her corse oreran,
She felt that cold; but when death quite doth bind
The sense, then she herself doth dead and senselesse find.

38

Or else at least just at the entrance
Of death she feels that slie privation,
How now it spreads ore all: so living sense
Perceives how sleep creeps on, till quite o'recome
With drousinesse, animadversion
Doth cease: but (lower sense then fast ybound)
The soul bestoweth her adversion
On something else: So oft strange things hath found
In sleep, from this dull carcase while she was unbound.

295

39

So though the soul, the time she doth advert
The bodies passions takes her self to die;
Yet death now finish'd, she can well convert
Herself to other thoughts. And if the eye
Of her adversion were fast fixt on high,
In midst of death 'twere no more fear or pain,
Then 'twas unto Elias to let flie
His uselesse mantle to that Hebrew Swain,
While he rode up to heaven in a bright fiery wain.

40

Thus have I stoutly rescued the soul
From centrall death or pure mortalitie,
And from the listlesse flouds of Lethe dull,
And from the swallow of drad Unitie.
And from an all-consuming Deitie.
What now remains, but since we are so sure
Of endlesse life, that to true pietie
We bend our minds, and make our conscience pure,
Lest living Night in bitter darknesse us immure.

FINIS.

296

THE ORACLE

OR, A Paraphrasticall Interpretation of the answer of Apollo, when he was consulted by Amelius whither Plotinus soul went when he departed this life.

I tune my strings to sing some sacred verse
Of my dear friend; in an immortall strain
His mighty praise I loudly will rehearse
With hony-dewed words: some golden vein
The strucken chords right sweetly shall resound.
Come, blessed Muses, let's with one joynt noise,
With strong impulse, and full harmonious sound,
Speak out his excellent worth. Advance your voice,
As once you did for great Æacides,
Rapt with an heavenly rage, in decent dance,
Mov'd at the measures of Meonides.
Go to, you holy Quire, let's all at once
Begin, and to the end hold up the song,
Into one heavenly harmony conspire;
I Phœbus with my lovely locks ymong
The midst of you shall sit, and life inspire.

Divine Plotinus! yet now more divine
Then when thy noble soul so stoutly strove
In that dark prison, where strong chains confine,
Keep down the active mind it cannot move
To what it loveth most. Those fleshly bands
Thou now hast loos'd, broke from Necessitie.
From bodies storms, and frothie working sands
Of this low restlesse life now setten free,

297

Thy feet do safely stand upon a shore,
Which foaming waves beat not in swelling rage,
Nor angry seas do threat with fell uprore;
Well hast thou swommen out, and left that stage
Of wicked Actours, that tumultuous rour
Of ignorant men. Now thy pure steps thou stay'st
In that high path, where Gods light shines about,
And perfect Right its beauteous beams displayes.
How oft, when bitter wave of troubled flesh,
And whirl-pool-turnings of the lower spright,
Thou stoutly strov'st with, Heaven did thee refresh,
Held out a mark to guide thy wandring flight!
While thou in tumbling seas didst strongly toyl
To reach the steddie Land, struckst with thy arms
The deafing surges, that with rage do boyl;
Stear'd by that signe thou shunn'st those common harms.
How oft, when rasher cast of thy souls eye
Had thee misguided into crooked wayes,
Wast thou directed by the Deitie?
They held out to thee their bright lamping rayes:
Dispers'd the mistie darknesse, safely set
Thy feeble feet in the right path again.
Nor easie sleep so closely ere beset
Thy eyelids, nor did dimnesse ere so stain
Thy radiant sight, but thou such things didst see
Even in that tumult, that few can arrive
Of all are named from Philosophie
To that high pitch, or to such secrets dive.

But sith this body thy pure soul divine
Hath left, quite risen from her rotten grave,
Thou now among those heavenly wights dost shine,
Whose wonne this glorious lustre doth embrave:
There lovely Friendship, mild-smiling Cupid's there,
With lively looks and amorous suavitie,
Full of pure pleasure, and fresh flowring chear;
Ambrosian streams sprung from the Deitie
Do frankly flow, and soft love-kindling winds
Do strike with a delicious sympathie
Those tender spirits, and fill up their minds
With satisfying joy. The puritie
Of holy fire their heart doth then invade,
And sweet Perswasion, meek Tranquillitie,

298

The gentle-breathing Air, the Heavens nought sad,
Do maken up this great felicitie.
Here Rhadamanthus, and just Æacus,
Here Minos wonnes, with those that liv'd of yore
I'th' golden age; here Plato vigorous
In holy virtue, and fair Pythagore.
These been the goodly Off-spring of Great Jove,
And liven here, and who so fill'd the Quire
And sweet assembly of immortall Love,
Purging their spirits with refining fire;
These with the happy Angels live in blisse,
Full fraught with joy, and lasting pure delight,
In friendly feasts, and life-outfetching kisse.
But, ah! dear Plotin, what smart did thy sprite
Indure, before thou reach'st this high degree
Of happinesse? what agonies, what pains
Thou underwent'st to set thy soul so free
From baser life? She now in heaven remains
Mongst the pure Angels. O thrice-happy wight!
That now art got into the Land of Life,
Fast plac'd in view of that Eternall Light,
And sitt'st secure from the foul bodies strife.

But now, you comely virgins, make an end,
Break off this musick, and deft seemly Round,
Leave off your dance: For Plotin my dear friend
Thus much I meant my golden harp should sound.

AN ADDITION of some few smaller POEMS

299

Cupids Conflict.

Mela. Cleanthes.
Cl.
Mela my dear! why been thy looks so sad
As if thy gentle heart were sunk with care?
Impart thy case; for be it good or bad
Friendship in either will bear equall share.

Mel.
Not so; Cleanthes, for if bad it be
My self must bleed afresh by wounding thee.

But what it is, my slow, uncertain wit
Cannot well judge. But thou shalt sentence give
How manfully of late my self I quit,
When with that lordly lad by chance I strive.

Cl.
Of friendship Mela! let's that story hear.

Mel.
Sit down Cleanthes then, and lend thine ear.

Upon a day as best did please my mind
Walking abroad amidst the verdant field
Scattering my carefull thoughts i'th' wanton wind
The pleasure of my path so farre had till'd
My feeble feet that without timely rest
Uneath it were to reach my wonted nest.

