PHILOSOPHICAL POEMS, BY HENRY MORE: Master of Arts, and Fellow of CHRIST'S COLLEGE IN CAMBRIDGE.  

Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius antè  
Trita solo, juvat integros accedere fontes.   Lucr. 
CAMBRIDGE. Printed by ROGER DANIEL Printer to the UNIVERSITY. 1647.   

To his dear Father ALEXANDER MORE ESQUIRE.  
SIR,  
I Know at first sight you'll judge me a Novice in the affairs of the World, in not pitching upon some other Patron: and unacquainted with the Courtship of the times, that holds it more commendable to toy and compliment with a stranger, then speak truth of a known friend. But I am meditating no Stage-play of ordinary Apish Civility, but sober Truth: Nor intent this an act of worldly discretion and advantage, but of Justice and Gratitude. For I cannot hope that ever any man shall deserve so well of me as yourself has done. Besides what hath hitherto commended you to all that know you; your Faithfulness, Uprightness, Sedulity for the public Welfare of the place wherein you live, your generous Openness and Veracity. Nor can ever that thick cloud you are now enveloped with, of melancholized old Age, and undeserved Adversity, either dark the remembrance of your pristine Lustre, or hid from me the sight of your present Worth. Sir, I could wish myself a stranger to your blood, that I might with the better decorum set out the nobleness of your spirit. But to speak modestly; You deserve the Patronage of better Poems than these, though you may lay a more proper claim to these then to any. You having from my childhood tuned mine ears to Spencer's rhymes, entertaining us on winter nights, with that incomparable Peice of his, The Fairy Queen, a Poem as richly fraught with divine Morality as Fancy. Your early Encomiums also of Learning and Philosophy did so fire my credulous Youth with the desire of the knowledge of things, that your After-advertisements, how contemptible Learning would prove without Riches, and what a piece of Unmannerliness and Incivility it would be held to seem wiser than them, that are more wealthy and powerful, could never yet restrain my mind from her first pursuit, nor quicken my attention to the affairs of the World. But this bookish disease let it make me as much poor as it will, it shall never make me the less just. Nor will you, I hope, esteem me the less dutiful, that without your cognoscence I become thus thankful. For I never held myself bound to ask leave of any man to exercise an act of Virtue. And yet am I conscious to myself, there may have some juvenile Extravagancies passed my pen, which your judgement and grey hairs will more slowly allow of, and myself may happily dislike by that time I arrive to half your years. But let it be my excuse, that that which was to be made common for all, could not be so exactly fitted for any one Age or Person. I am not indeed much solicitous, how every particle of these Poems may please you. In the mean time I am sure I please myself in the main; which is, The embalming of his name to Immortality, that next under God, is the Author of my Life and Being.  
Your affectionate Son HENRY MORE   

A PLATONIC SONG of the SOUL; Treating, Of 

The Life of the Soul,  
Her Immortality,  
The Sleep of the Soul,  
The Unity of Souls, and  
Memory after Death.    Nullam majorem afferre solet ignaris inscitia voluptatem quàm expeditum fastidiosumque contemptum. Scal. 
CAMBRIDGE, Printed by ROGER DANIEL Printer to the University. 1647.   

TO THE READER, Upon this second Edition.  
Reader,  
IF I seem too bold in presenting myself again so suddenly to public view, let it excuse me, at least in part, that there is not so much boldness in this, as in my first adventure. For whereas I had then no encouragement but mine own well meaning, and carelessness of the opinions of men; I have now (beside that resolved neglect of men's hasty censures) the experience (though unexpected) of the favourable acceptance of the bravest and best improved spirits.  
For whose sakes, and as many else as are at leisure a while to lay aside the pleasure or trouble of the world, and entertain their minds with thoughts of a greater compass than the fetching in of a little wealth or honour; I have taken the pains to peruse these Poems of the soul, and to lick them into some more tolerable form and smoothness. For I must confess such was the present haste & heat that I was then hurried in (dispatching them in fewer months than some cold-pated-Gentlemen have conceited me to have spent years about them, and letting them slip from me so suddenly, while I was so immerse in the inward sense and representation of things, that it was even necessary to forget the economy of words, and leave them behind me aloft, to float and run together at random like chaff and straws on the surface of the water) that it could not but send them out in so uneven and rude a dress. Nor yet can I, (I profess) ever hope to find leisure or patience so tightly to polish them, as fully to answer mine own curiosity, if I would be also humorous, or the delicacy of some Lady-wits that can like nothing that is not as composed as their own hair, or as smooth as their Mistress' Looking-glass. But may these emendations prove but acceptable to the more generous and manly Genius; I shall please myself enough, if I prove but tolerable to those female fancies.  
But as I would not industriously neglect these, so I hope I have more solidly gratified the other, by the enlargement of this Poem. For besides the Canto of the INFINITY of WORLDS, I have also added another of the PRAEEXISTENCY of the SOUL, where I have set out the nature of SPIRITS and given an account of APPARITITIONS and WITCHCRAFT, very answerable I conceive to experience and story, invited to that talk by the frequent discoveries of this very Age. Which if they were publicly recorded, and that course continued in every Parish, it would prove one of the best Antidotes against that earthly and cold disease of Sadducisme and Atheism, which may easily grow upon us, if not prevented, to the hazard of all Religion, and the best kinds of Philosophy.  
I have also enlarged the second Canto of PSYCHOZOIA, and have added (that I might avoid all suspicion of partiality) to Psittaco and Pithecus divers other persons, Pico, Corvino, Graculo, and Glaucis, but am so sensible of that sober precept in Josephus, which he affirms to be out of Moses, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that I would be very loath to be so fare mistaken as to be thought a Censurer or Contemner of other men's Religions or Opinions, if they serve God in them in the simplicity and sincerity of their hearts, and have some more precious substratum within, then inveterate custom or natural complexion. All that I mean is this: That neither eager promoting of Opinion or Ceremony, nor the earnest opposing of the same, no not the acuteness of Reason, nor yet a strong, if naked conceit, that we have the Spirit of God, can excuse a man from being in any better condition then in the Land of Brutes or in the mere animal nature. Which conclusion I thought worth my labour to set off with such Artifice and Circumstance as I have; the gullery and deceit therein, if not avoided, being of so great and evil consequence. For if we can but once entitle our opinions and mistakes to Religion, and God's Spirit, it is like running quicksilver in the back of a sword, and will enable us to strike to utter destruction and ruin. But it would prevent a great deal of blood and bitterness in the Christian world, if we reserved the flower and strength of our zeal for the undoubted Truth of God and his immutable Righteousness, and were more mildly and moderately affected concerning the Traditions and determinations of the Elders.  
Furthermore, I have added Notes for the better understanding, not only of my Psychozoia, but of the Principles of Plato's Philosophy. In both which I would be so understood, as a Representer of the Wisdom of the Ancients rather then a warranter of the same. Contemplations concerning the dry essence of the Deity are very consuming and unsatisfactory. 'Tis better to drink of the blood of the grape, then by't the root of the vine, to smell of the rose then, chew the stalk. And blessed be God, the meanest of men are capable of the former, very few successful in the latter. And the less, because the reports of them that have busied themselves that way, have not only seemed strange to the vulgar, but even repugnant with one another. But I should in charity refer this to the nature of the pigeon's neck, rather than to mistake or contradiction. One and the same Object in Nature affords many and different 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And God is as infinitely various as simple. Like a circle, indifferent, whether you suppose it of one Uniform line, or an infinite number of Angles. Wherefore it is more safe to admit all possible perfections in God, then rashly to deny what appears not to us in our particular posture.  
I have also adjoined some few scattering notes to the second part of the Song of the Soul. Where I have also, beside some subtle considerations concerning ATOMS and QVANTITY, set out very plainly, the Hypothesis of Pythagoras, or Copernicus concerning the MOTION of the EARTH, as also opened the mystery of the FLUX and REFLUX of the SEA. Which two contemplations are not inferior to any, for either pleasantness in themselves, or conduciblenesse for the finding out of the right frame of Nature.  
Finally, I have cast into this second Edition several smaller Poems, of which together with all the rest that I have published I would give this general Advertisement, Est pictura Poesis. Every poem is an Idyllium. And a Poet no more sings himself, than a Painter draws his own picture. Nor can I by these assume to myself the honour of being a Platonist, no more than Virgil incur the suspicion of being an Epicurean by his Silenus, whom notwithstanding Alexander Severus thought good to style poetarum Plato.  
As for a more determinate decision of those many speculations which I have set on foot in these writings, though I made some kind of promise that way in my first, I must crave leave a while to defer it, till I find the thing itself of more consequence, and myself at better leisure. However without that, there is so great accession made to this second Edition, that I easily hope, that of as many as I was received favourably before, that I shall now be received with much more favour.  
As for others, whom sensual immersion or the deadness of Melancholy have more deeply seized upon, I must acknowledge that in my own judgement I can seem no better to them then a piece of highly enacted folly, they obstinately preferring that sad ground of incredulity before any thing less than a Demonstration. For whose satisfaction Mounsieur des Chartes hath attempted bravely, but yet methinks on this side of Mathematical evidence. He and that learned Knight our own Countryman had done a great deal more if they had promised less. So high confidence might become the heat and scheme of Poetry much better than sober Philosophy. Yet has he not done nothing, though not so much as he raiseth men's expectations to. And if he had performed less, it had been enough to souls that have well recovered that divine sagacity and quick sent of their own Interest. If this sweet ethereal gale of divine breathing do not quicken and enliven the scent and relish of such arguments as Reason, Nature, and story will afford, they will all prove weak and useless: Especially to exercised Wits that have so writhe and wrested their fancies that they can imagine or disimagine any thing, so weakened it that it is born down aswel with the smallest as greatest weight: so crusted and made hard their inward 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 by overmuch and trivial wearing it, that that delicate discrimination and divine touch of the soul is even lost, in so much that it would be safer to ask the judgement of young lads or Country idiots concerning the force of Arguments for God's existence or the Souls immortality, than those lubricous Wits and overworn Philosophers. And surely if we will but admit of Providence and her eye to be placed upon man, and this world to be his instruction, together with the undistorted suggestions of his own heart, these easy hints and pointings will be found no fallacious directions. And true opinion is as faithful a Guide, as Necessity and Demonstration.  
That obvious conceit of the nature of light and colours, though perhaps false in itself, yet is an easy and safe conductor to that grand Truth of the divine Hypostases held up by the whole Christian world for these many hundred years and by more than have acknowledged themselves Christians. How naturally are we invited from the appearing of men deceased, to think the soul survives the body, though we may perversely suppose that those Apparitions are but our own imaginations, or that some sportful or over officious spirit puts himself in the form and fashion of the deceased party? But what was the first and most easy suggestion, is such a truth as all Ages and Nations without intermission have embraced it. Nor yet will this be for a Demonstration and win undoubted assent with austere and melancholic tempers. Nor is reason unbacked with better principles mathematically satisfiable in matters of this kind. Nor am I offended that it is not. For would it not be an overproportionated engine, to the again endangering of Cleombrotus neck, or too forcibly driving men to obedience if they had their immortality as demonstrable as; That the three angles in a triangle are equal to two right angles. Besides it would prevent that fitting trial of the soul, how she would be affected if there were nothing to come; whence she would not be able so sensibly to discover to herself her own Hypocrisy or sincerity. Lastly, that loving adherence and affectionate cleaving to God by Faith and divine sense would be forestalled by such undeniable evidence of Reason and Nature. Which though it would very much gratify the natural man, yet it would not prove so profitable to us, as in things appertaining to God. For seeing our most palpable evidence of the souls immortality is from an inward sense, and this inward sense is kept alive the best by devotion and purity, by freedom from worldly care and sorrow, and the grosser pleasures of the body (otherwise her ethereal vehicle will drink in so much of earthy and mortal dregs, that the sense of the soul will be changed, & being outvoted as it were by the overswaying number of terrene particles, which that ethereal nature hath so plentifully imbibed and incorporated with, she will become in a manner corporeal, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as Jamblichus speaks, and in the extremity of this weakness and dotage will be easily drawn off to pronounce herself such as the body is, dissolvable and mortal) therefore it is better for us that we become doubtful of our immortal condition when we stray from that virginpurity and unspottednesse, that we may withdraw our feet from these paths of death, than that Demonstration and Infallibility should permit us to proceed so fare, that our immortality would prove an heavy disadvantage. But this is meant only to them that are lovers of God and their own souls. For they that are at enmity with him desire no such instructions, but rather embrace all means of laying asleep that disquieting truth; that they bear about with them so precious a charge as an immortal Spirit.   

To the Reader.  

REader, sigh 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 wots the vulgar spirit  
Such Harmony doth more strongly smite.  
Silent Secesse, wast Solitude  
Deep searching thoughts often renewed,  
Stiff conflict against importunate vice,  
That daily doth the Soul entice  
From her high throne of circuling light  
To plunge her in infernal Night:  
Collection of the mind from stroke  
Of this world's Magic, that doth choke  
Her with foul smothering mists and stench,  
And in Lethaean waves her drench:  
A daily Death, dread Agony,  
Privation, dry Sterility;  
Who is well entered in those ways  
Fittest man to read my lofty lays.  
But whom lust, wrath and fear control,  
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 cragged cliffs, and hills,  
To sighing winds to murmuring rills,  
To wasteful woods, to empty groves.  
Such things as my dear mind most loves.  
But they heed not my heavenly passion,  
Fast fixed on their own operation.  
On chalky rocks hard by the Sea,  
Safe guided by fair Cynthia,  
I strike my silver-sounded lyre,  
First struck myself by some strong fire;  
And all the while her wavering ray,  
Reflected from fluid glass 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 before thou them understand.   
H. M.   

PSYCHOZOIA, OR The first part of the Song of the SOUL, Containing A Christiano-Platonicall display of LIFE.  
By H. M. Master of Arts, and Fellow of Christ's College in Cambridge.  Tot vitae gradus cognoscimus, quot in nobismetipsis expedimus. Mars. Ficin. 
CAMBRIDGE, Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the University. 1647.   

TO THE READER, Upon the first Canto of PSYCHOZOIA.  

THis first Canto, as you may judge by the names therein, was intended for a mere Platonical description of Universal life, or life that is omnipresent, though not alike omnipresent. As in Noah's Deluge, the water that overflowed the earth was present in every part thereof, but every part of the water was not in every part of the earth, or all in every part; so the low Spirit of the Universe, though it go quite through the world, yet it is not totally in every part of the world; Else we should hear our Antipodes, if they did but whisper: Because our lower man is a part of the inferior Spirit of the Universe.  
Ahad, Aeon, and Psyche are all omnipresent in the World, after the most perfect way that humane reason can conceive of. For they are in the world all totally and at once every where.  
This is the famous Platonical Triad: which though they that slight the Christian Trinity do take for a figment; yet I think it is no contemptible argument, that the Platonists, the best and divinest of Philosophers, and the Christians, the best of all that do profess religion, do both concur that there is a Trinity. In what they differ, I leave to be found out according to the safe direction of that infallible Rule of Faith, the holy Word.  
In the mean time I shall not be blamed by any thing but ignorance and malignity, for being invited to sing of the second Unity of the Platonical Triad, in a Christian and Poetical scheme, that which the holy Scripture witnesseth of the second Person of the Christian Trinity. As that his patrimony is the possession of the whole earth. For if it be not all one with Christ, according to his Divinity; yet the Platonists placing him in the same order, and giving him the like attributes, with the Person of the Son in Christianity, it is nothing harsh for me to take occasion from hence to sing a while the true Christian Autocalon, whose beauty shall adorn the whole Earth in good time; if we believe the Prophets. For that hath not as yet happened. For Christ is not where ever his Name is: but as he is the Truth, so will he be truly displayed upon the face of the whole Earth. For God doth not fill the World with his Glory by words and sounds, but by Spirit, and Life, and Reality.  
Now this Eternal life I sing of, even in the midst of Platonisme: for I cannot conceal from whence I am, viz. of Christ; but yet acknowledging, that God hath not left the Heathen, Plato especially, without witness of himself. Whose doctrine might strike our adulterate Christian Professors with shame & astonishment; their lives falling so exceeding short of the better Heathen. How far short are they then of that admirable and transcendent high mystery of true Christianisme? To which Plato is a very good subservient Minister; whose Philosophy I singing here in a full heat; why may it not be free for me to break out into an higher strain, and under it to touch upon some points of Christianity; as well as all-approved Spencer, sings of Christ under the name of Pan? Saint Paul also transfers those things that be spoken of Jupiter, to God himself, Arat. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Those latter words he gives to the Christian God, whom he himself preached. I will omit the usual course of the Spirit of God in Holy Writ, to take occasion from things that have some resemblance with Divine things under them to speak of the true things themselves.  
And that I may not seem rather forcibly to break out here out of Platonisme into Christianisme, then to be fairly and easily led into this digression by the fit similitude of things, or at least very near correspondency of Names, which should imply agreement of nature; I have thought good to exhibit to the Readers eye the grounds of this my deviation founded in this Parallelisme of Titles, belonging to the second Unity of each Triad.  
Platonic.  Christian. The Son of the Good. 1 The Son of God. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Plotin. 2 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 3 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. John 1. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 4 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 5 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Proverbs. 8. Aeon 6 Eternal Life. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Plot. p. 547 7 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
For indeed the Greek 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is but a Periphrasis of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which contains in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the future present, and time past, as Critics observe.  
I might add further correspondencies betwixt the Platonic Triad, and divers passages of Scripture according to the interpretations of no contemptible Authors. As Gods making the World by his Word, which is very reasonable, He being the wisdom of God or the Intellectual World; the Idea of the visible and natural Creature. And that he is the Redeemer of the lapsed World, viz. Mankind, while he reduceth the right shape and image again into Man, wisdom and righteousness.  
Take in the whole Trinity, you shall find a strange concordance and harmony betwixt the nature of each Hypostasis in either in their order. Atove or Ahad, is simply the first Principle of all beings, the Father of all existences, and the Universal Creation is but his Family; and therefore hath he a full right of imposing Laws on the whole Creature.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. As Aristotle observes out of the Poet.  
The natural Creature (as David also bears them witness) keepeth this Law. But Man breaketh it: however the Law is still propounded to him, which when it doth take hold upon him, strikes him with dread and horror. Hence will he extrinsecally shape and proportion his actions according to that outward Rule through fear and force as it were: As if a man should impress any character, or stamp upon wax, paste, or any such like matter. And this I conceive is to be under the Law that makes nothing perfect, and may be called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. which is signified also by Diana in the third Canto of Psychozoia. This God vouchsafes sometime to second with the gift of his Son, who is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as Philo the Platonist calls him. He once come sits not so much on the surface of the soul, as dives and divides to the depth of the Spirit, and rooting himself there worketh out from the very bottom all corruption and filth, cleanseth us throughly from our sins, and healeth us of our infirmities, shapes us from an inward vital Principle, (even as the Ratio seminalis figures out a tree) into a new life and shape, even into the Image of God; that is, inward living Righteousness and Truth, instructing us continually, and guiding us with his eye: For he is properly Wisdom and Intellect. And this may be termed 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. even of the Son of Righteousness. See Philo Judaeus, pag. 390.391.403, 407. as also in his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. pag. 76.  
Of this 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Trismegist calling him 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, writeth thus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The same which John intimates: As many as receive him become the sons of God. And a little after, he tells us that this Universal Intellect as it doth 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 cooperate with all things; so it doth also 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, resist and oppose the souls of men hurried on to pleasure and passion by this disadvantageous union with the body. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Trismeg. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
But now being thus healed, purged, and illuminated by this Baptism of the living Word or Intellect, which is Christ, we are no longer under the Law, nor the terror thereof, but serve willingly, as from a vital Principle in us, under Christ. Wherefore such one's as are thus eminently good and virtuous in themselves, even according to the judgement of Aristotle, Politic. lib. 3. are not under the Law. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Against such there is no Law, for they themselves are a Law. The very same with the words of the Apostle. Gal. cap. 5. vers. 24. Rom. 2. vers. 14.15. And a little before, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and therefore not to be under the Law, no more than a Deity can be under their Law, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For 'tis as if they should take upon them to rule Jupiter himself, and share his kingdom. See Aristol. Politic. lib. 3.  
The last accomplishment of all, and the highest perfection as the Apostle witnesseth, is Love, and this is ever referred to the Holy Ghost, whom Peter Lombard contends to be Love, lib. 1. distinct, 17. And this agrees ad amussim with Uranore or Psyche, whom Plotinus calls 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the celestial Venus, out of which is born the heavenly Cupid, the divine Love. The same is also Juno the sister and wife of Jove; that is, of the Divine Intellect, as the same Philosopher observes. And the Greek name of Juno doth fi●ly agree to this purpose, viz. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, her name implying Love. And a further sign that Juno and Venus are all one is that Astronomers have noted one and the same Star by both their names. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Aristot. de Mundo, See Plotin. Ennead. lib. 6.  
So then the proper effect of this third Hypostasis in either Trinity is Love, which compleateth the Circle, and reduceth us again to the first Principle of all, the simple and absolute good which we enjoy by this single Act or Energy of the Soul, viz. divine Love: and this is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, to be baptised with the Holy Ghost.  
This trinall effect or spiritual influence on the Soul is experientially true: But this threefold Hypostasis, viz. Ahad, Aeon, and Psyche, cannot be known by experience, but is rather concluded by collection of reason. Nor indeed is reason itself able sufficiently to confirm or confute it, sigh it can conceive that one single Essence can perform many and various functions as doth the Soul, that being one, unfolds herself into varieties of operations.  
Yet have the Platonists established their Triad upon no contemptible grounds which I will not be so tedious as here to relate: but give the Reader leave to peruse Plotinus at his leisure. And I must confess that that mystery seems to me a thing of itself, standing on its own Basis, and to happen rather to agree with some Principles of Christianisme, then to be drawn from the holy Scripture.  
But the best is, that the happiness of man is not the Essence, but the Influence of the Divinity; and to be baptised in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, of more consequence then to read and understand all the curious and acute school-tracts of the Trinity. For this may be permitted to the Devil: that is the privilege only of the good and pious man. Nor is it any wonder at all.  
For be it so that the contemplation of these things is very sublime and subtle, yet well I wots they are nothing satisfactory to the soul. For the exile Theories of the Infinity of God and Trinity, are but as it were the dry measuring and numbering of the Deity, and profit as much to the soul devoid of charity, as the Diametre of the Sun's body, or the remembrance of that trinall property in Lux Lumen and Calefaction can warm a man in a cold frosty night.  
But if any man would be sufficiently initiated into these mysteries, he must repair to the ever living Word of God, that subtle and searching fire, that will sift all the ●anities of dreaming Philosophers, and burn up the vain imagination's of false-Christians like stubble.  
All this out of a tenderness of mind, being exceeding ●oth to give any man offence by my writings, For though knowledge and theory be better than any thing but honesty and true piety, yet it is not so good as that I should willingly offend my neighbour by it.  
Thus much by way of preparation to the first Canto of this Poem. I will now leave thee to thine own discretion, and judgement.   

