Mundorum Explicatio or, The Explanation of an Hieroglyphical Figure: Wherein are couched the Mysteries of the External, Internal, and Eternal Worlds, shewing the true progress of a Soul from the Court of Jerusalem; from the Adamical fallen state to the Regenerate and Angelical. Being A Sacred Poem, written by S. P. [i.e. Samuel Pordage] |
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AN ENCOMIUM
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xiii
AN ENCOMIUM
On J. B. and his Interperer J. Sparrow Esq; wrote in Latine, and thus rendred into English.
Great Saint! tho I not in the Rubric see
Thy Name; in verse I may remember Thee.
By whom we profit it is good to own;
By thee I must confesse I much have known.
Of God, Heav'n, Nature; we the secrets know
By thy choyce works; they mystic Wonders show.
Thy Works do shew the way to Paradise,
To the blest Kingdoms of Æternal Joys:
The Sons of Wisdom only read thee right;
By Day the Wise read thee; th' unwise by Night.
Treasures and Gemms are open'd to their mind
Whilst these an Abysse of thick darknesse find:
Nor let them blame thee for the faults their own,
Tis their dark minds see not when plainly shown.
Proud Man, and Covetous Sophist vain, take heed,
Dost thou the sacred Works of Behman read?
Proud Priest and Truth's opposer, Worldling, you
The Envious, Rigid, Zoilus, Momus too?
The outside of the Book you only see;
Not Behman's mind, nor sacred Mysterie:
O're Behman's face, hang pitchy Vailes, what there
You see, to you but Paradoxes are.
But when you wise, and humble read; his mind
A Treasure both of Gemms, and Light you find.
For you, the pitchy Vales are ta'ne a ay,
The plous Truths discover'd where they lay.
The Key to this rich Treasure is your right,
You find the Art of this Teutonick Light,
God's Spirit's the Key; th' Ar b'inspiration's shew'd:
Divine he was in humane Science rude.
The sacred Flame within his Breast did shine
When that He pen'd such mysteries Divine.
'Twas God himself who did his Hand direct
Who doth the Infant, and the wise respect.
God was his Master, it was he alone
That made to him such mystic Wonders known;
And the Arcana's of the Worlds did shew
Both of the Light, the Dark, and this World too.
To Him the mystic Tongue of Nature's given,
That, and the true Cabal is shew'd from Heav'n.
Tha mystic Tongue was Known in Paradise,
And He like Adam. Knew those mysteries.
Within the Centre of his Breast divine
God's Light the Sun of Righteousnesse did shine.
When that he wrote his chast Beast us'd to be
Fil'd with the Spirit of the Deity.
Fie biting Critick, and evil tongues, that Prate
'Gainst Behman, and his Works Calumniate.
Wo to Blasphemers; To the biting Tongue
Who to the Saints and all good men do wrong.
Because a simple Laick, shall he be
(Mayn't God choose whom he please) contemn'd by thee?
Do not his Works for new-Coyn'd Words despise,
Mayn't God, who all words made, new Words devise?
Will Wise men Gemms in earthen Platters scorn?
Or Wisdom 'cause her Robes are old, and torn?
Bark on all Tongues, that Him besparter so,
Yet Behman's Palm under its weight shall grow.
His Palm shall flourish and it flourish may,
For ever, Time shall wipe reproach away.
Spite of his foes endevours still his Fame
Encreases daily, and hall do the same.
Spite of Hells force his glory shall encrease
Nor whilst the World lasts shall his splendor cease.
In this World's Scene still shall his Works divine
Like so many twinkling Starrs in darknesse shine.
Or like to Moyses mystic Pillar, they
Shew night to ill Men, and to good Men Day.
To holy Men with their diviner light,
They shew the way to Blisse, and Heav'n aright.
I warn the scoffer to beware there ore,
Thou Behman's Writings violate no more.
Now holy Soul these slender line approve,
Which at thy shrine is offer'd by my Love.
And though these perish may, thy Name shall be
A living Monument, as well as thee.
In Heav'n thou liv'st, for ever there: But here
Whilst the World lasts, thou in thy works shin'st clear.
Great Saint we thus sing forth out thanks below,
Which are just debts, for what thou didst bestow.
And learned Sparrow we thy praises too
Will sing; Rewards too small for what is due.
The gifts of Glory, and of Praise we owe:
The English Behman doth thy Trophies shew.
Whilst English men that great Saints praise declare,
Thy Name shall joyn'd with His receive a share:
The Time shall come when his great Name shall rise,
Thy Glory also shall ascend the Skies.
Thou mad'st him English speak: or else what Good
Had his works done us if not understood?
To Germany they beneficial prove
Alone; till we enjoy'd them by thy Love.
Their German-Robes thou took'st from them, that we
Their Beauties, might in English Garments see.
Thus has thy Love a vast rich Treasure showen,
And made what was exotic now our own.
What thanks? What praise? owe we for Love so great?
What cost can recompence your paines and sweat?