In secret shade farre moved from mortalls sight
In lowly dale my wandring limbs I laid
On the cool grasse where Natures pregnant wit
A goodly Bower of thickest trees had made.
Amongst the leaves the chearfull Birds did fare
And sweetly carol'd to the echoing Air.

Hard at my feet ran down a crystall spring
Which did the cumbrous pebbles hoarsly chide
For standing in the way. Though murmuring
The broken stream his course did rightly guide
And strongly pressing forward with disdain
The grassie flore divided into twain.

300

The place a while did feed my foolish eye
As being new, and eke mine idle ear
Did listen oft to that wild harmonie
And oft my curious phansie would compare
How well agreed the Brooks low muttering Base,
With the birds trebbles pearch'd on higher place.

But senses objects soon do glut the soul,
Or rather weary with their emptinesse;
So I, all heedlesse how the waters roll
And mindlesse of the mirth the birds expresse,
Into my self 'gin softly to retire
After hid heavenly pleasures to enquire.

While I this enterprize do entertain;
Lo! on the other side in thickest bushes
A mighty noise! with that a naked swain
With blew and purple wings streight rudely rushes
He leaps down light upon the flowry green,
Like sight before mine eyes had never seen.

At's snowy back the boy a quiver wore
Right fairly wrought and gilded all with gold:
A silver bow in his left hand he bore,
And in his right a ready shaft did hold.
Thus armed stood he, and betwixt us tway
The labouring brook did break its toilsome way.

The wanton lad whose sport is others pain
Did charge his bended bow with deadly dart,
And drawing to the head with might and main,
With fell intent he aim'd to hit my heart.
But ever as he shot his arrows still
In their mid course dropt down into the rill.

Of wondrous virtues that in waters been
Is needlesse to rehearse, all books do ring
Of those strange rarities. But ne're was seen
Such virtue as resided in this spring.
The noveltie did make me much admire
But stirr'd the hasty youth to ragefull ire.

301

As heedlesse fowls that take their per'lous flight
Over that bane of birds, Averno lake,
Do drop down dead: so dead his shafts did light
Amid the stream, which presently did slake
Their fiery points, and all their feathers wet
Which made the youngster Godling inly fret.

Thus lustfull Love (this was that love I ween)
Was wholly changed to consuming ire.
And eath it was, sith they're so near a kin
They be both born of one rebellious fire.
But he supprest his wrath and by and by
For feathered darts, he winged words let flie.

Vain man! said he, and would thou wer'st not vain
That hid'st thy self in solitary shade
And spil'st thy precious youth in sad disdain
Hating this lifes delight! Hath God thee made
Part of this world, and wilt not thou partake
Of this worlds pleasure for its makers sake?

Unthankfull wretch! Gods gifts thus to reject
And maken nought of Natures goodly dower.
That milders still away through thy neglect
And dying fades like unregarded flower.
This life is good, what's good thou must improve,
The highest improvement of this life is love.

Had I (but O that envious Destinie,
Or Stygian vow, or thrice accursed charm
Should in this place free passage thus denie
Unto my shafts as messengers of harm!)
Had I but once transfixt thy froward breast,
How would'st thou then—I staid not for the rest;

But thus half angry to the boy replide:
How would'st thou then my soul of sense bereave!
I blinded, thee more blind should choose my guide!
How would'st thou then my muddied mind deceive
With fading shows, that in my errour vile,
Base lust, I love should tearm; vice, virtue stile.

302

How should my wicked rhymes then idolize
Thy wretched power, and with impious wit
Impute thy base born passions to the skies,
And my souls sicknesse count an heavenly fit,
My weaknesse strength, my wisdome to be caught,
My bane my blisse, mine ease to be o'rewraught.

How often through my fondly feigning mind
And frantick phansie, in my Mistris eye
Should I a thousand fluttering Cupids find
Bathing their busie wings? How oft espie
Under the shadow of her eye-brows fair
Ten thousand Graces sit all naked bare?

Thus haunted should I be with such feat fiends,
A pretty madnesse were my portion due.
Foolish my self I would not hear my friends.
Should deem the true for false, the false for true.
My way all dark more slippery then ice
My attendants, anger, pride, and jealousies.

Unthankfull then to God I should neglect
All the whole world for one poore sorry wight,
Whose pestilent eye into my heart project
Would burn like poysonous Comet in my spright.
Aye me! how dismall then would prove that day
Whose onely light sprang from so fatall ray.

Who seeks for pleasure in this mortall life
By diving deep into the body base
Shall loose true pleasure: But who gainly strive
Their sinking soul above this bulk to place
Enlarg'd delight they certainly shall find,
Unbounded joyes to fill their boundlesse mind.

When I my self from mine own self do quit
And each thing else; then an all-spreaden love
To the vast Universe my soul doth fit,
Makes me half equall to All-seeing Jove.
My mightie wings high stretch'd then clapping light
I brush the starres and make them shine more bright.

303

Then all the works of God with close embrace
I dearly hug in my enlarged arms,
All the hid paths of heavenly Love I trace
And boldly listen to his secret charms.
Then clearly view I where true light doth rise,
And where eternall Night low-pressed lies.

Thus lose I not by leaving small delight
But gain more joy, while I my self suspend
From this and that; for then with all unite
I all enjoy, and love that love commends.
That all is more then loves the partiall soul
Whose petty love th'impartiall fates controll.

Ah son! said he, (and laughed very loud)
That trickst thy tongue with uncouth strange disguize,
Extolling highly that with speeches proud
To mortall men that humane state denies,
And rashly blaming what thou never knew;
Let men experienc'd speak, if they'll speak true.

Had I once lanc'd thy froward flinty heart
And cruddled bloud had thawn with living fire
And prickt thy drousie sprite with gentle smart
How wouldst thou wake to kindle sweet desire!
Thy soul fill'd up with overflowing pleasures
Would dew thy lips with honey dropping measures.

Then would thou caroll loud and sweetly sing
In honour of my sacred Deity
That all the woods and hollow hills would'ring
Reechoning thy heavenly harmony.
And eke the hardy rocks withfull rebounds
Would faithfully return thy silver sounds.

Next unto me would be thy Mistresse fair,
Whom thou might setten out with goodly skill
Her peerlesse beauty and her virtues rare,
That all would wonder at thy gracefull quill.
And lastly in us both thy self shouldst raise
And crown thy temples with immortall bayes.