Upon the second Canto.  
THis second Canto, before we descend to particular lives, exhibits to our apprehension, by as fit a similitude as I could light upon, the Universe, as one simple uniform being from Ahad to Hyle, no particular straitened being as yet being made; no earth or any other Orb as yet kned together. All homogeneal, simple, single, pure, pervious, unknotted, uncoacted, nothing existing but those eight universal orders.  
There God hath full command, builds and destroys what he lists.  
That all our souls are free effluxes from his essence. What follows is so plain that the Reader wants no direction,   

Upon the third Canto.  
THere is no knot at all in this last Canto, if men do not seek one. I plainly and positively declare no opinion, but show the abuse of those opinions there touched, crowding a number of enormities together; that easily shroud themselves there, where all sinfulness surely may easily get harbour, if we be not yet well ware of the Devil, that makes true opinions oftentimes serve for mischief.  
Nothing else can be now expected for the easy and profitable understanding of this Poem, but the interpretation of the names that frequently occur in it. Which I will interpret at the end of these Books; (as also the hard terms of the other Poems) for their sakes whose real worth and understanding is many times equal with the best, only they have not fed of husks and shells, as others have been forced to do, the superficiary knowledge of tongues. But it would be well, that neither the Linguist would contemn the illiterate for his ignorance, nor the ignorant condemn the learned for his knowledge, For it is not unlearnedness that God is so pleased withal, or silliness and emptiness of mind, but singleness and simplicity of heart.    

The Argument of PSYCHOZOIA, Or The life of the Soul.  

CANT. I.  

This Song great Psyche's parentage  
With her fourfold array,  
And that mysterious marriage,  
To th● Reader doth display.   

1  
NO Ladies loves, nor Knights brave martial deeds,  
Ywrapt in rolls of hid Antiquity;  
But th' inward Fountain, and the unseen Seeds,  
From whence are these and what so under eye  
Doth fall, or is record in memory,  
Psyche, I'll sing Pfyche● from thee they sprung.  
O life of Time, and all Alterity!  
The life of lives instill his nectar strong,  
My soul t' inebriate, while I sing Psyche's song.   

2  
But thou, who e'er thou art that hearest this strain,  
Or readest these rhythms which from Platonic 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 only do engage  
Myself to make a fit discovery,  
Give some fair glimpse of Plato's hid Philosophy.   

3  
What man alive that hath but common wit  
(When skilful limmer' suing his intent  
Shall fairly well portray 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 Buzzard or discoloured Pie?  
Why man? I meant it not: Cease thy fond obloquy.   

4  
So if what's consonant to Plato's school  
(Which well agrees with learned Pythagore,  
Egyptian Trismegist, and th' antique roll  
Of Chaldee wisdom, all which time hath tore  
But Plato and deep Plotin do restore)  
Which is my scope, I sing out lustily:  
If any twitten me for such strange lore,  
And me all blameless brand with infamy,  
God purge that man from fault of foul malignity.   

5  
Th' Ancient of days, Sire of Eternity,  
Sprung of himself, or rather no wise sprung:  
Father of lights and everlasting glee,  
Who puts to silence every daring tongue  
And flies man's sight, shrouding himself among  
His glorious rays, 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 height, and sweet Abinoam.   

6  
Now can I not with flowering fantasy  
To drowsy sensual 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 cheering 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 lise, that of life do partake?  
O surest confidence of Love's 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 spite,  
That life disjoints, and makes the heart to quake,  
To good the soul doth nearer reunite:  
So ancient Atove hence all-joyning Ahad height.   

8  
This Ahad of himself the Aeon fair  
Begot, the brightness of his father's grace:  
No living wight in heaven to him compare,  
Ne work his goodly honour such disgrace,  
Nor lose thy time in telling of his race.  
His beauty and his race no man can tell:  
His glory darkeneth the Sun's bright face;  
Or if ought else the Sun's bright face excel,  
His splend our would it dim, and all that glory quell.   

9  
This is that ancient Eidos' omniform,  
Fount of all beauty, root of flowering glee.  
Hyle old hag, foul, filthy, and deform,  
Cannot come near. Joyful 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 Hill ' hath no throne  
Can aught decay? such is the state of great Aeon.   

10  
Fare otherwise it fares in this same Lond  
Of Truth and Beauty, then in mortal brood  
Of earthly lovers, who impassioned  
With outward forms (not rightly understood  
From whence proceeds this amorous sweet flood,  
And choice delight which in their spirit they feel:  
Can outward Idol 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 grassy shore,  
Viewing his outward face in watery glass;  
Still as he looks, his looks add evermore  
New fire, new light, new love, new comely grace  
To's inward form; and it displays apace  
Its hidden rays, 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 wots 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 spirit.   

13  
Fare otherwise it fares in Aeons' Realm.  
O happy close of sight and that there's seen!  
That there is seen is good Abinoam,  
Who Atove height: And Atuvus I ween,  
Cannot be less than he that sets his eyes  
On that abyss of good eternally,  
The youthful Aeon, whose fair face doth shine  
While he his Father's glory doth espy,  
Which waters his fine flowering forms with light from high.   

14  
Not that his forms increase, or that they die:  
For Aeon-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 its fall:  
For Aeons' Kingdoms always perfect stand,  
Birds, Beasts, Fields, Springs, Plants, Men and Mineral  
To perfectness nought added be there can.  
This Aeon also height Autocalon and On.   

15  
This is the eldest son of Hattove hore:  
But th' eldest daughter of this aged Sire,  
That virgin wife of Aeon, Vranore.  
She Vranora height, because the fire  
Of Aethers essence she with bright attire,  
And inward unseen golden hue doth dight,  
And life of sense and fancy doth inspire.  
Aether's the vehicle of touch, smell, sight,  
Of taste, and hearing too, and of the plastic might.   

16  
Whilom me chanced (O my happy chance!)  
To spy this spotless pure fair Uranore:  
I spied her, but, alas! with slighter glance  
Beheld her on the Atuvaean shore.  
She stood the last; for her did stand before  
The lovely Autocal. But first of all  
Was mighty Atove, deeply covered o'er  
With unseen light. No might imaginall  
May reach that vast profundity.   

17  
Whiles thus they stood by that good lucid spring  
Of living bliss, her fourfold ornament  
I there observed; and that's the only thing  
That I dare write with due advisement.  
Foolhardy 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 strait thyself address  
To write the portraiture of th' outward vest,  
And to display its perfect comeliness:  
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 pressed  
At lowest verge. Things 'fore our feet yrold,  
If they be hard, how shall the highest things be told?   

19  
It's unseen figure I must here omit:  
For thing so mighty vast no mortal eye  
Can compass; and if eye not compass 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 truth's stead  
The garment round or circular I do aread.   

20  
As for its colour and material,  
It silken seems, and of an azure hue,  
If hue it have or colour natural:  
For much it may amaze man's erring view.  
Those parts the eye is near give not the show  
Of any colour; but the rural Swains,  
O easy ignorance! would swear 'tis blue,  
Such as their Phyllis would, when as she plains  
Their Sunday , and the washed white with azure stains.   

21  
But this fair azure colour's foully stained  
By base comparison with that blue dust.  
But you of Uranore are not disdained,  
O silly Shepherds, if you hit not just  
In your conceits, so that you're 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 read aright  
The divers colours, and the tinctures fair,  
Which in this various vesture changes write  
Of light, of duskishness, of thick, of rare  
Consistences: ever new changes mar  
Former impressions. The dubious shine  
Of changeable silk stuffs, this passeth fare.  
Fare more variety, and fare more fine,  
Then interwoven silk with gold or silver twine.   

23  
Lo what delightful 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 fare excels, farther than pompous Court  
Excels the homeliest garb of Country rate:  
Unspeakable it is how great a sort  
Of glorious glistering shows in it themselves disport.   

24  
There you may see the eyelids of the Morn  
With lofty silver arch displayed ●th' East,  
And in the midst the burnished 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●es the azure 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 grey,  
And curdled clouds, with filver tipping dight.  
And many other deckings wondrous gay,  
As Iris and the Halo, there doth play  
Still-paced Euphrona in her Conique tire;  
By stealth her steeple-cap she doth assay  
To whelm on th'earth: So Schoolboys do aspire  
With coppelled hat to quelme the Bee all armed with ire.   

26  
I saw portrayed on this sky coloured silk  
Two lovely Lads, with wings fully dispread  
Of silver plumes, their skins more white than milk,  
Their lily limbs I greatly admired,  
Their cheery looks and lusty lively bed:  
Athwart their snowy breast, a scarf they wore  
Of azure hue; 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 careful 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 mortal eye appear,  
You thick that veil, and so yourselves array  
With visibility: O mystery rare!  
That thickened veil should maken things appear more bare!   

28  
But well I wots that nothing's bare to sense,  
For sense cannot arrive to th' inwardness  
Of things, nor penetrate the crusty fence  
Of constipated matter close compress:  
Or that were laid aside, yet nevertheless  
Things thus unbar'd, to sense be more obscure.  
Therefore those sons of Love when they them dress  
For sight, they thick the vest of Vranure,  
And from their centre overflowed with beauty pure.   

29  
Thus many goodly things have been unfold  
Of Uranures fair changing ornament:  
Yet fare more hidden lie 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 largeness no man can depaint:  
My pen's from thence, my Book my Ink; but skill  
From Uranures own self down gently doth distil.   

30  
But yet one thing I saw that I'll not pass,  
At the low hem of this large garment gay  
Number of goodly balls there pendent was,  
Some like the Sun, some like the Moon's white ray,  
Some like discoloured Tellus, when the day  
Descries her painted coat: In wondrous wise  
These coloured ones do circle, float and play,  
As those fare shining Rounds in open skies:  
Their course the best Astronomer might well aggrize.   

31  
These danced about: but some I did espy  
That steady stood, 'mongst which there shined one,  
More fairly shineth not the world's 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 ugliness of that foul drone,  
Sad heavy Night, yet quick to work the fate  
Of murdered travellers, when they themselves belate.   

32  
O gladsome life of sense that doth adore  
The outward shape of the world's curious frame!  
The proudest Prince that ever Sceptre bore  
(Though he perhaps observeth not the same)  
The lowest hem doth kiss of that we name  
The stole of Vranore, these parts that won  
To drag in dirty earth (nor do him blame)  
These doth he kiss: why should he b● fordone?  
How sweet it is to live! what joy to see the S●nne!   

33  
But O what joy it is to see the Sun  
Of Aeons' kingdoms, and th' eternal Day  
That never night o'ertakes! the radiant throne  
Of the great Queen, the Queen Vranura!  
Then she 'gan first the Sceptre for to sway,  
And rule with wisdom, when Atuvus old,  
Hence Ahad we him call, did tie them twain  
With nuptial charm and wedding-ring of gold:  
Then sagely he the case 'gan to them thus unfold:   

34  
My first born Son, and thou my D●ughter dear,  
Look on your aged Sire, the deep abyss,  
In which and out of which you first appear;  
I Ahad height, and Ahad oneness is:  
Therefore be one (his words do never miss)  
They one became. I Hattove also height,  
Said he; and Hattove goodness is and bliss:  
Therefore in goodness be ye fast unite:  
Let Unity, Love, Good, be measures of your might.   

35  
They strait accord: ●hen he put on the ring,  
The ring of lasting gold on Uranure;  
Then 'gan the youthful lads aloud to sing,  
Hymen! O Hymen! O the Virgin pure!  
O holy Bride! long may this joy endure.  
After the song Atove his speech again  
Renews. My Son, I unto thee assure  
All judgement and authority sovereign  
He spoke as unto one: for one became those twain.   

36  
To thee each knee in Heaven and Earth shall bow,  
And whatsoever won in darker cell  
Under the Earth: If thou thy awful brow  
Contract, those of the Aethiopian hell  
Shall lout, and do thee homage; they that dwell  
In Tharsis, Triton's fry, the Ocean-god,  
Limb and Ziim, all the Satyrs fell  
That in empse Lands 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 world's end;  
All Kings shall vow thee faithful fealty,  
Then peace and truth on all the earth I'll send:  
Nor moody Mars my metals may misspend,  
Of Warlike instruments they ploughshares shall  
And pruning hooks efform. All things shall wend  
For th' best, and thou the head shalt be o'er all.  
Have I not sworn thee King? true King Catholical!   

38  
Thus fare he spoke, and then again respired;  
And all this time he held their hand in one;  
Then they with cheerful 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, Aeon, Uranore:  
Ahad these three in one do●h counite.  
What so is done on earth the self same power  
(Which is exert upon each mortal wight)  
Is jointly from all these But she that height  
Fair Uranore, men also Psy●he call.  
Great Psyche men and Angels dear delight,  
Invested in her stole aethereal,  
Which though so high it be, do●●n to the earth doth fall.   

40  
The external form of this large flowing stole,  
My Muse so as she might above displayed:  
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 mortal eyes.   

41  
The first of these fair films, we Physis name.  
Nothing in Nature did you ever spy,  
But there's portrayed: all beasts both wild and tame,  
Each bird is here, and every buzzing fly;  
All forrest-work is in this tapestry:  
The Oak, the Holm, the Ash, the Aspen tree,  
The lonesome Buzzard, th' Eagle, and the Py,  
The Buck, the Bear, the Boar, the Hare, the Bee,  
The Breeze, the black-armed Clock, the Gnat, the Butterfly.   

42  
Snakes, Adder's Hydra's, 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 coth it avail  
To reckon all, the time would surely fail:  
And all besprinkled with central spots,  
Dark little spots, is this hid inward veil:  
But when the hot bright dart doth pierce these knots,  
Each one dispreads itself according to their lots.   

43  
When they dispread themselves, then 'gins to swell  
Dame Psyche's outward vest, as th' inward wind  
Softly gives forth, full softly doth it well  
Forth from the central spot; yet as confined  
To certain shape, according to the mind  
Of the first centro, not perfect circ'lar-wise,  
It shoots itself: for so the outward kind  
Of things were lost, and Nature's good device  
Of different forms would hidden● in one agguize.   

44  
But it according to the impressed 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 (unless it be withstand)  
It always keeps. But that old Hag that height  
Foul Hyle mistress of the miry strand,  
Oft her withstands, and taketh great delight  
To hinder Physis work, and work her all despite.   

45  
The self same envious witch with poisoned dew,  
From her foul eben-box, all tinctures stains,  
Which fairly good be in hid Physis hue:  
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 music; touch to scorching pains  
She turns, or base tumults; smells 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 gins the life of Sympathy,  
And hidden virtue of magnetic 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 magnetic spirit.   

47  
The ripened child breaks through his mother's womb,  
The raving billows closely undermine  
The ragged rocks, and then the seas entomb  
Their heavy corpse, and they their heads recline  
On working sand: The Sun and Moon combine;  
Then they're at odds in site diametral:  
The former age to th' present place resign:  
And what's all this but wafts of winds central  
That ruffle, touse, and toss 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 Psyche's skin.  
The second we thin Arachnea call,  
Because the spider, that in Prince's hall  
Takes hold with her industrious hand, and weaves  
Her dainty tender web; far short doth fall  
Of this soft yielding vest; this vest deceives  
The spider's 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 mirror 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 height all-spread Community.   

50  
In this clear shining mirror Psyche sees  
All that falls under sense, what ere is done  
Upon the Earth; the Deserts shaken trees,  
The mournful winds, the solitary won  
Of dreaded beasts, the Lybian Lion's moan,  
When their hot entrails scorch with hunger keen,  
And they to God for meat do deeply groan;  
He hears their cry, he sees of them unseen;  
His eyelids compass all that in the wide world been.   

51  
He sees the weary traveller sit down  
In the waste field ofttimes with careful cheer:  
His chafed feet, and the long way to town,  
His burning thirst, faintness, and Panic fear,  
Because he sees not him that stands so near,  
Fetch from his soul deep sighs with countenance 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 mirror doth disclose.  
Thrice happy he that putteth his repose  
In his allpresent God. That Africa rock  
But touched with heedless hand, Auster arose  
With blust'ring rage, that with his ireful shock  
And moody might he made the world's frame nigh to rock.   

53  
And shall not He, when his Anointed be  
Ill handled, rise, and in his wrathful 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 Priests; or you shall ill endure  
Your works sad payment and that deadly loan;  
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 mirror represents: when mortals steep  
Their languid limbs in Morpheus dull delight,  
I hear such sounds as Adam's brood would fright.  
The doleful 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 lift.   

56  
Sense and consent, 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 herself contrair:  
In her there's tuned a just Diapason  
For every outward stroke: withouten jar  
Thus each thing doth she feel, and each thing easily bear.   

57  
But Haphe and Arachne I'll dismiss,  
And that fourth vest, rich Semele display:  
The largest of all four and losest is  
This floating flowering changeable array.  
How fairly doth it shine, and nimbly play,  
Whiles gentle winds of Paradise do blow,  
And that bright Sun of the eternal day  
Upon it glorious light and forms doth strew,  
And Abad it with love and joy doth overflow   

58  
This all-spread Semele doth Bacchus bear,  
Impregned 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 chaste Poets brains with fire divine;  
The stronger spirit the weaker spirit doth sway;  
No wonder then each fancy doth incline  
To their great mother Semel, and obey  
The vigorous impress 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 sways 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 flood  
That makes the Poet writ, 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 choke 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 erst they out did catch:  
Then stiller whispering winds dark visions unlatch.   