But yet go on; don't Virtues Race decline;
Finish in spite of Behman's foes, and thine
What yet remaines of his choyse works, that they
By thee translated speak our Language may.
If we reward you not, as is your due,
A better hand shall give a Crown to you:
Not Palmes, nor Laurels, but of more renown
Of Light Æternal Christ will give a Crown.
Pium est agnoscere per quem profecisti.
Thy Name; in verse I may remember Thee.
By whom we profit it is good to own;
By thee I must confesse I much have known.
Of God, Heav'n, Nature; we the secrets know
By thy choyce works; they mystic Wonders show.
Thy Works do shew the way to Paradise,
To the blest Kingdoms of Æternal Joys:
The Sons of Wisdom only read thee right;
By Day the Wise read thee; th' unwise by Night.
Treasures and Gemms are open'd to their mind
Whilst these an Abysse of thick darknesse find:
Nor let them blame thee for the faults their own,
Tis their dark minds see not when plainly shown.
Proud Man, and Covetous Sophist vain, take heed,
Dost thou the sacred Works of Behman read?
xiv
The Envious, Rigid, Zoilus, Momus too?
The outside of the Book you only see;
Not Behman's mind, nor sacred Mysterie:
O're Behman's face, hang pitchy Vailes, what there
You see, to you but Paradoxes are.
But when you wise, and humble read; his mind
A Treasure both of Gemms, and Light you find.
For you, the pitchy Vales are ta'ne a ay,
The plous Truths discover'd where they lay.
The Key to this rich Treasure is your right,
You find the Art of this Teutonick Light,
God's Spirit's the Key; th' Ar b'inspiration's shew'd:
Divine he was in humane Science rude.
The sacred Flame within his Breast did shine
When that He pen'd such mysteries Divine.
'Twas God himself who did his Hand direct
Who doth the Infant, and the wise respect.
God was his Master, it was he alone
That made to him such mystic Wonders known;
And the Arcana's of the Worlds did shew
Both of the Light, the Dark, and this World too.
To Him the mystic Tongue of Nature's given,
That, and the true Cabal is shew'd from Heav'n.
Tha mystic Tongue was Known in Paradise,
And He like Adam. Knew those mysteries.
Within the Centre of his Breast divine
God's Light the Sun of Righteousnesse did shine.
When that he wrote his chast Beast us'd to be
Fil'd with the Spirit of the Deity.
Fie biting Critick, and evil tongues, that Prate
'Gainst Behman, and his Works Calumniate.
Wo to Blasphemers; To the biting Tongue
Who to the Saints and all good men do wrong.
Because a simple Laick, shall he be
(Mayn't God choose whom he please) contemn'd by thee?
Do not his Works for new-Coyn'd Words despise,
Mayn't God, who all words made, new Words devise?
Will Wise men Gemms in earthen Platters scorn?
Or Wisdom 'cause her Robes are old, and torn?
xv
Yet Behman's Palm under its weight shall grow.
His Palm shall flourish and it flourish may,
For ever, Time shall wipe reproach away.
Spite of his foes endevours still his Fame
Encreases daily, and hall do the same.
Spite of Hells force his glory shall encrease
Nor whilst the World lasts shall his splendor cease.
In this World's Scene still shall his Works divine
Like so many twinkling Starrs in darknesse shine.
Or like to Moyses mystic Pillar, they
Shew night to ill Men, and to good Men Day.
To holy Men with their diviner light,
They shew the way to Blisse, and Heav'n aright.
I warn the scoffer to beware there ore,
Thou Behman's Writings violate no more.
Now holy Soul these slender line approve,
Which at thy shrine is offer'd by my Love.
And though these perish may, thy Name shall be
A living Monument, as well as thee.
In Heav'n thou liv'st, for ever there: But here
Whilst the World lasts, thou in thy works shin'st clear.
Great Saint we thus sing forth out thanks below,
Which are just debts, for what thou didst bestow.
And learned Sparrow we thy praises too
Will sing; Rewards too small for what is due.
The gifts of Glory, and of Praise we owe:
The English Behman doth thy Trophies shew.
Whilst English men that great Saints praise declare,
Thy Name shall joyn'd with His receive a share:
The Time shall come when his great Name shall rise,
Thy Glory also shall ascend the Skies.
Thou mad'st him English speak: or else what Good
Had his works done us if not understood?
To Germany they beneficial prove
Alone; till we enjoy'd them by thy Love.
Their German-Robes thou took'st from them, that we
Their Beauties, might in English Garments see.
Thus has thy Love a vast rich Treasure showen,
And made what was exotic now our own.
xvi
What cost can recompence your paines and sweat?
But yet go on; don't Virtues Race decline;
Finish in spite of Behman's foes, and thine
What yet remaines of his choyse works, that they
By thee translated speak our Language may.
If we reward you not, as is your due,
A better hand shall give a Crown to you:
Not Palmes, nor Laurels, but of more renown
Of Light Æternal Christ will give a Crown.
| Mundorum Explicatio | |