304

But now thy riddles all men do neglect,
Thy rugged lines of all do ly forlorn.
Unwelcome rhymes that rudely do detect
The Readers ignorance. Men holden scorn
To be so often non-plus'd or to spell,
And on one stanza a whole age to dwell.

Besides this harsh and hard obscurity
Of the hid sense, thy words are barbarous
And strangely new, and yet too frequently
Return, as usuall plain and obvious,
So that the show of the new thick-set patch
Marres all the old with which it ill doth match.

But if thy haughty mind, forsooth would deign
To stoop so low as t'hearken to my lore,
Then wouldst thou with trim lovers not disdeign
To adorn th'outside, set the best before.
Nor tub nor wrinkle would thy verses spoil.
Thy rhymes should run as glib and smooth as oyl.

If that be all; said I, thy reasons slight
Can never move my well establish'd mind.
Full well I wote alwayes the present sprite,
Or life that doth possesse the soul, doth blind,
Shutting the windows 'gainst broad open day
Lest fairer sights its uglinesse bewray.

The soul then loves that disposition best
Because no better comes unto her view.
The drunkard drunkennesse, the sluggard rest,
Th'Ambitious honour and obeysance due.
So all the rest do love their vices base
'Cause virtues beauty comes not into place.

And looser love 'gainst Chastity divine
Would shut the door that he might sit alone.
Then wholly should my mind to him incline,
And woxen strait, (since larger love was gone)
That paultry spirit of low contracting lust
VVould fit my soul as if 't were made for 't just.

305

Then should I with my fellow bird or brute
So strangely metamorphiz'd, either ney
Or bellow loud: or if't may better sute
Chirp out my joy pearch'd upon higher spray.
My passions fond with impudence rehearse,
Immortalize my madnesse in a verse.

This is the summe of thy deceiving boast
That I vain ludenesse highly should admire,
When I the sense of better things have lost
And chang'd my heavenly heat for hellish fire.
Passion is blind: but virtues piercing eye
Approching danger can from farre espie.

And what thou dost Pedantickly object
Concerning my rude rugged uncouth style,
As childish toy I manfully neglect,
And at thy hidden snares do inly smile.
How ill alas! with wisdome it accords
To sell my living sense for livelesse words.

My thought's the fittest measure of my tongue,
Wherefore I'll use what's most significant,
And rather then my inward meaning wrong
Or my full-shining notion trimly skant,
I'll conjure up old words out of their grave,
Or call fresh forrein force in if need crave.

And these attending on my moving mind
Shall duly usher in the fitting sense.
As oft as meet occasion I find.
Unusuall words oft used give lesse offence;
Nor will the old contexture dim or marre,
For often us'd they're next to old, thred-bare.

And if the old seem in too rusty hew,
Then frequent rubbing makes them shine like gold,
And glister all with colour gayly new.
Wherefore to use them both we will be bold.
Thus lists me fondly with fond folk to toy,
And answer sools with equall foolery.

306

The meaner mind works with more nicetie
As Spiders wont to weave their idle web,
But braver spirits do all things gallantly
Of lesser failings nought at all affred:
So Natures carelesse pencill dipt in light
With sprinkled starres hath spattered the Night,

And if my notions clear though rudely thrown
And loosely scattered in my poesie,
May lend men light till the dead Night be gone,
And Morning fresh with roses strew the sky:
It is enough, I meant no trimmer frame
Nor by nice needle-work to seek a name.

Vain man! that seekest name 'mongst earthly men
Devoid of God and all good virtuous lere;
Who groping in the dark do nothing ken;
But mad, with griping care their souls do tear,
Or Burst with hatred or with envie pine,
Or burn with rage or melt out at their eyne.

Thrice happy he whose name is writ above,
And doeth good though gaining infamy;
Requiteth evil turns with hearty love,
And recks not what befalls him outwardly:
Whose worth is in himself, and onely blisse
In his pure conscience that doth nought amisse.

Who placeth pleasure in his purged soul
And virtuous life his treasure doth esteem;
Who can his passions master and controll,
And that true lordly manlinesse doth deem,
Who from this world himself hath clearly quit,
Counts nought his own but what lives in his sprite.

So when his spright from this vain world shall flit
It bears all with it whatsoever was dear
Unto it self, passing in easie fit,
As kindly ripen'd corn comes out of th'ear.
Thus mindlesse of what idle men will say
He takes his own and stilly goes his way.

307

But the Retinue of proud Lucifer,
Those blustering Poets that fly after fame
And deck themselves like the bright Morning-starre,
Alas! it is but all a crakling flame.
For death will strip them of that glorious plume,
That airie blisse will vanish into fume.

For can their carefull ghosts from Limbo Lake
Return, or listen from the bowed skie
To heare how well their learned lines do take?
Or if they could; is Heavens felicitie
So small as by mans praise to be encreas'd,
Hells pain no greater then hence to be eas'd?

Therefore once dead in vain shall I transmit
My shadow to gazing Posterity;
Cast farre behind me I shall never see't,
On Heavens fair Sunne having fast fixt mine eye.
Nor while I live, heed I what man doth praise
Or underprize mine unaffected layes.

What moves thee then, said he, to take the pains
And spenden time if thou contemn'st the fruit?
Sweet fruit of fame, that fills the Poets brains
With high conceit and feeds his fainting wit.
How pleasant 'tis in honour here to live
And dead, thy name for ever to survive!

Or is thy abject mind so basely bent
As of thy Muse to maken Merchandize?
(And well I wote this is no strange intent.)
The hopefull glimps of gold from chattering Pies,
From Daws and Crows, and Parots oft hath wrung
An unexpected Pegaseian song.

Foul shame on him, quoth I, that shamefull thought
Doth entertain within his dunghill breast,
Both God and Nature hath my spirits wrought
To better temper and of old hath blest
My loftie soul with more divine aspires,
Then to be touchd with such vile low desires.

308

I hate and highly scorn that Kestrell kind
Of bastard scholars that subordinate
The precious choice induements of the mind
To wealth or worldly good. Adulterate
And cursed brood! Your wit and will are born
Of th'earth and circling thither do return.

Profit and honour be those measures scant
Of your slight studies and endeavours vain,
And when you once have got what you did want
You leave your learning to enjoy your gain.
Your brains grow low, your bellies swell up high,
Foul sluggish fat ditts up your dulled eye.