61  
But not too fare, thou bold Platonic Swain:  
Strive not at once all mysteries to discover  
Of that strange School: More and more hard remain  
As yet untold. But let us now recover  
Strength to ourselves by rest in duly hour.  
Great Psyche's Parentage, Marriage, and Weeds  
We having song according to our power,  
That we may rise more fresh for morning deeds,  
Let's here take Inn and rest our weary sweeting steeds.    

The Argument of PSYCHOZOIA, Or, The life of the Soul.  
CANT. II.  

Here's taught how into Psychanie  
Souls from their central source  
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 strait were wed:  
For as you heard, all these became but one,  
And so conjoined they lie all in one bed,  
And with that  vest they be all overspred.   

2  
Here lies the inmost Centre of Creation,  
From whence all inward forms and life proceed:  
Here's that acreall stole, that to each fashion  
Of Sensibles is matter for their weed.  
This is the ground where God doth sow his seed,  
And whilst 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 fatal round they appear 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'er swell  
His just precincts. Or rocky shores repel  
His foaming force; or else his inward life  
And central rains do fairly him compel  
Within himself, and gently ' pease the strife,  
Or makes him gnaw the bit with roar and rage's full rife.   

4  
So fluid chance is set its certain bound,  
Although with circling winds it be yrost;  
And so the pilots skill doth quite confound  
With unexpected storms, and men have lost  
Their time, their labour, and their precious cost.  
Yet there's a Neptune Sovereign 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 sigh my wand'ring 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 Sovereign  
Of working fancy when it floats amain  
With full impregned billows and strong rage  
Enforceth way upon the boiling plain,  
That thou wouldst steer my ship with wisdom sage,  
That I with happy course may run my watery stage.   

6  
My mind is moved dark Parables to sing  
Of Psyche's progeny that from her came,  
When she was married to that great King,  
Great Aeon, who just title well may claim  
To every soul, and brand them with his name.  
It's 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 solstitial Noon,  
When in the Welkin there's no cloudy tract  
For to make gross his beams, and light refract.  
Then sweep by all those Globes that by reflection  
His long small shafts do rudely beaten back,  
And let his rays 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 hue to the beholder show;  
The nearer parts have colour fare 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 fare spreaden beams that shines on high:  
Let vast discoloured Orbs close his extremity,   

9  
The last Extreme, the farthest off from light,  
That's Nature's deadly shadow, Hyles cell.  
O horrid cave, and womb of dreaded night?  
Mother of witchcraft, and the cursed spell,  
Which nothing can avail 'gainst Israel.  
No Magic 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  
Dependence of this All hence doth appear,  
And several 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 fare from his own reach: But he withal  
More inward is, and fare more intimate  
Than things are with themselves. His Ideal,  
And central presence is in every Atom-ball   

11  
Therefore those different hews through all extend  
So fare as light: Let light be every where:  
And every where with light distinctly blend  
Those different colours which I named whilere  
The Extremities of that fare shining sphere.  
And that far shining sphere, which Centre was  
Of all those different colours, and bright cheer,  
You must unfasten; so o'respred it has,  
Or rather deeply filled with central sand each place.   

12  
Now sigh that this withouten penetrance  
Of bodies may be done: we clearly see  
(As well as that pendent subordinance)  
The nearly couching of each Realty,  
And the Creators' close propinquity  
To every creature. This be understood  
Of differential profundity.  
But for the overspreading Latitude;  
Why  not equally be stretched with th' Ocean flood?   

13  
There Proteus wonnes and fleet Idothea,  
Where the lowest step of that profundity  
Is pight; Next that is Psyche's out-array:  
It Tasis height: 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  
Clad 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 subtle loom doth Haphe sit:  
But the last vest is changing Semele:  
And next is Psyche's 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 Aeon with Eternal ray:  
The eighth Atove, steady Cube, all propping Adonai.   

15  
Upon this universal Ogdoas  
Is founded every particularment:  
From this same universal Diapase  
Each harmony is framed and sweet consent.  
But that I swerve not far from my intent,  
This Ogdoas let it be an Unity  
One mighty quickened Orb of vast extent,  
Throughly possessed of life's community,  
And so those vests be seats of God's vitality.   

16  
Now deem this universal Round alone,  
And rays no rays but a first all-spred light,  
And centric all like one pellucid Sun;  
A Sun that's free, not bound by Nature's might,  
That where he lists exerts his rays outright,  
Both when he lists, and what, and eke how long,  
And then retracts so as he thinketh meet.  
These rays 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 mortal or immortal thing  
It be, and whence at first it began to flow;  
And that which chiefest is where it must go.  
Some fixed necessity thou fain wouldst find:  
But no necessity, where there's no law,  
But the good pleasure of an untied mind:  
Therefore thy God seek out, and leave Nature behind.   

18  
He kills, He makes alive; the keys of Hell  
And Death he hath. He can keep souls to woe  
When cruel hands of Fate them hence expel:  
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 flow  
In gloomy shade, benumbed 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 die, than God himself shall die.  
They live, they live in blessed Eternity.  
The wicked are not so; but like the dirt,  
Trampled by man and beast, in grave they lie.  
Filth and corruption is their rueful sort:  
Themselves with death and worms in darkness they disport.   

20  
Their rotten relics lurk close under ground:  
With living w●ight no sense or sympathy  
They have at all; nor hollow thundering sound  
Of roaring winds, that cold mortality  
Can ●ake, ywrapt in sad Fatality.  
To horse's hoof that beats his grassy door  
He answers not: The Moon in silency,  
Doth pass by night, and all bedew him o'er  
With her cold humid rays; but he feels not Heaven's power.   

21  
O doleful lot of disobedience!  
If God should souls thus drench in Lethe lake  
But O unspeakable torture of sense,  
When sinful souls do life and sense partake,  
That those damned 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 dreary woes,  
And tearing torment that each soul than undergoes.   

22  
Hence the souls nature we may plainly see:  
A beam it is of th' Intellectual Sun.  
A ray indeed of that Eternity;  
But such a ray as when it first out shone,  
From a free light its shining date begun.  
And that same light when it list can call it in;  
Yet that free light hath given a free won  
To this dependent ray: Hence comethsin;  
From sin dread Death and Hell these wages doth it win.   

23  
Each life a several ray is from that Sphere  
That Sphere doth every life in it contain.  
Arachne, Semel, and the rest do bear  
Their proper virtue, and with one joint strain  
And powerful sway they make impression plain,  
And all their rays be joined into one  
By Ahad: so this womb withouten pain  
Doth flocks of souls send out that have their wone  
Where they list most to graze; as I shall tell anon.   

24  
The country where they live Psychania height,  
Great Psychany, that hath so mighty bounds,  
If bounds it have at all. So infinite  
It is of bigness, that it me confounds  
To think to what a vastness 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 fare as those fixed Rounds excel small mustard-seeds.   

25  
Two mighty Kingdoms hath this Psychany,  
The one self-feeling Autaesthesia;  
The other height godlike Theoprepy,  
Autaesthesy's divided into twain:  
One province cleped is great Adamah  
Which also height Beirah of brutish fashion;  
The other Providence is Dizoia;  
There you may see much mongrel transformation,  
Such monstrous shapes proceed from Nile's foul inundation.   

26  
Great Michael ruleth Theoprepia,  
A mighty Prince. King of Autaesthesy  
Is that great Giant who bears mighty sway,  
Father of Discord, Falsehood, Tyranny,  
His name is Daemon, not from Sciency,  
Although he boasteth much of skilful pride;  
But he's the fount of foul duality,  
That wicked witch Duessa is his bride:  
From his dividing force this name to him betid.   

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 decided;  
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'er agree  
But felly one another do upbray:  
An ugly cloven foot this monster doth upstay.   

28  
Two sons great Doemon and Duessa hath:  
Autophilus the one yclept is;  
In Dizoie he worketh wondrous scathe;  
He is the cause what so there goes amiss,  
In Psyche's stronger plumed progenies.  
But Philosomatus rules Beirah.  
This proud puffed Giant whilom did arise,  
Born of the slime of Autaesthesia,  
And bred up these two sons yborn of Duessa.   

29  
Duessa first invented magic lore,  
And great skill hath to join and disunite;  
This herb makes love, that herb 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 magic might  
Can draw or here or there through blind mistake.  
Magic can only quell nature's Doemoniake.   

30  
But that I may in time myself betake  
To straighter course, few things I will relate,  
Of which old Mnemon mention once did make.  
A jolly Swain he was in youthful state,  
When he men's natures 'gan to contemplate,  
And kingdom's view: But he was aged then  
When I him saw; his years bore a great date;  
He numbered 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 cheerful countenance he had:  
His vigorous eyes did shine like stars bright,  
And in good decent freeze he was clad,  
As blithe and buxom as was any lad  
Of one and twenty clothed in forest green;  
Both blithe he was, and eke of counsel sad:  
Like winter-morn bedight with snow and rind  
And sunny rays, so did his goodly Eldship shine.   

32  
Of many famous towns in Beïrah,  
And many famous Laws and uncouth Rites  
He spoke: but vain it is for to assay  
To reckon up such numbers infinite.  
And much he spoke where I had no insight,  
But well I wots that some there present had,  
For words to speak to uncapable wight  
Of foolishness proceeds or frenzy mad.  
So always some, I wis, could trace his speeches pad.   

33  
But that which I do now remember best,  
Is that which he of Psittacusa land  
Did speak. This Psittacuse is not the least,  
Or the most obscure Country that is found  
In wasteful Beïron: it is renowned  
For famous Clerks clad in greenish cloak,  
Like Turkish Priests. if Amoritish ground  
We call it, no cause that title to revoke.  
But of this Land to this effect old Mnemon spoke.   

34  
I traveled 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 than old Adam, and by one  
At least are younger than 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 road,  
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 strait occasion took  
To entertain discourse, though none I reached,  
But unprovok'd he first me undertook:  
So soon as he 'gan talk, then strait I laughed:  
The Sage himself repressed, but thought me nigh distraught.   

36  
His concave nose, great head, and grave aspect,  
Affected tone, words without inward sense,  
My inly tickled spirit made me detect  
By outward laughter; but by best pretence  
I purged myself, and gave due reverence.  
Then he 'gan gravely treat of codicils,  
And of Book-reading passing excellence,  
And tried his wit in praising goose's quills:  
O happy age! quoth he, the world Minerva fills.   

37  
I gave the talk to him, which pleased him well:  
For than he seemed a learned clerk to been,  
When none contraryed his uncontrolled spell,  
But I, alas! though unto him unseen,  
Did flow with tears, as if that onions keen  
Had pierced mine eyes. Strange virtue of fond joy:  
They ought to weep that be in heavy teen.  
But nought my lightsome heart did then annoy:  
So light it lay, it moved at every windy toy.   

38  
As we yode softly on, a Youngster gent  
With beaver cocked, and arm set on one side  
(His youthful fire quickly our pace outwent)  
Full fiercely pricked on in madcap pride,  
The mettle of his horses heels he tried,  
He hasted to his country Pithecuse.  
Most haste, worst speed: still on our way we ride,  
And him o'ertake halting through hapless bruise;  
We help him up again, our help he nould refuse.   

39  
Then 'gan the learned and aged Don Psittaco,  
When he another auditor had got,  
To spruce his plumes, and wisdom sage to show,  
And with his sacred lore to wash the spot  
Of youthful 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 youngster could not sound,  
Though he with mimical attention did abound.   

40  
Yet some of those faint winged words came near,  
Of God, of Adam, and the shape divine,  
Which Adam's children have; (these pierced his ear)  
And how that man is lord of every kind  
Of beasts, of birds, and of each hidden mine  
Of nature's treasures. He to Adam's son  
The wide world for his kingdom doth design:  
And ever naming God, he looked aboven:  
Pithecus strait placed God a thought above the Moon.   

41  
Pithecus, so they call this gentle wight,  
The docible young man easily could trace  
His master's steps, most quick and expedite.  
When Psittaco looked up to holy place,  
Pithecus strait with sanctimonious grace  
Cast up his eyes; and when the shape divine,  
Which Adam had from God, he 'gan to praise,  
Pithecus draws himself strait from that line,  
And fancies his sweet face with heavenly hue to shine.   

42  
He pinched his hat, and from his horse's side  
Stretched forth his russet legs, himself inclined  
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 corpse. But that full right  
And vast prerogative did so unbind  
His straighted sprights, that with tyrannic might  
He forced his feeble beast, and strait 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 son,  
Conceived, and deemed it no small disgrace  
That that bold youngster should so little pass  
His learned speech; or whether nought to said  
He had then left; or whether a wild chase  
Of flitting inconsistent thoughts he than  
Pursued, which turned and toyed in his confused brain.   

44  
Or whether he was waxed 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 missed  
The mark I aimed at; to speak he had great list.   

45  
So then his spirits 'gan to come again,  
And to enact his corpse and impart might  
Unto his languide tongue, and every vein  
Received heat, when due conceived right  
I did to him; and weaned he plainly see't  
That I was touched with admiration  
Of his deep learning, and quick shifting sight.  
Then I 'gan choir of the wide Behiron.  
Behiron, quoth that Sage, that height 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 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is Anthropion;  
And we are all of an upright presence;  
Nor I'll be drawn from this conceit by no pretence.   

47  
I praised his steady faith and confidence,  
That stood as fast as trunk or rock of stone;  
Yet nevertheless, said I, the excellence  
Of steadfastness is not to yield to none,  
But stiff to stand till moved by right reason;  
And then by yielding, part of victory  
To gain. What fitness in Anthropion?  
Baboons, and Apes, as well as th' Anthropis  
Do go upright, and beasts grown mad do view the sky.   

48  
Then marken well what great affinity  
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 brutishness defiled  
Hath life and love and lust and cogitation  
Fixed in foul sense, or moving in false guile;  
That holy tongue the better nomination,  
So fare, I know, may give: 'Tis guess, not full persuasion.   

49  
Therefore, O learned Sir, aread aright,  
What may this word Behiron signify?  
He wondrous glad to show his Grammar-might,  
This same word Behiron doth signify  
The bruti shnature, or brutallitie,  
Said he: and with his voice lift up his front.  
Then I his skill did gaily magnify,  
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 than profane.  
He angry at his courtesy, replied,  
That learned men ought for to entertain  
Discourse of learned tongues, and country 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 guise of learned Schools,  
But if God's thoughts be contrair unto us,  
Let not deep wonderment possess our souls,  
If he call fools wisemen, and wisemen fools.  
If rich he poor men term, if poor men rich,  
If crafty Statesmen,  country gulls,  
Beasts men, men beasts, with many other such:  
God seethe not as man seethe, God speaks not in man's speech.   

52  
Strait he to higher perch, like bird in cage,  
Did skip, and sang of etern Destiny,  
Of sight and foresight he with countenance sage  
Did speak, and did unfold God's secrecy,  
And left untouched no hidden mystery.  
I lowly louting held my cap in hon:  
He asked what meant that so sudden curtsy.  
I pardon crave, said I, for manners fond;  
You are Heavens Privy-counselor I understond,   

53  
Which I witted not before: so deep insight  
Into the hidden things of God who can  
Attain unto, without that quickening spirit  
Of the true God? Who knows the mind of man  
But that same spirit that in his breast doth won?  
Therefore the key of Gods hid secrecy  
Is his own spirit, 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 man's 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 partake  
With God; and joyed greatly in vain fume,  
And prided much himself in his purloined plume.   

55  
So that full loath he was for to undo  
My fairly wound 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 equalise,  
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 bend  
To keep the credit which he then had got,  
As he conceived: for it had been yblent;  
It might have hazarded half of his lot,  
To wit his godlike 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 escaped the sauce of his contracted fist.   

57  
And here I think we both as dumb had been  
As were the slow-foot beasts on which we road  
Had not Don Psittaco by fortune seen  
A place which well he knew though disallowed;  
Which he to me with earnest countenance showed  
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 grassy pavement wrought with even line  
Ran from the Morn upon the Evening-close.  
The Eastern end by certain steps they climb  
To do their holy things, (O sight divine!)  
There on the middle of the highest flore  
A large geen turf squared out, all fresh and fine  
Not much unlike to Altars used of yore  
Right fairly was adorned 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 show they yield the eye.  
A pretty space from this we did descry  
An hollow Oak, whose navel the rough saw  
Long since had clove: so standing wet and dry  
Around the stumped top sof● moss did grow  
Whose velvet hue and verdure cushion-like did show.   

60  
Within the higher hedge of thickened trees  
A lower rank on either side we saw  
Of lesser shrubs even-set with artifice.  
There the wood-queristers sac 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 low)  
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 gaily dight  
Are ranked 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 with awful sight,  
Who ever in that solemn place were met,  
At the West end for better view, right stately set.   

62  
After a song loud chanted by that Choir  
Tuned to the whistling of the hollow wind  
Comes out a gay Pie in his rich attire  
The snowy white with the black satin shined,  
On's head a silken cap he wore unlined:  
When he had hopped to the middle flore  
His bowing head right lowly he inclined  
As if some Deity he did adore,  
And seemly gestures make courting the Heavenly power.   

63  
Thus cringed he toward th' East with shivering wings  
With eyes on the square sod devoutly bend.  
Then with short flight up to the Oak he springs  
Where he thrice congeed after his ascent  
With posture changed from th' East to th'Occident,  
Thrice bowed he down and easily thrice he risen;  
Bowed down so low as if it had been's intent  
On the green moss to wipe his swarthy nose.  
Anon he chatters loud, but why himself best knows.   

64  
There we him leave, impatient of stay  
Myself amazed such actions to see  
And pretty gestures 'mongst those creatures gay:  
So unexpected Uniformity,  
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 grassy Plain  
With shaking wings and bended bills adored 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 voices 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 wot. Aread then Psittaco what sights these be.   

66  
Certs, said he, thine eyes be waxed dim  
These be the people of wide Adamah  
These be no birds, 'tis true, they're sons of sin  
And vessels of Heaven's ire, for sooth to say  
They have no faith, I fear nor ever may,  
But be shaped out for everlasting shame,  
Thou ghthey deride us of Psittacusa:  
Yet well I wots, we have the only name  
Above, and though all foul yet there devoid of blame.   

67  
And that green spot which thou mayst deem a Close  
It is to them no Close but holy place  
Yclept a Church, whose sight doth well dispose  
Approaching souls. The rest thyself mayst trace  
By true analogy, But I'll not pass  
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 fond seem to thee.   

68  
Mn. Tell then Don Psittaco, what Pico meant  
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 adored 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 civil be, said he,  
Certes, Don Pico can not well excuse  
Himself from fault of impious flattery  
His holy gestures straightway thus to use  
To mortal 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 mossy 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.   

71  
Ps. But I can find it. Superstition  
And flattery, have made Don Pieo blind.  
These interfare in fond confusion.  
But both conspire to hold up his swollen mind  
In supercilious pride and ways unkind.  
For he doth domineer o'er Psittacuse.  
Dear Psittacuse! when shalt thou once outwind  
Thyself from this sad yoke? who brings the news  
Of Zions full release from scorn and foul abuse?   

72  
O had we once the power in our hands  
How carefully the youth we'd catechise,  
But bind God's enemies in iron bands  
(Such honour have his Sainrs) 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.   

73  
Mn. Good reason too, said I. Don Pico grave  
The self same doctrine preacheth as I hear.  
But Reverend Psittaco, let me freedom crave  
To ask one question, Is't because 'ts so clear  
That who so shall descent 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 Church's Authority?  
With that Don Psittaco cast up his eyes  
Brim full of thoughts to solve this knot of mine.  
But in the fall of his high-gazing sight  
He spied two on the road 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 fit  
And seemed a wight of a right subtle brain.  
Both clothed as black as jet. But he was fit  
With a dry walnut shell to fence his wit.  
Which like a quilted cap on's head he wore  
Lined with whire taffety, wherein were writ  
More trimly than the Iliads of yore  
The laws of Mood and Figureand many precepts more.   

76  
All the nice questions of the Schoolmen old  
And subtleties 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'er they hit.  
Certes a doughty Clerk and Champion stout  
He seemed 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 swayed  
And pressed somewhat hard on th' horse's mane.  
Most like methought to a Cathedral Dean.  
A man of prudence and great courtesy  
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 to near friendship now they did not owe.  
But yet in generals agreed, I trow.  
For they all dearly hug dominion,  
And love to hold men's consciences in awe  
Each standing stiff for his opinion  
In holy things, against all contradiction.   