Thus what the earth did breed, to th'earth is gone,
Like fading hearb or feeble drooping flower,
By feet of men and beast quite trodden down,
The muck-sprung learning cannot long endure,
Back she returns lost in her filthy source,
Drown'd, chok'd or slocken by her cruell nurse.

True virtue to her self's the best reward,
Rich with her own and full of lively spirit,
Nothing cast down for want of due regard,
Or 'cause rude men acknowledge not her merit.
She knows her worth and stock from whence she sprung,
Spreads fair without the warmth of earthly dung,

Dew'd with the drops of Heaven shall flourish long;
As long as day and night do share the skie,
And though that day and night should fail yet strong,
And steddie, fixed on Eternitie
Shall bloom for ever. So the soul shall speed
That loveth virtue for no worldly meed.

Though sooth to say, the worldly meed is due
To her more then to all the world beside.
Men ought do homage with affections true
And offer gifts, for God doth there reside.
The wise and virtuous soul is his own seat
To such what's given God himself doth get.

309

But earthly minds whose sight's seal'd up with mud
Discern not this flesh-clouded Deity,
Ne do acknowledge any other good
Then what their mole-warp hands can feel and trie
By groping touch; (thus worth of them unseen)
Of nothing worthy that true worth they ween.

Wherefore the prudent Law-givers of old
Even in all Nations, with right sage foresight
Discovering from farre how clums and cold
The vulgar wight would be to yield what's right
To virtuous learning, did by law designe
Great wealth and honour to that worth divine.

But nought's by law to Poesie due said he,
Ne doth the solemn Statesmans head take care
Of those that such impertinent pieces be
Of common-weals. Thou'd better then to spare
Thy uselesse vein. Or tell else, what may move
Thy busie Muse such fruitlesse pains to prove.

No pains but pleasure to do th'dictates dear
Of inward living nature. What doth move
The Nightingall to sing so sweet and clear
The Thrush, or Lark that mounting high above
Chants her shrill notes to heedlesse ears of corn
Heavily hanging in the dewy Morn.

When Life can speak, it cannot well withold
T'expresse its own impressions and hid life.
Or joy or greif that smoothered lie untold
Do vex the heart and wring with restlesse strife,
Then are my labours no true pains but ease
My souls unrest they gently do appease.

Besides, that is not fruitlesse that no gains
Brings to my self. I others profit deem
Mine own: and if at these my heavenly flames
Others receiven light, right well I ween
My time's not lost. Art thou now satisfide
Said I: to which the scoffing boy replide.

310

Great hope indeed thy rhymes should men enlight;
That be with clouds and darknesse all o'recast,
Harsh style and harder sense void of delight
The Readers wearied eye in vain do wast.
And when men win thy meaning with much pain,
Thy uncouth sense they coldly entertain.

For worst thou not that all the world is dead
Unto that Genius that moves in thy vein
Of poetrie! But like by like is fed.
Sing of my Trophees in triumphant strein,
Then correspondent life, thy powerfull verse
Shall strongly strike and with quick passion pierce.

The tender frie of lads and lasses young
With thirstie eare thee compassing about,
Thy Nectar-dropping Muse, thy sugar'd song
Will swallow down with eager hearty draught;
Relishing truly what thy rhymes convey,
And highly praising thy soul-smiting lay.

The mincing maid her mind will then bewray,
Her heart-bloud flaming up into her face,
Grave matrons will wax wanton and betray
Their unresolv'dnesse in their wonted grace;
Young boyes and girls would feel a forward spring,
And former youth to eld thou back wouldst bring.

All Sexes, Ages, Orders, Occupations
Would listen to thee with attentive ear,
And eas'ly moved with thy sweet perswasions,
Thy pipe would follow withfull merry chear.
While thou thy lively voice didst loud advance
Their tickled bloud for joy would inly dance.

But now, alas! poore solitarie man!
In lonesome desert thou dost wander wide
To seek and serve thy disappearing Pan,
Whom no man living in the world hath eyde:
For Pan, is dead but I am still alive,
And live in men who honour to me give:

311

They honour also those that honour me
With sacred songs. But thou now singst to trees
To rocks to Hills, to Caves that senselesse be
And mindlesse quite of thy hid mysteries,
In the void air thy idle voice is spread,
Thy Muse is musick to the deaf or dead.

Now out alas! said I, and wele away
The tale thou tellest I confesse too true.
Fond man so doteth on this living clay
His carcase dear, and doth its joyes pursue,
That of his precious soul he takes no keep
Heavens love and reasons light lie fast asleep.

This bodies life vain shadow of the soul
With full desire they closely do embrace,
In fleshly mud like swine they wallow and roll,
The loftiest mind is proud but of the face
Or outward person; if men but adore
That walking sepulchre, cares for no more.

This is the measure of mans industry
To wexen some body and getten grace
To's outward presence; though true majestie
Crownd'd with that heavenly light and lively rayes
Of holy wisdome and Seraphick love,
From his deformed soul he farre remove.

Slight knowledge and lesse virtue serves his turn
For this designe. If he hath trod the ring
Of redling arts; in usuall pack-horse form
Keeping the rode; O! then 't's a learned thing.
If any chanc'd to write or speak what he
Conceives not, 'twere a foul discourtesie.

To cleanse the soul from sinne, and still diffide
Whether our reasons eye be clear enough
To intromit true light, that fain would glide
Into purg'd hearts, this way's too harsh and rough:
Therefore the clearest truths may well seem dark
When sloathfull men have eyes so dimme and stark.

312

These be our times. But if my minds presage
Bear any moment, they can ne're last long,
A three branch'd Flame will soon sweep clean the stage
Of this old dirty drosse and all wex young.
My words into this frozen air I throw
Will then grow vocall at that generall thaw.

Nay, now thou'rt perfect mad, said he, with scorn,
And full of soul derision quit the place.
The skie did rattle with his wings ytorn
Like to rent silk. But I in the mean space
Sent after him this message by the wind
Be't so I'm mad, yet sure I am thou'rt blind.

By this the out-stretch'd shadows of the trees
Pointed me home-ward, and with one consent
Foretold the dayes descent. So straight I rise
Gathering my limbs from off the green pavement
Behind me leaving then the slooping Light.

Gl.
And now let's up, Vesper brings on the Night.

313

Resolution.

Where's now the objects of thy fears:
Needlesse sighs and fruitlesse tears?
They be all gone like idle dream
Suggested from the bodies steam.
O Cave of horrour black as pitch!
Dark Den of Spectres that bewitch
The weakned phansy sore affright
With the grim shades of grisely Night.
What's Plague and Prison? Losse of friends?
Warre, Dearth and Death that all things ends?
Mere Bug-bears for the childish mind
Pure Panick terrours of the blind.

Collect thy soul into one sphear
Of light and 'bove the earth it rear.
Those wild scattered thoughts that erst
Lay losely in the World disperst
Call in: thy spirit thus knit in one
Fair lucid orb; those fears be gone
Like vain impostures of the Night
That fly before the Morning bright.
Then with pure eyes thou shalt behold
How the first Goodnesse doth infold
All things in loving tender armes:
That deemed mischiefs are no harms
But sovereign salves; and skilfull cures
Of greater woes the world endures;
That mans stout soul may win a state
Far rais'd above the reach of fate.

314

Then wilt thou say, God rules the World,
Though mountain over mountain hurl'd
Be pitch'd amid the foaming Maine
Which busie winds to wrath constrain.
His fall doth make the billowes start
And backward skip from every part.
Quite sunk, then over his senselesse side
The waves in triumph proudly ride.
Though inward tempests fiercely rock
The tottering Earth, that with the shock
High spires and heavie rocks fall down
With their own weight drove into ground;
Though pitchy blasts from Hell up-born
Stop the outgoings of the Morn,
And Nature play her fiery games
In this forc'd Night, with fulgurant flames,
Baring by fits for more affright
The pale dead visages, ghastly sight
Of men astonish'd at the stoure
Of Heavens great rage, the rattling showers
Of hail, the hoarse bellowing of thunder
Their own loud shreekes made mad with wonder:
All this confusion cannot move
The purged mind freed from the love
Of commerce with her body dear
Cell of sad thoughts, sole spring of fear.

What ere I feel or heare or see
Threats but these parts that mortall be.
Nought can the honest heart dismay
Unlesse the love of living clay
And long acquaintance with the light
Of this Outworld and what to sight
Those too officious beams discover
Of forms that round about us hover.

Power, Wisedome, Goodnesse sure did frame
This Universe and still guide the same.
But thoughts from passions sprung, deceive
Vain mortalls. No man can contrive
A better course then what's been run
Since the first circuit of the Sun.

He that beholds all from on high
Knowes better what to do then I.

315

I'm not mine own, should I repine
If he dispose of what's not mine.
Purge but thy soul of blind self-will
Thou streight shalt see God doth no ill.
The world He fills with the bright rayes
Of his free goodnesse. He displayes
Himself throughout. Like common aire
That spirit of life through all doth fare
Suck'd in by them as vitall breath
That willingly embrace not death.
But those that with that living Law
Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw;
Mistrust of Gods good providence
Doth daily vex their wearied sense.

Now place me on the Libyan soil,
With scorching sun and sands to toil,
Far from the view of spring or tree,
Where neither man nor house I see.
Place me by the fabulous streams
Of Hydaspes; In the Realms
Where Caucasus his lofty back
Doth raise in wreaths and endlesse tract.
Commit me at my next remove
To icy Hyperborean Jove.
Confine me to the Arctick Pole
Where the numbd heavens do slowly roll:
To lands, where cold raw heavie mist
Sols kindly warmth and light resists.
Where louring clouds full fraught with snow
Do sternly scoul, where winds do blow
With bitter blasts, and pierce the skin
Forcing the vitall spirits in;
Which leave the body thus ill bested
In this chill plight at least half dead:
Yet by an Antiperistasis
My inward heat more kindled is:
And while this flesh her breath expires
My spirit shall suck celestiall fires
By deep-fetchd sighs and pure devotion.
Thus waxen hot with holy motion,
At once I'll break forth in a flame;
Above this world and worthlesse fame

316

I'll take my flight, carelesse that men
Know not, how, where I die or when.

Yea! though the Soul should mortall prove
So be Gods life but in me move
To my last breath: I'm satisfide
A lonesome mortall God t'have dide.

Devotion.

Good God! when thou thy inward grace dost shower
Into my brest,
How full of light and lively power
Is then my soul!
How am I blest!
How can I then all difficulties devour!
Thy might
Thy spright
With ease my combrous enemy controll.

If thou once turn away thy face and hide
Thy chearfull look,
My feeble flesh may not abide
That dreadfull stound,
I cannot brook
Thy absence. My heart with care and grief then gride
Doth fail,
Doth quail,
My life steals from me, at that hidden wound.

My phansie's then a burden to my mind,
Mine anxious thought
Betrayes my reason, makes me blind:
Near dangers drad
Make me distraught.
Surpriz'd with fear, my senses all I find.
In hell
I dwell
Opprest with horrour, pain and sorrow sad.

317

My former Resolutions all are fled,
Slip't over my tongue,
My Faith, my Hope, and Joy, are dead.
Assist my heart
Rather then my song
My God! my Saviour! when I'm ill bested
Stand by,
And I
Shall bear with courage, undeserved smart.

318

Out of the Anthologie a Distick.

Ει το φερον σε φερει φερε () φερου, ει δ' αγανακτεις
Και σαυτον λυπεεις, () το φερον σε φερει.

In English thus

When the strong Fates with Gigantean force,
Bear thee in iron arms without remorse
Bear and be born. But if with pievish struggle
Thou writhe and wrest thy corse, thou dost but double
Thy present pain, and spend thy restlesse spright,
Nor thou more heavie art, nor they more light.

Or thus

If Chance thee change, be chang'd and change thou it
To better, by thy well complying wit.
If thou repine, thou dost but pain and grieve
Thy self, and Chance will change thee without leeve.

319

Ad Paronem.

Right well I wot, my rhymes seem rudely drest
In the nice judgement of thy shallow mind
That mark'st expressions more then what's exprest,
Busily billing the rough outward rinde,
But reaching not the pith. Such surface skill's
Unmeet to measure the profounder quill.

Yea I alas! my self too often feel
Thy indispos'dnesse; when my weakened soul
Unstedfast, into this Outworld doth reel,
And lyes immerse in my low vitall mold.
For then my mind, from th'inward spright estrang'd,
My Muse into an uncouth hew hath chang'd.