79  
But most of all Corvin and Psittaco  
prudential men and of a mighty reach  
Who through their wisdom sage th' events foreknow  
Of future things; and confidently preach  
Unless there be a form which men must teach  
Of sound opinions (each meaning his own)  
But t' be left free to doubt and count●●●-speech  
Authority is lost, our trade is gone  
Our Tyrian wares forsaken, we, alas! shall moan.   

80  
Or at the best our life will bitter be:  
For we must toil to make our doctrine good.  
Which will impart the firsh and weak the knee.  
Our m●nd cannot attend our trencher-food,  
Nor be let lose 〈◊〉 sue the worldly good.  
All's our dear wives, poor wenches! they alone  
Mustly 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  
Unless our lives gain us Authority.  
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 step with the other footsteps fit.  
And heavens bright eye it will ware of it.  
But now me lists few passages to show  
Amongst us four when we together met  
Occasioned 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 abhored  
When he the black filk rope soft fimbling felt  
And with his fingers milked evermore  
The hanging frienge) one thing perplexeth sore  
My reason weak and puzzled thoughts, said he.  
Tell then, ye learn●● Clerks, which of these four  
To weet, from Scripture, Church authority,  
God's Spirit, or man's Reason is Faith's Certainty.   

84  
For, well I wots, ourselves 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 pursued,  
Saying that all belief is solved at last  
Into the Church, ne may the people rude  
Nor learned wit her honour dare to blast  
Nor scrupulous thoughts, nor doubtful queres out to cast.   

85  
Strait Graculo with eyes as fierce as Ferret  
Replied: If all men's faith resolved be  
Into each Church, all nations shall inherit  
For ever their Ancestors 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 only to our own  
Full witness to herself of all the truths she'll own.   

86  
Gr. That then is truth what she will say is true.  
But not unless her the true Church thou hold.  
How know'st thou then her such, good Corvin show.  
Friend Graculo in talk we be too bold.  
Let's go, I fear myself and horse take cold.  
But t' answer to that question, before we go  
The Church is true as she herself me told.  
A goodly answer said Don Graculo.  
You dispute in a Circle as all Logicians know.   

87  
Hear 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 only show.  
Straight nimble Graculus; But who can know  
The sense of Scripture without reason sound?  
The Scripture is both key and treasure too  
It opes itself (so said that Clerk profound)  
This place with that compared. This is the strongest ground.   

88  
Gr But what with judgement doth them both compare?  
Is't reason or unreasonableness, I pray.  
To which grave Psittacus, you so subtle are,  
I list not with such cunning wits to play.  
Here I stepped in and thus began to say.  
Right worthy Clerks, for so you be I ween,  
Your quaint discourse your breed 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 solemn 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 unreasonableness height.  
Here Graccus. The disjunction you deny.  
Then I, There is a third yclept God's spirit  
Nor reason nor unreasonableness height.  
Corvino strait foamed 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 betrayed.   

91  
But I nould with like fury him invade  
But mildly as I might made this reply.  
God's Spirit is no private empty shade  
But that great Ghost that fills both earth and sky,  
And through the boundless Universe dothly,  
Shining through purged hearts and simple minds  
When doubling clouds of thick hypocrisy  
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 God's 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 goodness to allure.   

93  
For they believen as the Church believes  
Never expecting any other light.  
And hence it is, each one so loosely lives,  
Hopeless of help from that internal spirit.  
Enough! said Graculo, Corvino's right.  
Let's hear, dispute in figure and in mood.  
And stiffly with smart syllogisms fight  
That what thou wouldst may well be understood,  
But now thou rovest out, and ravest 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  
Backed with advantage of all sciences,  
Of Arts, of tongues, cannot such light transfuse  
But that most learned men do think amiss  
In highest points divided as well you know, I wisse.   

95  
Hear Graculo learing up with one eye  
Viewed the broad Heavens long resting in a pause  
And all the while he held his neck awry  
Like listening daw, turning his nimble nose,  
At last these words his silent tongue did lose.  
What is this spirit, say what's this spirit, man!  
Who has it, answered I, he only knows.  
'Tis the hid Manna and the graven stone.  
He canteth, said Corvine, come Grac, let's be gone.   

96  
But Grac stayed 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  doth lie  
Unto our sight, not reason but our eye  
Discovers first, but upon that fair view  
Our reason takes occasion to try  
Her proper skill and curiously pursue  
The Art and sweet contrivance Heaven and Earth do show.   

97  
There's no man colour smells, or sees a sound,  
Nor sucks the labour of the honey-bee  
With's hungry lugs, nor binds a gaping wound  
With's slippery ey-balls. Every feculty  
And object have their due Analogy,  
Nor can reach further than it's proper sphere.  
Who divine sense by reason would descry  
Unto the Sunshine listons 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 replied,  
Only 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 reason's might?   

99  
If then said he, the spirit may not be  
Right reason, surely we must deem it sense.  
Yes sense it is, this was 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 ways, as he doth open 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 named,  
And with great joy and jollity he bade  
A dew to me as if that he had gained  
The victory. Besides Corvino blamed  
His too long stay. Wherefore he forward goes  
Now more confirmed his Nutshell-cap contained  
What ever any living mortal knows.  
Ne longer would he stay this sweet conceit to lose.   

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 driven either way;  
Whom pitying I thus began to say.  
Dear Psittaco what anxious thoughts oppress  
Thy careful heart and musing mind dismay?  
I am perplexed much I must confess  
Said he, and thou art author of my heaviness.   

102  
Myself Corvino's Church-Autority  
No certain ground of holy truth do deem.  
And Scripture the next ground alleged by me  
By Graco was confuted well, I ween.  
But thou as in these points fare deeper seen  
Than either Corvin or Don Graculo  
Yea than myself, 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 enjoin  
Nor this nor that, nor Faith-forms freely coin  
And make the trembling conscience swear thereto,  
For we ourselves do but guess and divine  
What we force other men to swear is true,  
Until the daystar 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. Myself, alas! a silly Swain I know  
So far from solving these hard knots, said I,  
That more and harder my rank brain o'er grow  
And wonder that thy quick sagacity  
Doth not wind 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 have not the least ability  
May seem unjust and violent; I trow,  
'Gainst reason, 'gainst Religion, 'gainst all sense and law.   

106  
For 'tis as if the King of Arragon  
Who was well skilled in Astronomy,  
Should by decree deprive each Country Clown  
Of life, of lands, or of sweet liberty  
That would not fully avow each star in sky  
Were bigger than the Earth. Here Psittaco  
Though what I said did not well satisfy  
His grave judicious self, yet he did know  
Of whom this talk much 'plause would gain and kindness too:   

107  
And strait 'gan say. Dear Glaucis! hadst thou been  
At this discourse, how would thy joyous spirit  
Have danced along. For thou art or well seen  
In these quaint points, or dost at least delight  
Exceeding much to hear them opened right.  
And, well I wots, on earth scarce can be found  
So witty girl, so wily female wight  
As this my Glaucis, over all renowned;  
I mean for quicker parts, if not for judgement sound.   

108  
How fit an Auditor would she then proved  
To thee, young Mnemon? how had she admired  
Thy sifting wit, thy speech and person loved,  
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 than thou didst deem  
May fit you too. For why? by Nature's course  
Like join with like: wherefore, right well I ween,  
Might I but make the match it 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 it so, said I, yet may our grounds fare different be.   

110  
For might I but repeat without offence  
What I have heard, ill symptoms men descry  
In this thy Glaucis, though the nimble wench  
So dexterously can pray and prophecy,  
And lectures read of dread mortality,  
Clasping her palms with fatal noise and shrieks,  
Inculcating approaching misery  
To sad afflicted houses, when she strikes  
With brushing strokes the glassy doors and entrance seeks.   

111  
Nor doth her solemn looks much like her Sire  
Or native zeal which she did once derive  
From thee grave Psittaco! exalt her higher  
Than Earth and Nature: For men do conceive  
Black sanguine fumes my spouse do thus deceive  
Translating her into fool's 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 natural spirit itself doth sweetly hug  
In false conceit and ill-deceiving guile,  
Sucking fond solace from its own dear dug,  
Like the mistaken Cat that licked the file  
And drawing blood, uncessantly did toil  
To suck hat sweet, as if there Moses rock  
Had sweat new milk. Thus Glaucis doth beguile  
Her likorish taste, als' doth delude her flock,  
Teaching them suck themselves, their empty souls to mock.   

113  
Thus they intoxicate with their own blood  
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 only choice Offspring  
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 fixedness of th' eternal Fates  
And Adamantine laws of God's 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 go of Eternity.  
No infecting poison may them ill dispose.  
What worthless wit of man this puzzling knot may lose.   

115  
Did not I tell thee what a wily lass,  
Said Psittace, my daughter Glaux would prove?  
And well perceiving how averse I was  
From her strange manners, left all suits of love,  
And strait 'gan show me how she did improve  
Her principles to lewdness and excess:  
Secure, no fault, no filth can ever move  
Her Maker to dislike, no unrighteousness  
Can hurt her soul, ne sorrow needs she to express.   

116  
Thus in the wicked wench rank fields do grow  
Of Rapine, Riot, Lust, and Covetise,  
Of Pride, of Sacrilege, and a thousand more  
Disorders, which no mortal can devise,  
Said I, from aught, but that mistake t' arise  
Of naked Faith disjoined 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 stopped he here, but told me all her guise  
How lawless quite and out of shape she's grown  
Affecting still wild contrarieties,  
Averse from what for good all others own.  
Preposterous Girl! how often hast thou thrown  
Thyself into dark corners at Midday,  
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, than dost thou sing  
In frosty night on neighbour's chimney set,  
When others fast 'ginst thou thy revelling;  
Thy lustful sparrows greedily dost eat,  
Which thou by blood 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 defiled  
With thy broad mutings and large squirting vild.  
Mn. Fie; Psittaco! hid 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 defaced  
And all misshapen, and grown out of square,  
But that myself most evidently traced  
Thy comely feature in her visage bare.  
Spare then thyself, 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 abhorred hypocrisy,  
And craft the upshot of experienced Age;  
And more than life I loved my liberty,  
And much suspected all that would engage  
My heart to their own sect, and freeborn soul encage.   

122  
For I even at those years was well ware  
Of man's false friendship, and grown subtlety,  
Which made me snuff the wind, drink the free air  
Like a young Colt upon the mountains high,  
And turning tail my hunters all defy.  
Ne took I any guide but th' innate light  
Of my true Conscience, whose voice to deny,  
Was the sole sting of my offended spirit:  
Thus God and Nature taught their rude Cosmopolite.   

123  
I mean not Nature's harsh obdurate light,  
The shameless eyebrows of the Serpent old,  
That armed with custom 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 design, now love, now hate  
And freely give and take withouten price or rate.   

124  
Dear lads! How do I love your harmless years  
And melt in heart while I the Morning-shine  
Do view of rising virtue which appears  
In your sweet faces, and mild modest eyen.  
Adore that God that doth himself enshrine  
In your untainted breasts; and give no ear  
To wicked voice that may your souls incline  
Unto false peace, or unto fruitless fear,  
Lest loosened from yourselves Harpies away you bear.   

125  
Abstain from censure, seek and you shall find,  
Drink your own waters drawn from living well,  
Mend in yourselves 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 myself indeed  
Have born much scorn for these pranks, I you tell,  
By boys 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 itself into three parts; the one  
To Leontopolis; that in the mid  
Did lead strait forth out of wide Beiron,  
That was the way that I might 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 Matins say;  
They nought begin divine or secular,  
But they advisen with those Cities twain.  
Opotent Citizens that bear so great a sway!   

128  
No truth of justice in Beîrah land.  
No sincere faith void of she subtlety,  
That always seeks itself, is to be found;  
But law delusion and false Polity,  
False Polity that into Tyranny  
Would quickly wend, did not stern Fear restrain  
And keep in awe. Th' Onites Democracy  
Is nought but a large hungry tyrant-train:  
Oppression from the poor is an all-sweeping rain.   

129  
A sweeping torrent that beats down the corn,  
And wastes the oxens' labour, headlong throws  
The tallest trees up by the root ytorn,  
Its ranging force in all the land it shows;  
Woods rend from hence, its rolling rage bestows  
In other places that were bare before,  
With muddied arms of trees the earth it strews;  
The listening shepherd is amazed sore,  
While it with swift descent so hideously doth roar.   

130  
Such is the outrage of Democracie,  
When fearless it doth rule in Beîrah:  
And little better is false Monarchy,  
When it in this same country bears the sway.  
(Is it not a part of Autaesthesia?)  
So to an inward sucking whirl pools close  
They change this swelling torrents surquedry,  
Much treasure it draws in, and doth enclose  
In 'tis 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  
Tyrannic 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 Oneple doth grudge, and groan, and cry,  
Because she is denied a greater tyranny.   

132  
Two of that City whylorn on the way,  
With languid lugs, and countenance gravely sad,  
Did deeply sigh, and rudely rough did bray  
'Gainst Leontopolis. The equal pad  
Of justice now, alas! is seldom trad,  
Said they; The Lion's might is law and right.  
Where's love or mercy now? with that out strad  
A little dog, his dames only delight,  
And ran near to their tails, and barked with all his might.   

133  
The surly ireful Onopolitan  
Without all mercy kicked with iron heel  
The little bawling cur, that at him ran;  
It made his feeble corpse to th' earth to reel,  
That was so pierced 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 carls, 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 crowned,  
Or from strong sympathies heart-striking stound.  
No order but what riches strength and wit  
Prescribe. So bad the good easily confound.  
Is H●●●esty in such unruly fit  
〈…〉 ●eld 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 ordinary imagination,  
The life and soul of them in Behirah:  
This Behirah that height the greater Adamah.   

136  
The swelling hateful Toad, industrious Ant,  
Lascivious Goat, Parrot, or prating Py,  
The kingly Lion, docil Elephant,  
All-imitating Ape, gay Butterfly,  
The crafty Fox famous for subtlety,  
Majestic Horse, the beast that twixt two trees  
(A fit resemblance of foul gluttonny)  
When he hath filled his gorge, himself doth squeeze  
To feed afresh, Court Spaniels, and politic 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 want,  
As Swine do Swine, their own blood to relieve.  
Beiron's all bruits, the true manhood they want,  
If outward form you pierce with fancy fulminant.   

138  
So having got experience enough  
Of this ill land, for nothing there was new,  
My purpose I held on, and road 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 door to me itself did show:  
Looking about at length I did espy  
A lively youth, to whom I presently 'gan cry.   

139  
More willing he's to come than I to call:  
Simon he height, who alsoes called a Rock:  
Simon is that obediential  
Nature, who boisterous seas and winds doth mock;  
No tempest can him move with fiercest shock;  
The house that's thereon built doth surely stand,  
Nor blustering 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 approached in decent russet clad,  
More fit for labour then the flaunting Court.  
When he came near, in cheerful wise he bade  
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 raised; but that same door  
Where you must pass in deep descent doth lie:  
But he bade follow, he would go before.  
Hard by there was a place, all covered o'er  
With stinging nettles and such weedery,  
The pricking thistles the hardest legs would gore,  
Under the brickwall a strait door we descry;  
The wall height Self-conceit; the door Humility.   

142  
When we came at the door fast locked it was,  
And Simon had the key, but he nould grant  
That I into that other land should pass,  
Without I made him my Concomitant.  
It pleased me well, I mused not much upon't,  
But strait accord: for why? a jolly Swain  
Me thought he was; meek, cheerful, 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 bloody 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 sways hard on that part  
That's fit for burdens; foulness doth deface  
Her aged looks; with a straight staff her steps she stays.   

144  
Right well you say, then said that lusty Swain:  
Yet this poor couple be my Parents dear;  
Nor can I hence departed without these twain:  
These twain give life to me, though void of cheer  
They be themselves. Then let's all go yfere.  
The young man's speech caused sad perplexity  
Within my breast, but yet I did forbear,  
And faitly asked their names. He answered me:  
He Autaparnes height; 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 flow, and so to youthful 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 impierced 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 designed  
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 heavy weight that doth Hypom'ne quell,  
Then I Anautaesthetus height, 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 Autaesthesian felt.  
This life to On the good Atuvus dealt;  
In it's all Joy, Truth, Knowledge, Love and Force;  
Such force no weight created can repeled.  
All strength and livelihood is from this source,  
All Lives to this first spring have circular recourse.   

148  
A lecture strange he seemed 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 loath I were  
Slowfooted eld the journey should command;  
Yet we were guided by that sorry pair,  
And so to Dizoie full softly we do far.    

The Argument of PSYCHOZOIA, Or The life of the Soul.  
CANT. III.  

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

1  
BUt now new Stories I begin to relate,  
Which aged Mnemon unto us did tell,  
Whiles we on grassy bed did lie prostrate  
Under a shady Beach, which did repel  
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 restrained.  
The Lion's flaming breath with heat parched 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 nevertheless we passed that lofty wall  
That very Evening. The Night's nimble net  
That doth encompass every opake ball,  
That swim's in liquid air, did Simon nought appall.   

3  
When we that stately wall had undercrept,  
We straightway found ourselves in Dizoie:  
The melting clouds chill drizzeling tears then wept;  
The misty air sweat for deep agony,  
Sweat a cold sweat, and lose frigidity  
Filled 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 defiled with whitish clay.   

4  
No light to guide but the Moons pallid ray,  
And that even lost in misty troubled air:  
No tract to take, there was no beaten way;  
No cheering strength, but that which might appear  
From Diane's face; her face then shined not clear,  
And when it shineth clearest, little might  
She yieldeth, yet the goddess is severe.  
Hence wrathful dogs do bark at her dead light:  
Christ help the man thus closed and prisoned in dread Night.   

5  
Overwhelmed with irksome toil of strange annoys  
In stony stound like senseless stake I stood,  
Till the vast thumps of massy hammer's noise,  
That on the groaning steel laid on such load,  
Empierced mine ears in that sad stupid mood.  
I weening then some harbour to be nigh,  
In sorry pace thitherward slowly yode,  
By ear directed more than by mine eye,  
But here, alas! I found small hospitality.   

6  
Four grisly Black-smiths stoutly did their task  
Upon an anvil formed in Conic 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 flore,  
Expecting still when soft down-sliding sleep  
Should seize mine eyes, and strength to me restore:  
But when with hover wings she ' proched, evermore  
The mighty souses those foul knaves laid on,  
And those huge bellows that aloud did roar,  
Chased her away that she was ever gone  
●efore she came, on pitchy plumes, for fear yflone.   

8  
The first of those rude rascals Lypon height,  
A foul great stooping slouch with heavy 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 height, fraught with impatiencies,  
The bellows be yclept deep Suspiration:  
●ach knave these bellows blow in mutual circulation.   

9  
There is a number of these lonesome forges  
In Bacha vale (this was in Bacha vale)  
There be no Inns 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 far?  
Sad ghosts oft cross the way with visage pale,  
Sharp thorns and thistles wound their feeten bare:  
●et 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 Inn,  
And by long penance paid for mine ill crime  
Methought the Sun itself began to shine,  
And that I'd past Diana's discipline.  
But day was not yet come, 'twas perfect night:  
I Phoebus head from Ida hill had seen;  
For Ida hill doth give to men the fight,  
Of Phoebus' form, before Aurora's silver light.   

11  
But Phoebus' form from that high hill's not clear  
Nor figure perfect. It's enveloped  
In purple cloudy veil; and if it appear  
In rounder shape with skouling dreryhed  
A glowing face it shows, ne rays doth shed  
Of lights serenity, yet duller eyes  
With gazing on this ireful sight be fed  
Best to their pleasing; small things they will prize  
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 rascal rabble throng  
Of miscreant wights;) but if that wiser men  
May name that Fort, Pandoemoniothen  
They would it cleep. It is the strongest delusion  
That ever Doemon wrought; the safest pen  
That e'er 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-  
IT 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 wrathful minds be stirred  
By strangling reason, and are so afeard  
To lose their credit with the vulgar sort;  
Opinion and long speech 'fore life preferred,  
Less reverence of God then of the Court,  
Fear, and despair, Evil surmises, False report:   

15  
Oppression-of-the-poore, Fell-rigourousnesse,  
Contempt-of-Government, Fierceness, Fleshly lust,  
The-measuring-of-all-true righteousness  
Bytheir own-modell, Cleaving unto-dust,  
Rash-censure, and despising- of the-just-  
That-are-not-of-their-sect, False-reasoning-  
Concerning-God, Vain-hope, needless mistrust,  
Strutting-in knowledge, eager 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 outstretched arm, else were they shent  
If they unto this Castle did not high,  
Strongly within its walls to fortify  
Themselves: Great Doemon hath no stronger hold  
Than 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 enfold:   

17  
And all that love and light and offered might  
Is thus choked up in that foul Stygian steem:  
If Hell's dark jaws should open in despite,  
And breathe its inmost breath which foulest I deem;  
Yet this more deadly foul I do esteem,  
And more contagious, which this charmed tower  
Ever spews forth, like that fell Dragon's steem  
Which he from poisoned mouth in rage did pour  
At her, whose firstborn 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  
Backed with rough zeal, and bold for want of skill,  
All sects besides its own doth execrate.  
This peevish spirit with woe 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 outshining Truth cannot abide,  
That loves itself and large Dominion,  
And in false show of a fair Union  
Would all encroach to it 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 enchantment in all Dizoie  
As on this hill; nor sadder sight was seen  
Then you may in this rueful place espy.  
'Twixt two huge walls on solitary Green,  
Of funeral Cypress 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 fancied souls that live in ill disease.   

21  
Hence you may see, if that you dare to mind,  
Upon the side of this accursed hill,  
Many a dreadful corpse ytossed in wind,  
Which with hard halter their loathed life did spill.  
There li●es another which himself did kill  
With rusty knife, all rolled in his own blood,  
And ever and anon a doleful knell  
Comes from the fatal Owl, that in sad mood  
With dreary sound doth pierce through the death-shadowed wood.   

22  
Who can express with pen the irksome state  
Of those that be in this strong Castle thrall?  
Yet hard it is this Fort to ruinated,  
It is so strongly fenced with double wall.  
The fiercest but of Ram no'te make them fall:  
The first Inevitable Destiny  
Of God's Decree; the other they do call  
Invincible fleshy Infirmity:  
But Keeper of the Tower's unfelt Hypocrisy.   

23  
What Poets fancies feigned to be in Hell  
Are truly here, A Vulture Tytius' heart  
Still gnaws, yet death doth never Tityus quell:  
Sad Sisyphus a stone with toilsome smart  
Doth roll up hill, but it transcends his art,  
To get it to the top, where it may lie,  
On steady Plain, and never backward start,  
His course is stopped by strong. Infirmity.  
His roll 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 o'erflow  
The earth, and doth encompass him so near,  
Yet waters he, in waters doth reqire.  
Stoop Tantalus and take those waters in.  
What strength of witchcraft thus blinds all yfere  
Twixt these two massy walls, this hold of sin?  
Ay 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 drowsy 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 Milk-white Steeds in trappings goodly gay,  
On which in golden letters be ywrit  
These words (even he that runs it readen may)  
True righteousness unto the Lord of might.  
O comely spectacle! O glorious sight!  
'Twould easily ravish the beholder's eye  
To see such beasts, so fair so full of spirit,  
All in due ranks to prance so gallantly,  
Bearing their riders armed with perfect panoply.   

27  
In perfect silver glistering panoply  
They ride, the army of the highest God.  
Ten thousands of his Saints approach nigh,  
To judge the world, and rule it with his rod.  
They leave all plain wherever they have trod.  
Each Rider on his shield doth bear the Sun  
With golden shining beams dispread abroad,  
The Sun of righteousness at high day noon,  
By this same strength, I ween, this Fort is easily won.   

28  
They that but hear thereof shall strait obey;  
But the strange children shall false semblance make,  
But all hypocrisy shall soon decay,  
All wickedness into that deadly lake,  
All darkness thither shall itself betake.  
That false brood shall in their close places fade.  
The glory of the Lord shall ne'er forsake  
The earth again, nor shall deaths dreadful shade  
Return again. Him praise that this great day hath made.   

29  
This is the mighty warlike Michael's host,  
That easily shall wade through that foul spew  
Which the false Dragon casts in every coast,  
That the moon-trampling woman much doth rue  
His deadly spaul; but no hurt doth accrue  
To this strong army from this filthy steam.  
Nor horse nor man doth fear its lurid hue.  
They safely both can swim in this foul stream;  
This stream the Earth sups up cleft  by Michael's beam.   

30  
But whiles it beareth sway, this poison's might  
Is to make sterile or prolong the birth,  
To cause cold palsies, and to dull the sight  
By sleepy sloth; the melancholic earth  
It doth increase, that hinders all good mirth.  
Yet this dead liquor dull Pantheothen  
Before the nectar of the God's 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 height,  
He prayed this aged Sire for to reveal  
What way this Dragon's poisonous despite,  
And strong Pantheothens inwalling might,  
We may escape. Then Mnemon thus 'gan say;  
Some strange devise, I know, each youthful 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 mig!  
That God already unto us hath given;  
A press pursuit of that foregoing light  
That eggs 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 God's all-loving spirit: such things I you advise.   

33  
Can pity move the hearts of parents dear,  
When that their hapless child in heavy plight  
Doth grieve and moan! whiles pinching tortures tear  
His fainting life, and doth not that sad sight  
Of Gods own Son empassion his good spirit  
With deeper sorrow? The tender babe lies torn  
In us by cruel wounds from hostile might:  
Is Gods own life of God himself forlorn?  
Or was he to continual pain of God yborn?   

34  
Or will you say if this be Gods own Son,  
Let him descend the Cross: for well we ween  
That he'll not suffer him to be fordone  
By wicked hand, if Gods own Son he been.  
But you have not those sacred mysteries seen,  
True-crucifying Jews! The weaker thing  
Is held in greot contempt in worldly eyes:  
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 cruel spear  
You had transfixed, true crucified Son  
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 Kingdom 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 fond 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 rosy Morn  
With maiden blush from inward modesty,  
Which wicked wights do holden in such scorn,  
Sweet harmless Modesty a rose withouten thorn!   

37  
Old Mnemon loved the Lad even from his face,  
Which blameless blush with sanguine light had died;  
His harmless lucid spirit with flowering 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 replied,  
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 Magical  
Attraction his flagging soul down ties  
To his foul flesh: mongst which, alas! there lies  
A little spark of God's vitality,  
But smoreing filth so close it doth comprise  
That it cannot flame out nor get on high:  
This Province hence is height 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 God's good strength which he doth on you pour.  
But you fast friends of foul carnality,  
And false to God, his tender son do gore,  
And plaud yourselves, if it be not mortally;  
Nor let you him live in ease, nor let you him fairly die.   

40  
Like faithless wife that by her frampared guise,  
Peevish demeanour, sullen sad disdain  
Doth inly deep the spirit melancholize  
Of her aggrieved husband, and long pain  
At last to some sharp sickness doth constrain  
His weakened nature to yield victory:  
His scorching torture than counts death a gain.  
But when Death comes, in womanish frenzy  
That froward female wretch doth shriek and loudly cry.   

41  
So through her moody importunity  
From down right death she rescues the poor man:  
Self favouring sense; not that due loyalty  
Doth wring from her this false compassion,  
Compassion that no cruelty can  
Well equalise. Her husband lies aghast;  
Death on his horrid face so pale and wan  
Doth creep with ashy wings. He thus embraced  
Perforce too many days in deadly woe doth waste.   

42  
This is the love that's found in Aptery  
To God's dear life. If they his Son present  
Half live, half dead, handled despitefully,  
Or sunk in sickness, or with deep wound rend,  
So be he's not quite dead they're well content.  
And hope sure favour of his Sire to have.  
They have the signs 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 enslave.   

43  
But when from Aptery we were gone,  
And past Pantheothens inthralling power;  
Then from the East cheerful Eous shone,  
And drove away the Night's dead lumpish stour:  
He took by th' hand Aurora's vernal hour;  
These freshly tripped it on the silver hills.  
And thorough all the fields sweet life did shower:  
Then 'gan the joyful birds to try their skills;  
They skipped, they chirpt amain, they piped, they danced their fills.   

44  
This other Province of Dizoia  
Hight Pteroessa. On the flowery side  
Of a green bank, as I went on my way  
Strong youthful Gabriel I there espied,  
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 Michael's Queen,  
And greater things than ear hath heard, or eye hath seen:   

45  
This lovely Maid to Gabriel thus replied,  
Thanks, Sir, for your good news; but may I know  
Who Michael is, that would have me his Bride?  
It's Michael, said he, that works such woe  
To all that fry of Hell; and on his foe  
Those fiends of darkness 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 Doemons troops doth work so wondrous scathe.   

46  
The simple Girl believed every word,  
Nor did by subtle quirks elude the might  
And proffered strength of the soul-loving Lord;  
But answered thus. Good Sir, but read aright  
When shall I then appear in Michael's sight?  
When Gabriel had won her full assent,  
And well observed how he had flamed her spirit,  
He answered, After the complishment  
  

47  
She willingly took the condition,  
And pliable she promised to be;  
And Gabriel swore he would wait upon  
Her Virginship, whiles in simplicity  
His master's will with all good industry  
She would fulfil. So here the simple Maid  
Strove for herself in all fidelity,  
Nor took herself for nothing; but she played  
Her part, she thought, as if Indentures had been made.   

48  
For she did not with her own self gi'en 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 life's strong sustentation.  
Impossible it is therefore to merit,  
When we poor men have nothing of our own:  
Certes by him alone she stands upright;  
And surely falls without his help in perilous fight:   

49  
But we went on in Peteroessa land.  
The fresh bright Morning was no small repas●  
After the toil in Aptery we found,  
So that with merry cheer we went full fast:  
But I observed well that in this haste  
Simon waxed faint, and feeble, and decayed,  
In strength and life before we far had passed:  
And by how much his youthful flower did fade,  
So much more vigour to his parents was repaid.   

50  
For that old crumpled wight 'gan go upstraight,  
And Autaparnes face recovered blood!  
But Simon looked pale withouten might,  
Withouten cheer, or joy, or livelihood:  
Cause of all this at last I understood.  
For Autaparn that knife had from him cast,  
And almost closed 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, called Hypomone,  
Did ease her back from that down-swaying weight,  
That leaden Quadrate, which did miserably  
Annoy her crazy corpse; but that more light  
She might far on, she in her husband's sight  
Threw down her load, where he threw down his blade,  
And from that time began the piteous plight  
Of sickly Simon: so we them persuade  
Back to retreat, and do their dying son some aid.   

52  
Though loath, 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-closed wound was open tore  
With that sharppointed 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 faring on toward Theoprepy.  
Great strength and comfort 'twas to think upon  
Our good escape from listlesse Aptery,  
And from the thraldom of Infirmity.  
Now nought perplexed our stronger plumed spirit,  
But what may be the blameless verity:  
Oft we conceived things were transacted right:  
And oft we found ourselves gulled with strong passions might.   

54  
But now more feeble fare 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 arms, 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 work would much ill  
To climb this cliff; with weary ached would fill  
His drier bones. But yet it's smooth and plain  
Upon the top. It passeth fare my skill  
The springs, the bowers, the walks, the goodly train  
Of fair chaste Nymphs that haunt that place, for to explain.   

56  
I saw three sisters there in seemly wise  
Together walking on the flowery Green,  
Clad in snowy stoles of fair agguize.  
The glistering streams of silver waving shine,  
Skilfully interwove with silken line,  
So variously did play in that fair vest,  
That much it did delight my wondering eyen:  
Their face with Love and Vigour was ydrest,  
With Modesty and Joy; their tongue with just behest:   

57  
Their locks hung lose, A triple coronet  
Of flaming gold and starlike twinkling stone  
Of highest price, was on their temples set:  
The Amethyst, the radiant Diamond,  
The Jasper, enemy to spirits won,  
With many other glorious for to see.  
These three enamelled rimmes of that fair Crown  
Be these: the first height Dicaeosyne,  
philosophy the next, the last stiff Apathy.   

58  
I gazed, and mused and was well nigh distraught  
With admiration of those three maids,  
And could no further get, ne further sought;  
Down on the hill my weary limbs I laid,  
And fed my feeble eyes, which me betrayed  
Unto Love's bondage. Simon liked it not  
To see me so bewitched, and thus assayed  
By wisest speech to lose this Magic 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 crowned,  
If you'll but list to see, I'll easily 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 Wisdom like the Sun doth all with light o'er spill.   

60  
Thanks be to God we are so well arrived  
To the long-sought for land, Theoprepy.  
Nay soft good Sir, said Simon, you're deceived,  
You are not yet past through Autoesthesy:  
With that the spot and flaw he bade me see  
Which he descried in that goodly array.  
The spot and flaw self-sensed Autopathy  
Was height, the eldest Nymph Pythagorissa,  
Next Platonissa height; the last height Stoicissa.   

61  
But this high Mount where these three sisters won,  
Said Simon, cleped is, Har-Eloim.  
To these it's said, Do worship to my Son:  
It's right, that all the Gods do worship him,  
There's none exempt: those that the highest climb  
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' Autoesthesian soil, is life Doemoniake.   

62  
His words did strangely work upon my spirit,  
And weaned my mind from that I dearly loved;  
So I nould dwell on this so pleasing sight,  
But down descended, as it me behoved,  
And as my trusty guide me friendly moved.  
So when we down had come, and thence did pass  
On the low plain, Simon more clearly proved,  
That though much beauty there and goodness was,  
Yet that in Theoprepia did fare surpass.   

63  
So forward on we far, and leave that hill,  
And press still further, the further we go,  
Simon more strength, more life and godly will,  
More vigour he and livelihood did show;  
But Autaparnes wox more wan and woe:  
He faints, he sinks, ready to give up ghost,  
And aged Hypom'ne trod with footing slow,  
And staggered with her load; so ill disposed  
Their fading spirits were, that life was well nigh lost.   

64  
By this in fight 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 dreadful trial many hath dismayed;  
When Autaparnes saw this was his lot,  
Fear did his sense benumb, he wox like earthly clot.   

65  
In  silency this vapour risen  
From this dread Dale, and hid the Eastern sky  
With its deep darkness, and the Evening-close  
Forestalled 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 it take in through pellucidity  
The penetrating light, nor did it repel  
Through gross opacity the beams of Michael.   

66  
Yet terrible it is to Psyche's brood,  
That still retain the life Doemoniake;  
Constraining fear calls in their vital flood,  
When the dread Magus once doth mention make  
Of the deep dark Abyss; 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 height Ain, the fumes height Anautoesthesy.   

67  
Into this dismal 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 Life's reality.  
When these two old ones their last gasp had fet,  
In this dread valley their dead corpse did lie;  
But what could well be saved to Simon flet.  
Here Simon first became spotless Anautoesthet.   

68  
When we had waded quite through this deep shade,  
We then appeared in bright Theoprepy:  
Here Phoebus' ray in straightest ●●ne was laid,  
That erst lay broke in gross consistency  
Of cloudy substance. For strong sympathy  
Of the divided natures Magic band  
Was burnt to dust in Anautoesthesie:  
Now there's no fear of Death's dart holding hand:  
Fast love, fixed life, firm peace in Theoprepia land.   

69  
When Mnemon hither came, he leaned back  
Upon his seat, and a long time respired.  
When I perceived 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 blessed Theoprepy;  
But he nould do the thing that I required,  
Too hard it is, said he, that kingdom's 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 spoke of the biformity  
Of the Dizoians; What mongrill sort  
Of living wights; how monstrous shaped they be,  
And how that man and beast in one consort;  
Goats britch, man's tongue, goose head, with monki's mouth distort.   

71  
Of Centaurs, Cynocephals, walking trees,  
Tritons, and Mermaids, and such uncouth things;  
Of weeping Serpents with fair woman's eyes,  
Mad-making waters, sex transforming springs;  
Of foul Circean swine with golden rings,  
With many such like falsehoods; but the straight  
Will easily judge all crooked wander.  
Suffice it then we have taught that ruling Right,  
The Good is uniform, the Evil infinite.     

PSYCHATHANASIA OR The second part of the Song of the SOUL, Treating Of the Immortality of Souls, especially MAN'S SOUL.  
By H. M. Master of Arts, and Fellow of Christ's College in Cambridge.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Empedocles.  
Omnia mutantur, nihil interit, Ovid.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Trismegist.  
CAMBRIDGE, Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the University. 1647.   

The Preface to the Reader.  
THe very nerves and sinews of Religion is hope of immortality. What greater incitement to virtue and justice then eternal happiness? what greater terror from wickedness, than a full persuasion of after-judgement and continual torture of spirit? But my labour is superfluous, Men from their very childhood are persuaded of these things. Verily, I fear how they are persuaded of them when they become men. Else would not they whom the fear of hell doth not affright, die so unwillingly, nor wicked men so securely; nor would so many be wicked. For even naturall-providence would bid them look forward.  
Beside some men of a melancholic temper (which commonly distrust and suspicion do accompany) though otherwise pious, yet out of an exceeding desire of eternal being, think they can never have security enough for this so pleasing hope and expectation, and so even with anxiety of mind busy themselves to prove the truth of that strongly, which they desire vehemently to be true. And this body, which dissolution waits upon, helpeth our infidelity exceedingly. For the soul not seeing itself, judgeth itself of such a nature, as those things are to which she is nearest united: Falsely saith, but yet ordinarily, I am sick, I am weak, I faint, I die; when it is nought but the perishing life of the body that is in such plight, to which she is so close tied in most intimate love and sympathy. So a tender mother, if she see a knife struck to her child's heart, would shriek and swoon as if herself had been smit; when as if her eye had not beheld that spectacle, she had not been moved though the thing were surely done. So I do verily think that the mind being taken up in some higher contemplation, if it should please God to keep it in that ecstasy, the body might be destroyed without any disturbance to the soul. for how can there be or sense or pain without animadversion.  
But while we have such continual commerce with this frail body, it is not to be expected, but that we shall be assaulted with the fear of death and darkness. For alas! how few are there that do not make this visible world, their Adonai, their stay and sustentation of life, the prop of their soul, their God? How many Christians are not prone to whisper that of the Heathen Poet, 

Soles occidere & redire possunt;  
Nobis cùm semel occidit brevis lux  
Nox est perpetua una dormienda.  
The Sun may set and rise again;  
If once sets our short light,  
Deep sleep us binds with iron chain,  
Wrapped in eternal Night.    
But I would not be so injurious, as to make men worse than they are, that my little work may seem of greater use and worth than it is.  
Admit then that men are most what persuaded of the souls immortality, yet here they may read reasons to confirm that persuasion, and be put in mind, as they read, of their end, and future condition, which cannot be but profitable at least.  
For the pleasure they'll reap from this Poem, it will be according as their Genius is fitted for it. For as Plato speaks in his Io, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or according to the more usual phrase 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. The spirit of every Poet is not alike, nor his writings alike suitable to all dispositions. As Io, the reciter of Homer's verses, professeth himself to be snatched away with an extradodinary fury or ecstasy at the repeating of Homer's Poesy, but others so little to move him that he could even fall asleep. So that no man is rashly to condemn another man's labour in this kind, because he is not taken with it. As wise or wiser than himself may.  
But this is a main piece of idolatry and injustice in the world, that every man would make his private Genius an universal God; and would devour all men's apprehensions by his own fire, that glows so hot in him, and (as he thinks) shines so clear.  
As for this present song of the Immortality of the soul, it is not unlikely but that it will prove sung Montibus & Sylvis to the waste woods and solitary mountains. For all men are so full of their own fancies and idiopathies, that they scarce have the civility to interchange any words with a stranger. If they chance to hear his exotic tone, they entertain it with laughter, a passion very incident upon that occasion to children and clowns. But it were much better neither to embosomed nor reject any thing, though strange, till we were well acquainted with it.  
Exquisite disquisition begets diffidence; diffidence in knowledge, humility; humility, good manners and meek conversation. For mine own part, I desire no man to take any thing I writ, upon trust, without canvasing; and would be thought rather to propound then to assert what I have here or elsewhere written. But continually to have expressed my diffidence in the very tractates themselves, had been languid and ridiculous.  
It were a piece of injustice to expect of others, that which I could never endure to stoop to myself. That knowledge which is built upon humane authority, is no better than a Castle in the Air. For what man is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or at least can be proved to us to be so? Wherefore the foundation of that argument will but prove precarious, that is so built. And we have rather a sound of words signifying the thing is so, than any true understanding that the thing is so indeed.  
What ever may seem strange in this Poem, condemn it not, till thou findest it dissonant to Plato's School, or not deducible from it. But there be many arguments, that have no strangeness at all to prove the Souls immortality; so that no man that is not utterly illiterate shall lose his labour in reading this short Treatise.  
I must confess I intended to spin it out to a greater length; but things of greater importance then curious Theory, take me off; beside the hazard of speaking hard things to a multitude.  
I make no question, but those that are rightly acquainted with Platonisme, will accept of that small pains, and make a good construction of my labours. For I well assure thee (Reader) that it will be nothing but ignorance of my scope, that shall make any do otherwise. I fly too high to take notice of lesser flaws. If thou seest them, I give thee free liberty to mend them. But if thou regardest not lesser trifles, we be well met.  
Farewell. H. M.   