A rude confused heap of ashes dead
My verses seem, when that cælestiall flame
That sacred spirit of life's extinguished
In my cold brest. Then gin I rashly blame
My rugged lines: This word is obsolete;
That boldly coynd, a third too oft doth beat

Mine humourous ears. Thus fondly curious
Is the faint Reader, that doth want that fire
And inward vigour heavenly furious
That made my enrag'd spirit in strong desire
Break through such tender cob-web niceties,
That oft intangle these blind buzzing flies.

Possest with living sense I inly rave,
Carelesse how outward words do from me flow,
So be the image of my mind they have
Truly exprest, and do my visage show;
As doth each river deckt with Phebus beams
Fairly reflect the viewer of his streams.

Who can discern the Moons asperity
From of this earth, or could this earths discover
If from the earth he raised were on high
Among the starrs and in the sky did hover?
The Hills and Valleyes would together flow
And the rough Earth, one smooth-fac'd Round would show.

320

Nor can the lofty soul snatch'd into Heven
Busied above in th'Intellectuall world
At such a distance see my lines uneven,
At such a distance was my spirit hurld,
And to my trembling quill thence did endite,
What he from thence must reade, who would read right.

Fair Fields and rich Enclosures, shady Woods,
Large populous Towns, with strong and stately Towers,
Long crawling Rivers, far distended Flouds,
What ever's great, its shape these eyes of ours
And due proportions from high distance see
The best; And Paro! such my Rhyme's to thee.

Thy groveling mind and moping poreblind eye,
That to move up unmeet, this to see farre,
The worth or weaknesse never can descry
Of my large winged Muse. But not to spare
Till thou canst well disprove, proves well enough
Thou art rash and rude how ere my rhymes are rough.

321

Exorcismus.

What's this that in my brest thus grieves and groanes
Rives my close-straitned heart, distends my sides
with deep fetch'd sighs, while th'other in fell pride
Resists and choaks? O hear the dreadfull moanes
Of thy dear son, if so him cleep I may.
If there be any sense 'twixt Heven and Earth,
If any mutuall feeling sure this birth
May challenge speed, and break off all delay.
You Winged people of the unseen sky
That bear that living Name in your pure brest,
Chariots of God in whom the Lord of rest
Doth sit triumphant, can not you espy
The self same Being in such jeopardy?
Make haste make haste if you Gods army been,
Rescue his son, wreak your revengefull teen
On his fast holding Enemy,
Hath Nature onely sympathy?

322

What? may I deem you self-exulting sprights
Lock'd up in your own selves, whose inward life
Is self-contenting joy, withouten strife
Of doing good and helping wofull weights.
Then were you empty carres and not the throne
Of that thrice-beautious sun the god of love
The Soul of souls and heart of highest Jove,
If you to others good were not most prone.
Open thou Earth; unclose thou fast bound ball
Of smoring darknesse! The black jawes of Hell
Shall issue forth their dead, that direfull cell
Of miscreant Lives that strive still to enthrall,
Shall let him go at last, and he ore all
Shall triumph. Then the gladsome Progeny
Of the bright Morning star shining on high,
Shall fill the Round ætheriall
With sound of voices musicall.

Nor yet this breath's quite spent. Swift flight of wing
Hath shot my soul from th'hight to th'depth again
And from the depth to th'height. The glistring Main
Of flowing light and darknesses curs'd spring
I've mov'd with sacred words: (the extreme worlds
In holy rage assaulted with my spell)
I'll at the middle Movable as well
As those, and powerfull magick gainst it hurle.
You waving aires! and you more boistrous winds!
Dark Zaphons sons, who with your swelling blasts
Thrust out the ribs of heaven, and that orepast
Leave Nature languid to her wont confind,
Suppresse your spright and be at his command
Who on the troubled Galilean lake
Did wind and storm to him obedient make.
Let still serenity the land
Inclose about with steddy hand.

And you heaven-threatning rocks, whose tops be crown'd
With wreaths of woolly clouds, fall into dust.
And thou, O Ida hill! thy glory must
Consume, and thou lye equall with the ground.
O're quick ey'd Ida! thou which seest the Sun
Before day spring? those Eastern spatterd lights
And broad spread shinings purpling the gay Night,

323

And that swoln-glowing ball; they'll all be gone.
You summer neezings when the Sun is set
That fill the air with a quick fading fire,
Cease from your flashings, and thou Self-desire
The worst of meteors, curs'd Voraginet!
The wind of God shall rend thee into nought
And thou shalt vanish into empty air,
Nor shall thy rending out leave any scarre.
Thy place shall not be found though sought
So perish shall all humane thought.

324

Insomnium Philosophicum.

It was the time when all things quiet lay
In silent rest; and Night her rusty Carre
Drawn with black teem had drove above half way.
Her curbed steeds foaming out lavering tarre
And finely trampling the soft misty air
With proner course toward the West did fare.

I with the rest of weak mortality
For natures due relief lay stretch'd on bed.
My weary body lay out-stretch'd, not I.
For I, alas! from that dead corse had fled.
Had left that slough, as erst I doft my clothes,
For kindly rest that very Evening-close.

Free as in open Heaven more swift then thought
In endlesse spaces up and down I flie,
Not carryed on wings, or as well taught
To row with mine own arms in liquid skie:
As oft men do in their deceiving sleep
Hovering over Waters, Woods, and Valleys steep:

But born on the actuall efflux of my will
Without resistence thither easly glide
Whither my busie mind did breathe untill.
All-suddenly an uncouth sight I spide,
Which meanly as I may I will propound
To wiser men to weigh with judgement sound.

Behold a mighty Orb right well compil'd
And kned together of opacous mould.
That neither curse of God nor man defil'd,
Though wicked wights as shall anon be told
Did curse the ill condition of the place,
And with foul speech this goodly work disgrace.

But vain complaints may weary the ill tongue
And evil speeches the blasphemer stain,
But words Gods sacred works can never wrong,
Nor wrongfull deeming work dame Natures bane.
Who misconceives, conceives but his own ill,
Brings forth a falshood, shows his want of skill.

325

This globe in all things punctually did seem
Like to our earth saving in magnitude:
For it of so great vastnesse was, I ween,
That if that all the Planets were transmewd
Into one Ball, they'd not exceed this Round
Nor yet fall short though close together bound.

At a farre distance from this sphear was pight
(More then the journey of ten thousand year
An hundred times told over, that swiftest flight
Of bird should mete, that distance did appear)
There was there pight a massie Orb of light
Æquall with this dark Orb in bignesse right.

Half therefore just of this dark Orb was dight
With goodly glistre and fair golden rayes,
And ever half was hid in horrid Night.
A durkish Cylindre through infinite space
It did project, which still unmoved staid,
Strange sight it was to see so endlesse shade.

Th'Diametre of that Nocturnall Roll
Was the right Axis of this opake sphear.
On which eternally it round did roll.
In Æquinoctiall posture 't did appear,
So as when Libra weighs out in just weight
An equall share to men of Day and Night.

Thus turning round by turns all came in view
What ever did that massie Ball adorn.
Hills, Valleys, Woods, themselves did plainly shew,
Towns, Towers, and holy Spires to Heaven born,
Long winding Rivers, and broad foaming Seas.
Fair Chrystall springs fierce scorching thirst t'appease.

And all bespread were the huge Mountains green
With Fleecy flocks and eke with hairy goats.
Great fields of Corn and Knee-deep grasse were seen,
Swine, Oxen, Horses, Carriages, Sheep-cotes,
What ere the Countrey or the walled town
Can show with us, the like things there were shown.

326

And look what ever that Half-sphear of light
Did bear upon it (the Ball turning round)
The same into the Hemisphear of Night
Were carried. And look what things were found
In that dark Hemisphear, were brought anon
To th'Hemisphear the light did shine upon.

For sooth to say, they both make up one Ball.
The self same parts now dipt in deepest Night
Anon recovered from their former fall
Do shine all glorious deckt with gladsome light.
And oft PANGAION as it turn'd, I red
In mighty characters decyphered.

Th'Inhabitants of this big swollen sphear
Were of two kinds, well answering unto
The diverse nature of each Hemisphear.
One foul, deform'd, and ghastly sad in show,
The other fair and full of lively mirth,
These two possest this Universall Earth.

They both had wings: The foul much like a Bat
Or forged Fiend and of a pitchy hew,
And ovall eyes like to a blinking Cat.
The fair had silver wings all-glistering new
With golden feathers set, shap'd like a Doves
Or lovely Swans, that in Meander moves.

In other parts most like to spotlesse man
Made out in comely due proportion.
Both with their wings uncessantly did fan
The agil air, but never light upon
The moving Orb, but in suspense they hovered.
Therefore Light these, eternall Night those covered.

For though the Globe doth move, it moves them not;
Passing as water underneath a brig.
Yet what thus passeth by, they deem their lot,
Both of their deemed lots together lig,
To wit, that Sphear with all its ornaments,
Nor yet that sphear them both alike contents.

327

For they on the dim side with fell uprore
Do hideously houl and Nature blame
For her ill works. Enrag'd with fury sore
Oft God himself they curse; blaspheme his Name.
And all his creatures, as they passen by
In goodly pomp, they view with scornfull eye.

Instead of hymnes they bold invectives make
Against the Maker of that Universe.
My quivering quill, and palsied hand do quake
Now I recall to mind the wicked verse
Which those bad men had fram'd in fell despight,
And foul detraction to the God of light.

And while with hollow howlings they did chaunt
That hellish Ode. Ravens more black then pitch
And fatall Owles, Dragons, and what so wont
To do or token mischeif; every such
Came flying round about t'encrease the sound,
Such sound as would with madnesse man confound!

When they had made an end of this ill ditty,
As execrable thing they would forsake
This work of God, and out of dear self-pitty
Fly from the creatures, and themselves betake
To higher region: but their labour's vain
Fly never so high, Night doth them still contain.

For the projection of that endlesse Roll
Cast to unmeasured infinity,
Wearies to death their ill-deceived soul:
For nought but darknesse and obscurity
They finden out by their high tedious flight,
But now I'd turn'd me to the land of Light.

There might I see with lovely pleasant look
And mild aspect, the people all things view,
Interpreting right what ever seemed crook.
Crooked for crook'd is right; and evil hew
For evil shaped mind, that fear may breed.
Good oft doth spring from evil-seeming seed.

328

Viewing the works of God they ever smil'd
As seeing some resemblance of that face
That they so dearly lov'd, that undefil'd
And spotlesse beauty, that sweet awfull Grace
Where Love and Majesty do alway sit
And with eternall joy the viewer greet.

Ravisht with heavenly mirth and pure delight
They sing a sacred song with chearfull voice.
It kindles holy pleasure within my spright
As oft I think on that Angelick noise.
The living Spring of blisse they loudly praise
Blesse all His creatures in their pious layes.

And while the creatures goodnesse they descry
From their fair glimps they move themselves up higher
Not through contempt or hate they from them fly
Nor leave by flying, but while they aspire
To reach their fountain, them with sight more clear
They see. As newly varnish'd all appear.

This is the mystery of that mighty Ball
With different sides. That side where grisly Night
Doth sit bold men Melampronæa call,
The other side Lampropronæa hight,
Logos that Orb of light, but Foolishnesse
(To speak plane English) the Roll doth expresse.

These words I read or heard, I know not whether.
Or thought, or thought I thought. It was a dream.
But yet from dreams wise men sound truth may gather
And some ripe scatterings of high knowledge glean.
But where, or heavy passions cloud the eyes,
Or prejudice, there's nothing can make wise.

330

The Philosophers Devotion.

Sing aloud His praise rehearse
Who hath made the Universe.
He the boundlesse Heavens has spread
All the vitall orbs has kned;
He that on Olympus high
Tends his flocks with watchfull eye,
And this eye has multiplide
Midst each flock for to reside.
Thus as round about they stray
Toucheth each with out-strecth'd ray,
Nimble they hold on their way,
Shaping out their Night and Day.
Summer, Winter, Autumne, Spring,
Their inclined Axes bring.
Never slack they; none respires,
Dancing round their Centrall fires.

In due order as they move
Echo's sweet be gently drove
Thorough Heavens vast Hollownesse,
Which unto all corners presse:
Musick that the heart of Jove
Moves to joy and sportfull love;
Fills the listning saylers eares
Riding on the wandring Sphears.
Neither Speech nor Language is
Where their voice is not transmisse.

God is good, is Wise, is Strong,
Witnesse all the creature-throng,
Is confess'd by every Tongue.
All things back from whence they sprong,
As the thankfull Rivers pay
What they borrowed of the Sea.