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA. Or The Immortality of the Soul.  

BOOK I. CANT. I.  

Struck with strong sense of God's 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 himself disgrace  
By his rude ignorance. For there's no place  
For forced labour, or slow industry  
Of flagging wits, in that high fiery chase,  
So soon as of the Muse they quickened be,  
At once they rise, and lively sing like Lark in sky.   

2  
Like to a Meteor, whose material  
Is low unwieldy earth, base unctuous slime,  
Whose inward hidden parts ethereal  
 close upwrapt in that dull sluggish fime,  
Lie fast asleep, till at some fatal time  
Great Phoebus' lamp has fired its inward spirit,  
And then even of itself on high doth climb;  
That erst was dark becomes all eye, all sight,  
Bright star, 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 spirit unbind,  
She sores aloft; for she herself doth find  
Well plumed; so raised upon her spreaden wing,  
She softly plays, 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 lawless lust,  
And Circle-like her shape doth all misfashion;  
But that bright flame that's proper to the just,  
And eats away all dross and cankered rust  
With its refining heat, unites the mind  
With Gods own spirit, who raiseth from the dust  
The slumbering soul, and with his usage kind  
Makes it breath after that life that time hath not defined.   

5  
So hath he raised my soul, and so possessed  
My inward spirit, with that unfeigned will  
He bears to Psyche's brood, that I ne'er rest  
But ruth or rageful indignation fill  
My troubled veins, that I my life near spill  
With sorrow and disdain, for that foul lore  
That crept from dismal shades of Night, and quill  
Steeped in sad Styx, and fed with stinking gore  
Sucked from corrupted corpse, that God and men abhor.   

6  
Such is thy putid muse, Lucretius,  
That fain would teach that souls all mortal be,  
The dusty Atoms of Democritus  
Certes have fallen into thy feeble eye,  
And thee bereft of perspicacity.  
Others through the strong steem of their dull blood,  
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 extinguished natures awful light  
By evil custom, and unkind abuse  
Of God's young tender work, that in their spirit  
He first 'gins frame. But they with heady might  
Of over-whelming liquor that life drowned,  
And reasons eye swell up or put out quite.  
Hence horrid darkness doth their souls confound;  
And foul blasphemous belch from their furred 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  
Infernal blasts blind confidence inspire:  
Bold heat to uncouth thoughts is their bad hire.  
Which they then dearly hug, and ween their feet  
Have climbed, whither vulgar men dare not aspire.  
But it's the fruit of their  sooty spirit:  
Thus dream they of dread death, and an eternal night.   

9  
Now in the covert of dame Nature's cell  
They think they're shrouded, 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 awe 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 contrived into a cave  
That ne'er saw light, but in that shadowing pit,  
Some uncouth might them hoodwink hither drove,  
Now with their backs to the den's mouth they sit,  
Yet shoulder not all light from the darn pit,  
So much gets in as Optic art counts meet  
To show the forms that hard without do flit.  
With learned quaere each other here they greet:  
True moving substances they deem each shadow slight:   

11  
When fowls fly by, and with their swapping wings  
Beat the inconstant air, and mournful noise  
Stir up with their continual chastisings  
In the soft yielding penitent; the voice  
These solemn Sages nought at all accoyes.  
'Tis common; only they philosophise,  
Busying their brains in the mysterious toys  
Of flittie motion, wary well advise  
On'ts inward principles the hid Entelechies:   

12  
And whereabout that inward life is seated,  
That moves the living creature, they espy  
Passing in their dim world. So they're defeated,  
Calling thin shadows true reality,  
And deeply doubt if corporalitie,  
(For so they term those visibles) were stroy'd  
Whether that inward first vitality  
Can then subsist. But they are ill accloyed  
With cloddy earth, and with blind duskishness annoyed.   

13  
If roaring Lion or the neighing Horse,  
With frisking tail to brush off busy flies,  
Approach their den, than 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 thundering niece  
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 rugged flowing mane,  
Which the fierce winds do toss and tousell sore;  
Unless perhaps he stir his bushy train:  
For then the tail will carry it again.  
Thus upon each occasion their frail wit  
Bestirs itself to find out errors vain  
And useless theories in this dark pit:  
Pond reasoning they have, seldom 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 easily deceive)  
Not only they that visible bereave  
Of life and being, but the hidden might  
And moving root, unlived, unbeened they leave  
In their vain thoughts: for they those shadows slight  
Do deem sole prop and stay of th' hidden motive spirit.   

16  
This is that awful cell where Naturalists  
Brood deep opinion, as themselves conceit;  
This Errors den where in a magic missed  
Men hatch their own delusion and deceit,  
And grasp vain shows. Here their bold brains they beat,  
And dig full deep, as deep as Hyles 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 form admires;  
Slave to base sense, fierce 'gainst reasons control,  
That still itself with lower lust bemires;  
That nought believeth and much less 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 lust full Epicure  
Democrite, or th' unthankful Stagirite,  
Most men prefer 'fore holy Pythagore,  
Divinest Plato, and grave Epictete:  
But I am so inflamed with the sweet sight  
And goodly beauty seen on Eloim-hill,  
That maugre all men's clamours in despite  
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 Philosophy and virtuous lear!  
That firest the nobler heart with spotless love,  
And sadder minds with Nectar drops dost cheer,  
That oft bedrencht with sorrows while we're here  
Exiled from our dear home, that heavenly soil.  
Through wand'ring ways thou safely dost us bear  
Into the land of truth, from dirty foil  
Thou keep'st 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 deformed appear:  
Certes they be ill thewed and base born:  
Yet thou, alas! of men art more forlorn.  
For like will to its like: but few can see  
Thy worth; so night-birds fly the glorious morn.  
Thou art a beam shot from the Deity,  
And nearest art allied to Christianity.   

21  
But they be sprung of sturdy Giants race,  
Allied to Night and the foul Earthy clay,  
Love of the carcase, Envy, Spite, Disgrace,  
Contention, Pride, that unto th' highest doth bray,  
Rash labour, a Titanicall assay  
To pluck down wisdom from her radiant seat,  
With miry arms to bear her quite away.  
But thy dear mother Thorough-cleansing virtue height:  
Here will true wisdom lodge, here will she deign to light.   

22  
Come, Gentle Virgin, take me by the hand,  
To yonder grove with speedy pace we'll high:  
(It's not fare off from Alethea land)  
Swift as the levin from the sneezing sky,  
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 wary well wash out my old conceived dream.   

23  
And when I've breathed awhile in that free air,  
And cleared myself from tinctures took before,  
Then deign thou to thy novice to declare  
Thy secret skill, and hide mysterious lore,  
And I due thanks shall plenteously down pour.  
But well I wot thou'lt not envassall me:  
That law were rudeness. I may not adore  
Ought but the lasting spotless verity.  
Well thewed minds the mind do always setten free.   

24  
Free to that inward awful Majesty  
Height Logos, whom they term great son of God,  
Who framed the world by his deep sciency,  
The greater world. Als' ' makes his near abode  
In the less world: so he can trace the trod  
Of that hid ancient path, when as he made  
This stately Fabric of the world so broad.  
He plainly doth unfold his skilful trade,  
When he doth harmless hearts by his good spirit invade.   

25  
O thou eternal Spirit, cleave open the sky,  
And take thy flight into my feeble breast,  
Enlarge my thoughts, enlight my dimmer eye  
That wisely of that burden closely pressed  
In my strait mind, I may be dispossessed:  
My Muse must sing of things of much weight;  
The souls eternity is my great quest:  
Do thou me guide, that art the souls sure light,  
Grant that I never err, but ever wend aright.    

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA, Or, The Immortality of the Soul.  
BOOK I. 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 address 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 weakness I gi'en think.  
Like tender Lad that on the river's 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 persuade  
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 fearful doubts before had ill paid.  
Leap in, my soul, and strongly 'fore thee drive  
The fleeting waves, and when thee list to th'bottom dive.   

3  
For thou canst dive full well, and float aloft,  
Dive down as deep as the old Hyles shade,  
Through that slight darkness glid'st thou sly and soft,  
Through pitchy cumbring fogs strongly canst wade,  
Nor in thy flight couldst thou be ever stayed,  
If in thy flight thou flewest not from him,  
That for himself thine excellent might hath made.  
Contract desire, repulse strong Magic steem,  
Then even in foul Cocytus thou mayest fearless swim.   

4  
Like that strange uncouth fish Lucerna height,  
Whose wonne is in the brackish Seas, yet fire  
She easily 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 jaws, that light doth not expire,  
But lively shines till she shut up again:  
Nor liquid Sea, nor moistened Air this light restrain.   

5  
Or like a lamp armed with pellucid horn,  
Which ruffling winds about do rudely toss,  
And felly lash with injury and scorn,  
But her mild light they cannot easily cross;  
She shines to her own foes withouten loss:  
Even so the soul into herself collected,  
Or in her native hue withouten dross,  
In midst of bitter storms is not dejected.  
Nor her eternal state is any whit suspected.   

6  
As Cynthia in her stooping Perigee,  
That deeper wades in the earth's duskish Cone,  
yet safely wallows through in silency  
Till she again her filver face hath shown,  
And tells the world that she's the selfsame Moon,  
Not now more listlesse than I was whileare  
When I was hid in my Apogeon,  
For I myself alike do always bear  
●n 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 darkness do my beauty slain;  
When none I show then have I the most light,  
Nearer to Phoebus' more I am bedight  
With his fair rays. And better to confute,  
All vain suspicion of my worse 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 vatiously doth roll,  
And as men deem full dangerously doth reel,  
But oft when men fear most, herself doth feel  
In happiest plight conjoy'nd with that great Sun  
Of lasting bliss, that doth himself reveal  
More fully then, by that close union,  
Though men, that miss her here, do think her quite undone.   

9  
But lest we rashly wander out too fare,  
And be yblown about with wanton wind,  
Withouten stern, or card, or Polar star,  
In its round little list so close confined:  
Let the souls nature first be well defined:  
Then we'll proceed. But all the while I crave  
When  I speak cording to Plato's mind,  
That you my faultless drift do not deprave.  
For I the freeborn soul to no sect would enslave.   

10  
Divers conceits the wizards of old time  
Have had concerning that we here inquire,  
And would set forth in an eternal rhyme;  
But we list not our dainty Muse to tyre  
In such foul ways, and plunge her in the mire.  
Strange dreams their drowsy scholars they have taught,  
The heart, the heartblood, brains, fleet air, hot fire  
To be the thing that they so presly sought,  
Some have defined, some temper, some atoms, some nought.   

11  
But I must needs decline this wand'ring path;  
For well I wot error is infinite,  
But be 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 darkness so long rule did bear,  
Strait 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 herself so variously bewray  
In different motions. Other we her see  
When she so fairly spreads the branching tree;  
Other when as sh' hath loosed herself 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 underground.   

13  
Such is the noise of cheerful chirping birds,  
That tell the sweet impressions of the Spring;  
Or 'fore some storm, when their quick sprights be stirred  
With nearer strong appulse and hid heaving,  
That fills their little souls, and makes them sing,  
Puffed up with joy and o'rflowing delight:  
Estsoons with rattling winds the air doth ring.  
The sturdy storm doth make them take their flight  
Into thick bush or hedge to save them from heaven's spite.   

14  
From this same source of sense are murmuring moans  
Of bellowing bullocks, when sharp hunger bites;  
Hence whining dog so pitifully groans  
When as with knotted whip his Lord him smites;  
And every beast when with Death's pangs he fights.  
But senseless trees nor feel the bleaker wind,  
That nip their sides, nor the Sun's scorching might,  
Nor the sharp axe piercing their rugged 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 waked by wound  
Of biting iron, to nought are attended  
That them befalls, when cold humours abound  
And clog their vital heat, or when they be brent  
With Sirius flame, or when through eld they waxed faint.   

16  
Or whatsoever diseases them betid  
That basten death, they nought at all regard:  
But when to plantall life quick sense is tied,  
And progging fancy, then upon her guard  
She 'gins to stand, and well herself to ward  
From foes she plainly feels, pursues her joy,  
Remembers where she well or ill hath fared,  
Or swiftly flies from that that doth annoy,  
Or stoutly strives her fierce destroyer to destroy.   

17  
Thus have we run thorough 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 skaned  
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 boys will here object:  
Long task it were all foundlings to confute.  
But I'll lay down that which will better suit  
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 ●●ve beguiled with speeches vain.   

19  
This was the Image of the highest God,  
Which brutes partake not of. This Image height  
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 spirit,  
The fruit of Eden wherewith souls be fed,  
Man's awful majesty of every beast ydred.   

20  
Nor is that radiant force in humane kind  
Extinguished quite, he that did them create  
Can those dull rusty chains of fleep unbind,  
And rear the soul unto her pristin state:  
He can them so enlarge and elevate  
And spreaden out, that they can compass all,  
When they no longer be incarcerate  
In this dark dungeon, this foul fleshly wall,  
Nor be no longer wedged in things corporeal:   

21  
But raised aloft into their proper sphere,  
That sphere that height th' Orb Intellectual,  
They quiet sit, as when the flitting fire  
That Nature's mighty Magic down did call  
Into the oily 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 forced some shape to assume;  
But it its holding foe at last doth quite consume.   

22  
And then like gliding spirit doth strait dispear,  
That erst was forced to take a fiery form:  
Full lightly it ascends into the clear  
And subtle air devoid of cloudy storm,  
Where it doth steady stand, all-uniform,  
Pure, pervious, immixed, innocuous, mild,  
Nought scorching, nought glowing, nothing enorm,  
Nought destroying, not destroyed, not defiled;  
Foul fume being spent, just 'fore its flight it faicly smiled.   

23  
Thus have I traced the soul in all her works,  
And several conditions have displayed,  
And showed all places where so e'er she lurks,  
Even her own lurkings of herself bewrayed,  
In plants, in beasts, in men, while here she stayed:  
And freed from earth how then she spreads on high  
Her heavenly rays, 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 defineed, th' Entelechie  
Of organised bodies. For this life,  
This central life, which men take souls to be,  
Is not among the being's relative;  
And sure some souls at least are self-active  
Withouten body having Energy.  
Many put out their force informative  
In their ethereal corporeity,  
Devoid of heterogeneal organity.   

25  
Self-moving substance, that be th' definition  
Of souls, that longs to them in general:  
This well expresseth that common condition  
Of every vital centre creatural.  
For why? both what height form spermaticall  
Hath here a share, as also that we term  
Soul sensitive, I'll call't form bestial,  
It makes a beast added to plantall sperm;  
Add rational form, it makes a man as men affirm.   

26  
All these be substances self-moveable:  
And that we call virtue magnetical  
(That what's defined be irreprovable)  
I comprehend it in the life plantall:  
Mongst trees there's found life Sympathetic;  
Though trees have not animadversive sense.  
Therefore the soul's Autokineticall  
Alone. What ever's in this defining sense.  
Is soul, what ever's not soul is driven far from hence.   

27  
But that each soul's Autokineticall,  
Is easily 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 fixed Centreities,  
By which they fairly every part extend,  
And gently enact with spread vitalities  
The flowering boughs. How Nature's work doth wend  
Who knows? or from what inward stay it doth depend?   

28  
Forty let first an inward centre hid  
Be put. That's nought but Nature's fancy tied  
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 shrivel up together,  
Like snake the country man in snow espied,  
Whose spirit was quite shrunk in by nipping weather.  
From whence things come, by fo-man forced they backward thither   

29  
The rigid cold had forced into its centre  
This serpent's life; but when the rural Swain  
Placed her upon warm hearth, and heat did enter  
Into her numbed corpse, she 'gan to strain  
And stretch herself, and her host entertain  
With scornful hiss, shooting her anchored tongue,  
Threatening her venomed teeth; so strait again  
She proved a living snake, when she along  
Her corpse free life had driven from centre steady strong.   

30  
So doth the gentle warmth of solar heat  
Easily awake the centre seminal,  
That makes it softly streak on its own seat,  
And fairly forward force its life internal.  
That inward life's th' impress imaginall  
Of Nature's Art, which sweetly flowreth out  
From that is cleped the Sphere spermaticall:  
For there is placed 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 cheering spirit,  
All plants break thorough into open day,  
Rend the thick curtain of cold cloying night.  
The earth's opakents enemy to light,  
And crown themselves in sign of victory  
With shining leaves, and goodly blossoms bright.  
Thus called out by friendly sympathy  
Their souls move of themselves on their Centreitie.   

32  
But its more plain in animality.  
When fiery coursers strike the grassy ground  
With swift tempestuous feet, that fare and nigh  
They fill men's ears with a broad thundering 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 haste?  
With eager steps they quickly meet the forest waist.   

34  
That outward form is but a neurospast;  
The soul it is that on her subtle ray,  
That she shoots out, the limbs of moving beast  
Doth stretch strait forth, so straightly as she may.  
Bones joints and sinews shaped of stubborn clay  
Cannot so easily lie in one strait line  
With her projected might, much less obey  
Direct retractions of these beams fine:  
Of force, so strait retreat they ever must decline.   

35  
But yet they follow in a course obliqne,  
With angular doublings, as the joints pormit:  
So go they up together, not unlike  
An iron candlestick the smith hath fit  
With many junctures, whom in studious fit  
Some scholar set a-work: but to return,  
Lest what we aimed at we unwares omit;  
If souls of beasts their bodies move and turn,  
And wield at fancies beck, as we described before;   

36  
Then be the souls of beasts self-moving forms,  
Bearing their bodies as themselves think meet,  
Invited or provoked, so they transform  
At first themselves within, then strait in sight  
Those motions come, which suddenly do light  
Upon the bodies visible, which move  
According to the will of th' inward spirit.  
In th' inward spirit be anger, hate and love:  
Hence claws, horns, hoofs they use the pinching ill t' amove.   

37  
Thus have I plainly proved that souls of beasts  
And plants do move themselves. That souls of men  
Should be more stupid, and fare less released  
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 run,  
Break down all obstacles that hinder might  
Our future course to make all plain all clear throughout.   

38  
If there be no self-motion in man's soul,  
That she nor this nor that way can propend  
Of her own self, nor can no whit control  
Nor will of her own self, who can offend?  
For no man's self (if you do well perpend)  
Guilties of aught when nought doth from him flow.  
Whither do learning, laws, grave speeches tend?  
Speaks the rude Carter to the waggon slow  
With threatening words, or to the beasts that do it draw?   

39  
Surely unto the beasts that easily go:  
For there's the principle of motion,  
Such principle as can itself foreslow,  
Or forward press by incitation:  
Which though it moved by commination  
So stiffly strives, yet from itself it strives,  
Bears itself forth with stout contention,  
And ever and anon the whip revives  
That inward life, so bravely on the Rustic drives.   

40  
Again, all that sweet labour would be lost  
That God's good spirit takes in humane mind,  
So oft we courted be so often crossed:  
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 easily were declined  
All crosses? None could happen us until,  
How will I want, and want no cross passeth my skill   

41  
Besides when reason works with fantasy,  
And changeable conceits we do contrive,  
Purging and pruning with all industry,  
What's dead or useless, less demonstrative,  
What's dull or flaccid, nought illustrative,  
Quenching unfit phantasms in our brain,  
And for our better choice new flames revive;  
The busy soul thus doth her reason strain  
To write or speak what envious tongue may never slain:   

42  
Or when quite heedless of this earthy world  
She lifts herself unto the azure sky,  
And with those wheeling gires around is hurled,  
Turns in herself in a due distancie  
The cering Seven, or a stretched line doth tie  
O'th' silver-bowed moon from horn to horn;  
Or finds out Phoebus' vast solidity  
By his diametre, measures the Morn,  
Girds the swollen earth with linear list, though earth she scorn.   