Now my self I do resigne,
Take me whole I all am thine.
Save me, God! from Self-desire,
Deaths pit, dark Hells raging fire,
Envy, Hatred, Vengeance, Ire.
Let not Lust my soul bemire.

Quit from these thy praise I'll sing,
Loudly sweep the trembling string.
Bear a part, O Wisdomes sonnes!
Free'd from vain Religions.

331

Lo! from farre I you salute,
Sweetly warbling on my Lute.
Indie, Egypt, Arabie,
Asia, Greece, and Tartarie,
Carmel-tracts, and Lebanon
With the Mountains of the Moon,
From whence muddie Nile doth runne
Or where ever else you wonne;
Breathing in one vitall air,
One we are though distant farre.

Rise at once let's sacrifice
Odours sweet perfume the skies.
See how Heavenly lightning fires
Hearts inflam'd with high aspires!
All the substance of our souls
Up in clouds of Incense rolls.
Leave we nothing to our selves
Save a voice, what need we els!
Or an hand to wear and tire
On the thankfull Lute or Lyre.

Sing aloud His praise rehearse
Who hath made the Universe.

Charitie and Humilitie.

Farre have I clambred in my mind
But nought so great as love I find:
Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might
Are nought compar'd to that good spright.
Life of delight and soul of blisse!
Sure source of lasting happinesse!
Higher then Heaven! lower then hell!
What is thy tent? where maist thou dwell?

My mansion hight humilitie,
Heavens vastest capabilitie.
The further it doth downward tend
The higher up it doth ascend;
If it go down to utmost nought
It shall return with that it sought.

Lord stretch thy tent in my strait breast,
Enlarge it downward, that sure rest

332

May there be pight; for that pure fire
Wherewith thou wontest to inspire
All self-dead souls. My life is gone,
Sad solitude's my irksome wonne.
Cut off from men and all this world
In Lethes lonesome ditch I'm hurld.
Nor might nor sight doth ought me move,
Nor do I care to be above.
O feeble rayes of mentall light!
That best be seen in this dark night,
What are you? what is any strength
If it be not laid in one length
With pride or love? I nought desire
But a new life or quite t'expire.
Could I demolish with mine eye
Strong towers, stop the fleet stars in skie,
Bring down to earth the pale-fac'd Moon,
Or turn black midnight to bright Noon:
Though all things were put in my hand,
As parch'd as dry as th'Libyan sand
Would be my life if Charity
Were wanting But Humility
Is more then my poore soul durst crave
That lies intombd in lowly grave.
But if 't were lawfull up to send
My voice to Heaven, this should it rend.

Lord thrust me deeper into dust
That thou maist raise me with the just.

333

THE TRIUMPH,

OR A Paraphrase upon the ninth Hymn of Synesius, written in honour of Jesus, the Son of Mary, the Saviour of the World.

O lovely Child, with Glory great arraid!
Sweet Of-spring of the Solymeian Maid!
Thee would I sing, and thy renowned Acts:
For thou didst rid the boundlesse flowry tracts
Of thy dear Fathers Garden from the spoyles
Of the false Serpent, and his treacherous toyles!
When thou hadst once descended to this earth
A stranger wight 'mongst us of humane birth;
After some stay new voyage thou didst take
Crossing cold Lethe and the Stygian Lake,
Arriv'st at the low fields of Tartara
There where innumerable flocks do stray
Of captive souls, whom pale-fac'd Death doth feed
Forc'd under his stiff Rod, and churlish Reed.
Streight at thy sight how did that surly Sire
Old Orcus quake, and greedy Dogg retire
From's usuall watch! whiles thou from slavish chain
Whole swarms of souls, to freedome dost regain.
Then 'ginst thou with thy immortall Quire to praise
Thy Father, and his strength to Heaven to raise.
Ascending thus with joy, as thou dost fare
Through the thin Sky, the Legions of the Aire
Accursed Fiends, do tremble at thy sight,
And starry Troops wax pale at thy pure light.
But Æther master of queint Harmonies
With smiling look on's Musick doth devise,
Tunes his seven-corded Harp, more trimly strung;
Then strikes up loudly thy Triumphall song.
Lucifer laughs bright Nuncio of the Day,
And golden Hesperus, to hear him play.
The Moon begins a dance, great Queen of Night,
Her hollow horns fill'd up with flusher light.

334

Titan his streaming locks along doth strow
Under thy sacred feet more soft to go,
Doth homage to thee as to Gods dear Son,
And to the Spring whence his own light doth run.
Then thou, drad Victour! thy quick wings didst shake
And suddenly ascend'st above the back
Of the blew Skie. In th'Intellectuall sphears
Dispreadst thy self: Where the still Fount appears
Of inexhausted Good, and silent Heaven
Smiles without wrinckle, ever constant, even.
Unwearied Time this mansion connot seize
Nor Hyles worm, importunate Disease.
Here Æon wons that cannot wexen old,
Though of his years the numbers no'te be told.
Youthfull and ag'd at once here doth he live,
And to the Gods, unmov'd duration give.

Αποια.

Ου'κ εγνων ποθεν ειμι ο δυσμορος, ουδε τις ειμι,
Ω της αφροσ()ης, ουδε πη ερχομενος.
Αλλ' οδ()ης τε γοουτε πολυγναμπτοις ονυχει
Ζωω, εμοιγε δοκει, πανταχοι ελκοος.
Ισα εγρηγορτεις () ονειρατα. ω πατερ, ω Ζευ,
Ως σεμνδν: χ' ημεις ()ωο () νεφελαις.
Ψευδεα, φαντασιη, κενοτης, τερεπ/σματ', αναγκη.
Ταλλα () αγνωσας τον βιον οιδα μονον.

Ε'υπορια.

Ουρανοθεν γεγονα προθορων, θεου αμβροτος ακτις,
Κ', ω της ευφροσ()ης, π()ς θεον ειμι παλιν.
Νυν δετ' ερως με πτεροισι θεουτος εξυπερειδει,
Ζω δ', επ' αληθεια, παντοτε τερποος.
Νυξ απεβη () οιαρ τε. Πατερ θεοδερκεος αυγης,
Αιδιον χ' ημας αμφιλυψε φαος.
Πιστις () σοφιη θεοτης, χαρα, ευπτερος αλκη,
Ταυτα ()ωη, αδης ταλλα () ουδενια.

FINIS.

436

FINIS,