43  
All this is done, though body never move:  
The soul about itself circumgyrates  
Her various forms, and what she most doth love  
She oft before herself stabilitates;  
She stiffly stayesed and wistly contemplates,  
Or lets it somewhat slowlier descend  
Down to the nether Night; she temperates  
Her starry orb, makes her bright forms to wend  
Even as she list: Anon she'll all with darkness blend.   

44  
Thus variously she doth herself invest  
With rising forms, and reasons all the way;  
And by right reason doth herself divest  
Of falser fancies. Who then can gainsay  
But she's self-moved when she doth with self-sway  
Thus change herself, as inward life doth feel?  
If not, than some inspiring sprights bewray  
Each reasoning. Yet though to them we deal  
First motion, yet ourselves ought know what they reveal.   

45  
But if nor of ourselves we moved be  
At first, without any invasion  
Of stirring forms that into energy  
Awake the soul; nor after motion  
From its own centre by occasion  
Doth issue forth; then it's not conscious  
Of aught: For so 'twill want adversion.  
But nothing can animadvert for us:  
Therefore all humane souls be self-vivacious.   

46  
Thus have I proved all souls have central motion  
Springing from their own selves. But they'll object  
'Gainst th' universalnesse of this clear notion,  
That whiles self-flowing source I here detect  
In plants, in brutes, in men, I ought reject  
No soul from wished immortality,  
But give them durance when they are resect  
From organised corporeity:  
Thus brutes and plants shall gain lasting eternity.   

47  
'Tis true, a never fading durancie  
Belongs to all hid principles of life;  
But that full grasp of vast Eternity  
Longs not to beings simply vegetive,  
Nor yet to creatures merely sensitive:  
Reason alone cannot arrive to it.  
Only souls Deiform intellective  
Unto that height of happiness can get;  
Yet immortality with other souls may fit.   

48  
No force of Nature can their strength annoy▪  
For they be subtler than the silken air,  
Which fatal fire from heaven cannot destroy:  
All grossensse its devouring teeth may shear,  
And present state of visibles empare;  
But the fine curtains of the lasting sky.  
Though not of love, yet it perforce must spare,  
If they could burn, each spark from flint would try,  
And a bright broad-spread flame to either Pole would high.   

49  
But if all souls survive their bulks decay,  
Another difficulty will strait 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 straggling colonies?  
Or be they straightway drenched 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 misery? what their delight?  
How come they that refined state forsake?  
Or had they their first being in our sight?  
Wither to serve? what is the useful might  
Of these spiritual trees? doth fearful hare  
Fly the pursuing dog? doth soaring kite  
Prey upon silly chickens? is there jar,  
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 victor's meed?  
No flesh no blood whereon to spend their spite,  
Or whereupon these hungry souls may feed.  
Or doth the stronger suck the airy weed  
Wherewith the other did itself invest?  
And so more freshly deck itself at need?  
An airy prey for airy spirit is best;  
Or ●o they want no food, but be still full and rest?   

52  
Die they again? draw they in any breath?  
Or be they sterile? or bring forth their young?  
Beat their light feet on the soft airy heath?  
Express 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 quantity  
Of things corporeal, a trinall dimension,  
Of solid bodies? yet to satisfy  
All doubts that may be made about extension  
Would plunge the wisest Clerk. I'll only mention  
That quaere, 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 quantity.  
O daring wit of man that thus doth boast  
Itself, and in pursuit of sciency  
Forget the reverend laws of piety.  
What thing is hid from that allseeing light?  
What thing not done by his all-potencie?  
He can discern by his clear-piercing might  
The close-couched number of each bigness 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, strait 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 fly in summer-Even is higher than Heaven's height.   

56  
If not extended, than that quantums nought.  
Some be extended, others not extent  
Already (answers a vain shifting thought)  
But those potential parts, how be they meint  
With those that now be actually distent?  
Even thus you grant, that those that actual be  
Be plainly finite, against your intent,  
Grant me but that, and we shall well agree.  
So must slight Atoms be sole parts of quantity.   

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 cross lines of a Rhomboides  
That from their meeting to all angles press  
Be of one length, though one from earth to heaven  
Would reach, and that the other were much less  
Than 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 fare more straight than is the earthy ball)  
Sometime the earth illumineth at once  
And with her grasping rays enlights it all;  
And that the Sun's great body spherical  
Greater than th' earth, fare greater than the moon,  
Even at midday illumines not at all  
This earthy globe in his Apogeon;  
So that we in deep darkness sit, though at high noon.   

59  
Of will, of motion, of divine foresight,  
Here might I treat with like perplexity.  
But it's already clear that 'tis not right  
To reason down the firm subsistency  
Of things from ignorance of their property.  
Therefore not requisite for to determ  
The hid conditions of vitality  
Or shrunk or severed; only I'll affirm  
It is, which my next song shall further yet confirm.    

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA OR The Immortality of the Soul.  
Book 1. Cant. 3.  

Over whelmed with grief and piteous woe  
For fading life's decays;  
How no souls die, from Lunar bow,  
A Nymph to me displays.   

1  
IN silent night, when mortals be at rest,  
And bathe their molten limbs in slothful sleep,  
My troubled ghost strange cares did strait molest  
And plunged my heavy soul in sorrow deep:  
Large floods of tears my moistened cheeks did steep,  
My heart was wounded with compassionate love  
Of all the creatures: sadly out I creep  
From men's close mansions, the more to improve  
My mournful plight, so softly on I forward move.   

2  
Ay me! said I, within my wearied breast,  
And sighed sad, wherefore did God erect  
This stage of misery? thrice, four times blest  
Whom churlish Nature never did eject  
From her dark womb, and cruelly object  
By sense and life unto such baleful smart;  
Every slight entrance into joy is checked  
By that sour step dames threats, and visage tart:  
Our pleasure of our pain is not the thousandth part.   

3  
Thus vexed I was 'cause of mortality:  
Her cursed remembrance cast me in this plight,  
That I grew sick of the world's vanity  
Ne ought recomfort could my sunken spirit,  
What so I hate may do me no delight,  
Few things (alas) I hate, the more my woe,  
The things I love by mine own sad foresight  
Make me the greater torments undergo,  
Because I know at last they be gone like idle show.   

4  
Each goodly sight my sense doth captivate  
When vernal flowers their silken leaves display,  
And open their fragrant bosoms, I that state  
Would not have changed but endure for aye;  
Nor care to mind that that fatal decay  
Is still recured by faithful succession.  
But why should aught that's good thus fade away?  
Should steady Spring exclude Summers' accession?  
Or Summer spoil the Spring with furious hot oppression!   

5  
You cheerful chanters of the flowering woods,  
That feed your careless souls with pleasant lays,  
O silly birds! cease from your merry moods:  
Ill suits such mirth when dreary deaths assays  
So closely press your sorry carcases:  
To mournful note turn your light verilayes,  
Death be your song, and winters hoary sprays,  
Spend your vain sprights in sighing Elegies:  
I'll help you to lament your woeful miseries.   

6  
When we lay covered in the shady Night  
Of senseless matter, we were well content  
With that estate, nought pierced our anxious spirit,  
No harm we suffered, no harm we meant;  
Our rest not with light dream of ill was blended:  
But when rough Nature, with her iron hon,  
Pulled us from our soft ease, and hither hent,  
Disturbing fear and pinching pain we found,  
Full many a bitter blast, full many a dreadful stound.   

7  
Yet lifes strong love doth so intoxicate  
Our misty minds, that we do fear to die.  
What did dame Nature brood all things of hate  
And only give them life for misery?  
Sense for an undeserved penalty?  
And show that if she list, that she could make  
Them happy? but with spiteful cruelty  
Doth force their groaning ghosts this house forsake?  
And to their ancient Nought their empty selves betake!   

8  
Thus in deep sorrow and restless 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 woeful 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  
Seemed as if fleep itself their spirits did molest:   

9  
Or as constrained perforce that boon to wrest  
From envious Nature. All things did augment  
My heavy plight, that foully I blamed the best  
Of stubborn destiny cause of this wayment.  
Even sleep that's for our restauration meant,  
As execrable thing I did abhor,  
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 wrapped in rueful thought through the waste field  
I staggered on, and scattered my woe,  
Bedewed the grass with tears mine eyes did yield,  
At last I am arrived wi●h 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 crossed the middle line: It was at least so late.   

11  
When th' other part of night in painful 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 mortal race; her countenance sheen  
The pensive shade gently defore her drove,  
A 〈◊〉 sweet light shone from her lovely eyen:  
She seemed no earthly branch but sprung of stock divine.   

12  
A silken mantle, coloured like the sky  
With silver stars in a due distance set,  
Was cast about her somewhat carelessly,  
And her bright flowing hair was not ylet  
By Arts device; only a chaplet  
Of chiefest flowers, which from far and near  
The Nymphs in their pure Lily hands had fet,  
Upon her temples she did seemly wear;  
Her own fair beams made all her ornaments appear.   

13  
What wilful wight doth thus his kindly rest  
Forsake? said she, approaching me unto.  
What rage, what sorrow boils thus in thy chest  
That thou thus spendest the night in wasting woe?  
Oft help he gets that his hid ill doth show.  
Ay me! said I, my grief's not all mine own;  
For all men's griefs into my heart do flow,  
Nor men's alone, but every mornfull groan  
Of dying beast, or what so else that grief hath shown.   

14  
From fading plants my sorrows freshly spring;  
And thou thyself that comest to comfort me,  
Wouldst strongest occasion of deep sorrow bring,  
If thou wert subject to mortality:  
But I no mortal wight thee deem to be,  
Thy face thy voice immortal thee proclaim.  
Do I not well to wail the vanity  
Of fading life, and churlish fates to blame  
That with cold frozen death lives cheerful motions tame?   

15  
Thou dost not well, said she to me again,  
Thou hurt'st thyself, and dost to them no good.  
The sighs thou sendest out cannot regain  
Life to the dead, thou canst not change the mood  
Of steadfast destiny. That man is wood  
That wittingly hastes on the thing he hates:  
Dull sorrow chokes the sprights, congeals the blood,  
The body's fabric quickly ruinates.  
Yet foolish men do fond blame the hasty fates.   

16  
Come, hasty fates, said I, come take away  
My weary life, the fountain of my woe:  
When that's extinct or shrunk into cold clay,  
Then well I wot that I shall undergo  
No longer pain. O! why are you so slow;  
Fond speech, said she, nor changed her countenance,  
No sign of grief or anger she did show;  
Full well she knew passions misgovernance,  
Through her clear breast fond passion never yet did lance.   

17  
But thus spoke on, Sith friendly sympathy  
With all the creatures thus invades thy breast,  
And strikes thine heart with so deep agony  
For their decay, 'cording to that behest  
Which the pure source of sympathy hath pressed  
On all that of those lovely streams have drunk,  
I'll tell thee that that needs must please thee best,  
All life's immortal; though the outward trunk  
May changed be, yet life to nothing never shrunk.   

18  
With that she bade me rear my heavy eye  
Up toward heaven, I reared 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 surceased  
From further speech, while I the bow did view:  
But mine old malady was more increased,  
The bow 'gan break, and all the gaudy hue  
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 replied,  
Vain shows may vanish that have gaily shone  
To feeble sense; but if the truth be tried,  
Life cannot perish or to nothing slide:  
It is not life that falleth under sight,  
None but vain flitting qualities are eyed  
By wondering ignorance. The vital spirit  
As surely doth remain as the Sun's lasting light.   

20  
This bow, whose breaking struck thy troubled heart,  
Of causeless grief, I hope, shall thee recure,  
When I have well explained with skilful Art  
By its resemblance what things must endure,  
What things decay and cannot stand sure.  
The higher causes of that coloured Ark,  
What e'er becomes of it, do sit secure.  
That so (the body falling) lives 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 central spirit  
To the first place, to th' next we must commend  
His hid spread form, than his inherent light,  
The fourth his rays wherewith he is bedight,  
The fifth that glistering circle of the Moon,  
That goodly round full face all silver bright,  
The sixth be beams that from her visage shone;  
The seventh that gaudy bow that was so quickly gone.   

22  
The fluid matter was that dewy cloud,  
That failed as faithless Hyle wont to fall:  
New guest being come, the old she out do●h crowd;  
But see how little Hyle did prevail,  
Or sad destruction in this deemed bale!  
Sols spirit, hid form, fair light and outgone rays,  
The Moons round silver face withouten veil  
Do still remain, her beams she still displays  
The cloud but melt, not lost, the bow only decays.   

32  
This number suits well with the Universe:  
The number's eight of the Orbs general,  
From whence things flow or wherein they converse,  
The first we name Nature Monadicall,  
The second height Life Intellectual,  
Third Psychicall; the fourth Imaginative,  
Fifth Sensitive, the sixth Spermaticall,  
The seventh be fading forms Quantitative,  
The eighth Hyle or Ananke perverse, coactive.   

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 also height Nature Monadicall;  
As all those lights and colours did derive  
Themselves from lively Phoebus' life central.  
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 & gaudy features  
May quail like rainbows in the roscid sky,  
Or glistering Parelies or other meteors;  
Yet the clear light doth not to nothing fly:  
Those six degrees of life stand sure, and never die.   

26  
So now we plainly see that the dark matter  
Is not that needful prop to hold up life;  
And though death's engines this gross 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 livelyhed;  
But this gross bulk those inward lives stands in no stead.   

27  
Nor can one inward form another slay,  
Though they may quell their present energy,  
And make them close contract their yielding ray  
And hid 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 central essence never can decay.   

28  
In Earth, in Air, in the vast flowing Plain,  
In that high Region height Aethercall,  
In every place these Atom-lives remain,  
Even those that cleped are forms seminal.  
But souls of men by force imaginall  
Easly supply their place, when so they list  
Appear in thickened Air with shape external  
Display their light and form in cloudy mist,  
That much it doth amaze the musing Naturalist.   

29  
Wherefore sigh life so strongly sealed is,  
Purge out fond thoughts out of thy weary mind,  
And rather strive that thou do nought amiss,  
Then God to blame, and Nature as unkind  
When nought in them we blamable can find.  
When groaning ghosts of beasts or men departed,  
Their tender mother doth but them unbind  
From grosser fetters, and more toilsome smart.  
Blessed is the man that hath true knowledge of her Art.   

30  
And more for to confirm this mystery,  
She vanished in my presence into Air,  
She spread herself with the thin liquid sky;  
But I thereat fell not into despair  
Of her return, nor wailed her visage fair,  
That so was gone. For I was waxed 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 Sun's bright waggon 'gan ascend  
The Eastern hill, and draw on cheerful day;  
So I full fraught with joy do homeward wend  
And fed myself with that that Nymph did say,  
And did so cunningly to me convey,  
Resolving for to teach all willing men  
Life's mystery, and quite to chase away  
Mind-mudding mist sprung from low fulsome fen:  
Praise my good will, but pardon my weak faltering pen.    

PSYCHATHANASIA Or The Immortality of the Soul.  
BOOK I. CANT. 4.  

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

1  
WHat I was wisely taught in that still Night,  
That Hyle is the potentiality  
Of God's dear Creatures, I embrace as right,  
And them nigh blame of deep idolatry  
That give so much to that slight nullity,  
That they should make it root substantial  
Of nimble life, and that quick entity  
That doth so strongly move things natural,  
That life from hence should spring, that hither life should fall.   

2  
For how things spring from hence and be resolved  
Into this mirksome source, first matter height,  
This muddy myst'rie they no'te well unfold.  
If it be only a bare passive might  
With Gods and Nature's goodly dowries dight,  
Bringing hid Naughts into existency,  
Or sleeping Somethings into wide daylight,  
Then Hyles plain potentiality,  
Which doth not strait infer certain mortality.   

3  
For the immortal Angels do consist  
Of outgone act and possibility;  
Nor any other creature doth exist,  
Released from dreary death's necessity;  
If these composures it so certainly  
Ensuen must. If substance actual  
They will avouch this first matter to be,  
Fountain of forms, and prop fiducial  
Of all those lives and beings cleped Natural;   

4  
Then may it prove the sphere spermaticall  
Or sensitive (if they would yield it life)  
Or that is next, the Orb Imaginall,  
Or rather all these Orbs; withouten strife  
So might we all conclude that their relief  
And first existence from this sphere they drew  
And so our adversaries, loath or lief  
Must needs confess that all the lore was true  
Concerning life, that that fair Nymph so clearly show;   

5  
And that particular Lives that be yborn  
Into this world, when their act doth dispear,  
Do cease to be no more than the snails horn,  
That she shrinks in because she cannot bear  
The wanton boys rude touch, or heavy cheer  
Of stormy winds. The secundary light  
As surely shineth in the heavens clear,  
As do the first fair beams of Phoebus' 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:  
Only what next to strifefull Hyle borders,  
Particular visibles deaths drearyhood  
Can seize upon. They pass like sliding flood.  
For when to this world's dregs lives downward high,  
They stroy one th' other in fell cankered mood,  
Beat back their rays by strong antipathy,  
Or some more broad-spread cause doth choke their energy.   

7  
But to go on to that common conceit  
Of the first matter: What can substance do,  
Poor, naked substance, megre, dry, dull, slight,  
Inert, unactive, that no might can show  
Of good or ill to either friend or foe,  
All liveless, all formless? She doth sustain.  
And hath no strength that task to undergo?  
Besides that work is needless all in vain:  
Each central form its rays with ease can well up-stayen.   

8  
What holds the earth in the thin fluid air?  
Can matter void of fixed solidity?  
But she like kindly nurse her forms doth cheer.  
What can be sucked from her dark dugs dry?  
Nor warmth, nor moistness, nor fast density  
Belong to her. Therefore i'll nurse I ween  
She'll make, that neither hath to satisfy  
Young-craving life, nor firmness to sustain  
The burden that upon her arms should safely lean.   

9  
Therefore an useless super fluity  
It is to make Hyle substantial:  
Only let's term't the possibility  
Of all created beings. Lives central  
Can frame themselves a right compositall,  
While as they sitten soft in the sweet rays  
Or vital vest of the lives general,  
As those that out of the earth's covert raise  
Themselves, fairly provoked by warmth of sunny days.   

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 quality.  
Thus have we dived to the profundity  
Of darkest matter, and have found it nought  
But all this world's bare Possibility.  
Nought therefore 'gainst life's durance can be brought  
From Hyles pit, that quenchen may that pleasant thought.     

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA, Or The Immortality of the Soul.  

BOOK II. CANT. 1.  

Man's soul with beasts and plants I here  
Compare; Tell my chief end  
His immortality's to clear;  
Show whence gross errors wend.   

1  
BUt hitherto I have with fluttering wings  
But lightly hovered in the general,  
And taught the lasting durance of all springs  
Of hidden life. That life height seminal  
Doth issue forth from its deep root central,  
One only form entire, and no'te advert  
What steals from it. Beast's life Fantastical  
Lets out more forms, and eke themselves convert  
To view the various fry from their dark wombs exert.   

2  
But man's vast soul, the image of her Maker,  
Like God that made her, with her mighty sway  
And in ward Fiat (if he nould forsake her)  
Can turn sad darkness into lightsome day,  
And the whole creature 'fore herself display:  
Bid them come forth and stand before her sight,  
They strait flush out and her dread voice obey:  
Each shape, each life doth leapen out full light.  
And at her beck return into their usual Night.   

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 Pythou kill  
With his bright darts, but cheereth each good spirit.  
This is the soul that I with presser quill  
Must now pursue and fall upon downright,  
Not to destroy but prove her of immortal 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 intent  
Bestir me stiffly, force my feeble wit  
To rescue humane souls from deaths deep pit;  
Which I shall do with reasons as subtle  
As I can find; slight proofs cannot well fit  
In so great cause, nor fancies florid wile;  
I'll win no man's assent by a false specious guile.   

6  
I only wish that arguments exile  
May not seem nought unto the duller eye;  
Nor that the fatter fancy my lean style  
Do blame: it's fittest for philosophy.  
And give me leave from any energy  
That springs from humane soul my cause to prove,  
And in that order as they list to fly  
Of their own selves, so let them freely rove.  
That naturally doth come doth oft the stronger move.   

7  
Self-motion and central stability  
I have already urged in general;  
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 needless. Only that vitality,  
That doth extend this great Univervall,  
And move th' inert Materiality  
Of great and little worlds, that keep in memory.   

8  
And how the mixture of their rays 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 rays or not be setten free  
Thinly dispersed, or else be closely meint  
With other beams of plain diversity,  
That causeth oft a strong impediment:  
So doth this body's 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 Plastic might thus finely did him paint,  
And filled him with the life that doth abound  
In all the places of the world around.  
This spirit of life is in each shapened thing,  
Sucked 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-formed statue magical,  
That hover 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 vital spirit  
And friendly temper should a guest procure  
Of so great worth, without the dear delight  
Of joyous sympathy, no man can reckon right.   

11  
But here unlucky Souls do waxed sick  
Of an ill furfeit from the poisoned bait  
Of this sweet tree, yet here perforce they stick  
In weak condition, in a languid state.  
Many through ignorance do fond hate  
To be released from this imprisonment,  
And grieve the walls be so nigh ruinated.  
They be bewitched so with the blandishment  
Of that fresh strumpet, when in love they first were meant.   

12  
Others disdain this so near unity,  
So fare they be from thinking they be born  
Of such low parentage, so base degree,  
And flesh's foul attraction they do scorn.  
They be th'outgoings of the Eastern morn,  
Allied unto th' eternal Deity,  
And pray to their first spring, that thus forlorn  
And left in mud, that he would set them free,  
And them again possess of pristine purity.   

13  
But seemeth not my Muse too hastily  
To soar aloft, that better by degrees  
Unto the vulgar man's capacity  
Might show the souls so high excellencies,  
And softly from all corporeities  
It heaven up unto its proper seat,  
When we have driven away gross falsities,  
That do assault the weaker men's conceit,  
And free the simple mind from fancies 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 herself, but by self name she calls  
Her own high being, and what ere befalls  
Her grosser body, she that misery  
Doth deem her own: for she herself miscalls  
Or some thin body, or spread quality,  
Or point of quality, or fixed or setten free.   

29  
But whether thin spread body she doth deem  
Herself dispersed through this grosser frame;  
Or doth herself a quality esteem,  
Or quiet complexion, streaming through the same;  
Or else some lucid point herself doth name  
Of such a quality, in chiefest part  
Strongly fixed down; or whether she doth claim  
More freedom for that point, in head nor heart  
Fast seated; yet, saith she, the body's brat thou art.   

30  
Thence thou arose, thence thou canst not departed:  
There die thou must, when thy dear nurse decays:  
But these false fancies I with reason smart  
Shall easily chase away, and the mind raise  
To higher pitch. O listen to my lays,  
And when you have seen fast sealed eternity  
Of humane souls, than your great Maker praise  
For his never fading benignity,  
And feed yourselves with thought of immortality.    

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA, OR, The Immortality of the Soul.  
Book. 2. Cant. 2.  

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

1  
WHile I do purpose with myself to sing  
The souls incorporeity, I fear  
That it a worse perplexity may bring  
Unto the weaker mind and duller ear;  
For she may deem herself 'stroyd quite & clear  
While all corporeals from her we expel:  
For she has yet not marked that higher sphere  
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 corporeal;  
Contemns as nought unseen exilities,  
Objects of virtue Intellectual,  
Though these of substances be principal.  
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!   

3  
Why do you thus confide in sleepy sense,  
Ill judge of her own objects? who'll believe  
The eye contracting Phoebus' Orb immense  
Into the compass of a common sieve?  
If solid reason did not us relieve,  
The host of heaven always would idle stand  
In our conceit, nor could the Sun revive  
The neither world, nor do his Lords command.  
Things near seem further off; farst off, the nearst at hand.   

4  
The touch acknowledgeth no gustables;  
The taste no fragrant smell or stinking scent;  
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  
Condemn each other, and their voice deride  
If mutually they heard such things they never tried.   

5  
But reason, that above the sense doth sit,  
Doth comprehend all their impressions,  
And tells the touch it's no fanatic fit  
That makes the sight of illustrations  
So stiffly talk upon occasions.  
But judgeth all their voices to be true  
Concerning their strait operations,  
And doth by nimble consequences show  
To her own self what those wise Five yet never knew.   

6  
They never knew aught but corporealls:  
But see how reason doth their verdict rude  
Confute, by loosening materials  
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 process; site doth confine  
This point; take site away it's strait a spark divine.   

7  
And thus unloosed it equally respects  
The body's parts, not fixed to any one.  
Let it be distused through all. Thus it detects  
The soul's strange nature, operation,  
Her independency, lose union  
With this frail body. So 's this unity  
Great, but without that gross extension,  
Exceeding great in her high energy,  
Extended far and wide from her non-quantity.   

8  
If yet you understand not, let the soul,  
Which you suppose extended with this mass,  
Be all contract and close together roll  
Into the centre of the hearts compass:  
As the sun's beams that by a concave glass  
Be strangely strengthened with their straight constraint  
Into one point, that thence they stoutly pass,  
Fire all before them withouten restraint,  
The high arched roof of heaven with smouldry smoke they taint.   

9  
But now that grossness, which we call the heart,  
Quite take away, and leave that spark alone  
Without that sensible corporeal 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,  
Indispersed, quick, close with self-union,  
Hor, sparkling, active, mounting high above,  
In bigness nought, in virtue like to thundering Jove.   

10  
Thus maugre all th' obmurmuring of sense  
We have found an essence incorporeal,  
A shifting centre with circumference,  
But she not only sits in midst of all,  
But is also in a manner central  
In her outflowing lines. For the extension  
Of th' outshot rays circumserentiall  
Be not gone from her by distrought distension,  
Her point is at each point of all that spread dimension.   

11  
This is a substance truly spiritual,  
That reason by her glistering lamp hath shown:  
No such the sense in things corporeal  
Can ere find out. May this persuasion,  
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  
Corporeal) that you to nought should vanish clear.   

12  
The naked essence of the body's this  
Matter extent in three dimensions  
(Hardness or softness be but qualities)  
Withouten self reduplications  
Or outspread circling propagations  
Of its own presence. These be corporal,  
And what with these in such extension  
Singly's stretched out, is form material.  
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 liveless, give they life? if animate,  
Then tell me what doth life to them convey?  
Some other body? Here can be no stay.  
Strait we must ask whether that liveless be  
Or living. Then, what ' lives it. Thus we'll play  
Till we have forced you to infinity,  
And make your cheeks wax red at your Philosophy.   

14  
Again, pray tell me, is this body gross  
Or fluid, and thin you deem the soul to be?  
If gross, then either strongly it is crossed  
From entering 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 sorry corpse. If it thin and fluid be thought,  
How pulls it up those limbs and again jerks them out?   

15  
Besides, if stretchen corporeity  
Longs to the soul, than Augmentation  
Must likewise thereto appertain. But see  
Th' absurdities that this opinion  
Will drag on with it: for effluxion  
Of parts will spoil the steady memory,  
And wash away all intellection,  
Deface the beauty of that imagery  
That once was fairly graven in her fantasy.   

16  
But oft when the weak body's worn and wasted  
And far shrunk in, the nimble fantasy  
(So far she's from being withered and blasted)  
More largely worketh, and more glitterandly  
Displays her spreaden forms, and cheerfully;  
Pursues her sports. Again, the greater corpse  
Would most be filled with magnanimity:  
But oft we see the less 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, unless they add a form  
That easily 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 form bodily  
Non-replicate, extent, not setten free,  
But strait stretched 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' energy  
Of sense, though that same force seem not so brave,  
Yet for the present I'll not climb to higher stave.   

19  
If Souls be substances corporeal,  
Be they as big just as the body is?  
Or shoot they out to th' height Aethereal?  
(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 amiss  
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 agile heels towards the firmament,  
And stand upon your head; that part is bend  
Down through the earth, that erst did threat the sky:  
So that your soul now upward is extent  
No higher than your heels, yet with your eye  
The heavens great vastness as before you now descry.   

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 only doth of cur'sy lend  
It life, as doth the world's great lamp down send  
Both light and warmth unto each living wight;  
And if they chance to fail and make an end,  
It's nought to him, he shineth yet as bright  
As ere he did. This shows the soul immortal quite.   

22  
But if the soul be justly coextent  
With this strait 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 Giants would be oft defied  
By grovelling Pigmees: for they could not see  
The difference, nor meet his manly stride,  
Nor ween what matchless strength did in his arms reside.   

23  
For they must judge him just as their own selves  
Of the same stature, of the selfsame might:  
All men would seem to them their fellow Elves;  
Nor little curs would tremble at the sigh:  
Of greater dogs; nor hawks would put to flight  
The lesser birds. Th' impression of a seal  
Can be no larger than the wax; or right  
As big, or less it is. Therefore repeal  
This gross conceit, and hold as reason doth reveal.   

24  
Again, if souls corporeal you ween;  
Do the light images of things appear  
Upon the surface, slick, bright, smooth and sheen  
As in a looking glass? Or whether dare  
They pass the outside and venture so fare  
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 darkness, till the good presence  
Of outward objects doth the soul untie  
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 endued.   

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 rays; those rays should be the outward sense  
As some resembleed. 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.   

27  
For see how little share hath quantity  
In act of seeing, when we comprehend  
The heavens vast compass in our straitened 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 commonsense,  
That is fare more spiritual, 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 hue  
Of bodies visible. But what shall steer  
The erring senses? where shall they compear  
In controversy? what the difference  
Of all their objects can with judgement clear  
Distinguish and discern? One commonsense:  
For one alone must have this great preeminence.   

29  
And all this one must know, though still but one;  
Elseed 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, than 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.  
Supposeed 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.   

31  
If this part this, and that part that receive,  
We are at the same loss 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 might 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 lacked  
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 aching foot the eye doth view, the hand doth cheer.   

33  
What tells the hand or head the toes great grief,  
When it alone is pinched with galling shoes?  
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 total Self-reduplication.   

34  
Which neither body, nor dispersed form,  
Nor point of form dispersed e'er could do.  
And bodies life or spirit 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 'tis passions, yet they free may go  
Unmarked, if sense would not them contemplate.  
So doth the Mundane spirit not heeded circulate.   

35  
Besides, if from that spirit natural  
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 start  
All several beings and of them depend.  
Therefore the Orb Fantastic must exert  
All life fantastical, 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 than itself. So nought gives sense  
That hath not sense itself, nor greater worth  
Than sense, nor sense, nor better springs from thence.  
Nor that which higher is can have essence  
Less active, less reduplicate, less free,  
Less spiritual, then that's amoved from hence,  
And is an Orb of a more low degree.  
Wherefore that central life hath more activity,   

37  
And present is in each part totally  
Of this her body. Nor we ought diffide,  
Although some creatures still alive we see  
To stir and move when we have them divide  
And cut in twain. Thus worms in sturdy pride  
Do wrigge and wrest their parts divorced by knife;  
But we must know that Nature's womb doth hid  
Innumerable treasures of all life;  
And how to breaken out upon each hint they strive.   

38  
So when the present actual central life  
Of sense and motion is gone with one part  
To manage it, straight for the due relief  
Of th' other particle there up doth start  
Another central life, and tries her art:  
But she cannot reign long, nor yet recure  
That deadly wound. The plantall life's depart,  
And flitten or shrunk spirit, that did procure  
Her company, being lost, make her she'll not endure.   

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  
Strait 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 corpse thus busily may roll.  
Long 'tis till water boiled doth stranger heat control.   

40  
Thus have we proved 'cording to our insight  
That humane souls be not corporeal  
(With reasons drawn from the sensitive might)  
Nor bodies, nor spread forms material,  
Whether you substances list them to call  
Or qualities, or point of these. I'll bring  
Hereafter proofs from power rational  
In humane souls, to prove the self same thing.  
Mount up aloft, my Muse, and now more shrilly sing.    

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA, Or, The Immortality of the Soul.  
BOOK II. CANT. III.  

The souls incorporeitie  
From powers rational  
We prove; Discern true piety  
From bitterness and gall.   

1  
LIke Carpenter entered 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 rugged saw:  
My Muse is plunged in like perplexities,  
So many arguments themselves do show,  
That where to pitch my wavering mind doth yet scarce know.   

2  
One taller than 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 departed  
Entire, unhurt. So doth the Scythian swain  
Drive his light moving house on the waste verdant Plain.   

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 ways the hypocrite  
Doth trample in, accloyed with dirt and dismal night.   

4  
Not rage, nor mischief, nor love of a sect,  
Nor eating irefulness, harsh cruelty  
Contracting Gods good will, nor conscience checked  
Or choked continually with impiety,  
Faustered and fed with hid hypocrisy?  
Nor tyranny against perplexed minds,  
Nor forced conceit, nor man-idolatry,  
All which the eye of searching reason blinds,  
And the souls heavenly flame in dungeon darkness binds.   

5  
Can wars and jars and fierce contention,  
Swollen hatred, and consuming envy spring  
From piety? No. 'Tis opinion  
That makes the riven heavens with trumpets ring,  
And thundering engine mur'drous balls out-sling,  
And send men's groaning ghosts to lower shade  
Of horrid hell. This the wide world doth bring  
To devastation, makes mankind to fade:  
Such direful things doth false Religion persuade.   

6  
But true Religion sprung from God above  
Is like her fountain full of charity,  
Embracing all things with a tender love,  
Full of good will and meek expectance,  
Full of true justice and sure verity,  
In heart and voice; free, large, even infinite,  
Not wedged in straight particularity,  
But grasping all in her vast active spirit,  
Bright lamp of God that men would joy in thy pure light!   

7  
Can souls that be thus universalised,  
Begot into the life of God  die?  
(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 itself display  
Above the laws of matter, or the body's sway?   

8  
For both the body and the body's spirit  
Doth things unto particulars confine,  
Teaching them partial friendship and fell spite,  
But those pure souls full of the life divine  
Look upon all things with mild friendly eyen  
Ready to do them good. Thus is their will  
Sweetly spread out, and ever doth incline  
The bent of the first Goodness to fulfil.  
Ay me! that dreary death such lovely life should spill!   

9  
Besides this largeness in the will of man  
And winged freeness, 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 spirit,  
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.   

11  
As when a name lodged in the memory,  
But yet through time almost obliterate,  
Confusely hovers near the fantasy:  
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 lik'st of all I wots.  
This last you named it's not like that a whit;  
O that's the very name, now we have rightly hit.   

12  
Thus if't be lawful lest things to compare  
With greatest, so ourselves 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 ourselves, if once God would consent  
To show his specious form and nature eminent:   

13  
For here it lies like colours in the night  
Unseen and unregarded, but the sun  
Displays the beauty and the gladsome plight  
Of the adorned earth, while he doth run  
His upper stage. But this high prize is won  
By curbing sense and the selfseeking life  
(True Christian mortification)  
Thus God will his own self in us revive,  
If we to mortify our straitened selves do strive.   

14  
But can aught bodily God's form receive?  
Or have it in its self potentially?  
Or can aught sprung of this base body have  
Itself so high as to the Deity  
To clamber? strive to reach infinity?  
Can aught born of this carcase be so free  
As to grasp all things in large sympathy?  
Can lives corporeal quite loosened be  
From their own selves, cashiering their centreity?   

15  
These all ill suit with corporeity:  
But do we not amiss with stroke so strong  
All to dispatch at once? needed we fly  
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 ken no such pomp, she must with freedom 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 immortal if she need not eat;  
But if her food prove to be spiritual,  
Then can we deem herself to be corporeal?   

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 persuasion:  
But that truths spiritual 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 corporal condition,  
And a naked simple essence doth devise  
Against the law of Corporeities,  
It doth divest them both of time and place,  
And of all individualities,  
And matter doth of all her forms uncase,  
Corporeal wight such subtle virtue never has.   

19  
Now shall the indivisibility  
Of the souls virtues make an argument.  
For certainly there's no such quality  
Resideth in a body that's extent.  
For, tell me, is that quality straight penned  
Within a point of that corporeal?  
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 principal  
And root of all: have we intelligence  
Of Unities? Or else what's sprung from thence  
We could not know: what doth the soul then frame  
Within herself? Is that Idea extense?  
Or indivisible? If not: we'll blame  
The soul of falsehood, and continual lying shame.   

21  
Again, if we suppose our intellect  
Corporeal, then must we all things know  
By a swift touch: what? do we then detect  
The truth of bigness, when one point doth go  
Of our quick mind? (It need not be ●o'reslow  
For infinite parts be found in quantity)  
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 lose unity  
Freed from all site. That latitude must move  
On all the body that it doth descry.  
So must it be upstretched unto the sky  
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.   

23  
Add unto these, that the soul would take pains  
For her destruction while she doth aspire  
To reach at things (that were her woeful gains)  
That be not corporal, but seated higher  
Above the body's sphere. Thus should she tyre  
Herself to 'stroy herself. 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 changed by the susception  
Of any forms: For thus herself contraire  
Should be unto herself. But Union  
She than possesseth, when heat and cold are  
Together met: They meet withouten jar  
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 hue  
Obtains, than those in matter we do daily view.   

25  
For there, they're mixed, soiled and contaminate,  
But truth doth clear, unweave, and simplify,  
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  
Aught right in things; or you must not deny  
These forms be true that in herself 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  
Comprised: She multitudes can close constrain  
Into one nature. Things that be fluent,  
As flitting time, by her be strait retent  
Unto one point; she joins future and past,  
And makes them steady stand as if present:  
Things distant she can into one place cast:  
Calls kinds immortal, though their singulars do waste.   

27  
Upon herself she strangely operates,  
And from herself and by herself returns  
Into herself; thus the soul circulates.  
Do bodies so? Her axletree it burns  
With heat of motion. This low world she spurns,  
Raiseth herself to catch infinity.  
Unspeakable great numbers how she turns  
Within her mind, like evening missed the eye  
Discerns, whose muddy atoms '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 intent  
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 satisfy  
Her hungry self, nor fill her vast capacity.   

29  
But I'll break off; My Muse herself forgot,  
Her own great strength and her foes feebleness,  
That she her name by her own pains may blot,  
While she so many strokes heaps in excess,  
That fond gross fancy quite for to suppress  
Of the souls corporal'tie. For men may think  
Her adversaries strength doth thus her press  
To multitude of reasons, makes her swink  
With weary toil, and sweat out thus much forced ink:   

30  
Or that she loves with trampling insultations  
To domineer in easy victory.  
But let not men dare cast such accusations  
Against the blameless. For no mastery,  
Nor fruitless pomp, nor any verity  
Of that opinion that she here destroys  
Made her so large. No, 'tis her jealousy  
'Gainst witching falsehood that weak souls annoys,  
And oft doth choke those cheering hopes of lasting joys.     

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA, OR The Immortality of the Soul.  

Book. 3. Cant. 1.  

The souls free independency;  
Her dreary dreadful state  
In hell; Her tricentreity:  
What brings to heaven's gate.   

1  
WEll said that man, what ever man that was,  
That said, what things we would we strait believe  
Upon each slight report t' have come to pass:  
But better he, that said, Slow faith we give  
To things we long for most. Hope and fear rive  
Distracted minds, as when nigh equal 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 strifly 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 struggling.   

3  
But is there any thing of more import  
Than the souls immortality? Hence fear  
And hope we striving feel with strong effort  
Against each other: That nor reason clear  
Nor sacred Oracles can strait down bear  
That sturdy rascal, with black fantasies  
Clad, and clouded with dread dismal cheer;  
But still new mists he casts before our eyes,  
And now derides our proved incorporieties,   

4  
And grinning saith, That labour's all in vain.  
For though the soul were incorporeal,  
Yet her existence to this flesh restrain,  
They be so nearly linked, that if one fall  
The other fails. The ear nor hears our call  
In stooping age, nor eye can see aught clear;  
Benumbing palsies shake the body's wall,  
The soul hath lost her strength and cannot steer  
Her crazy corpse, but staggering on reels here and there.   

5  
So plain it is (that though the soul 's a spirit,  
Not corporal) 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, only these actions cease  
That thence depend. But if new eyes were sent  
Unto the aged man, with as much case  
And accurateness, as when his youth did please  
The wanton lass, he now could all things see.  
Old age is but the watery blood's disease.  
The soul from death and sickness standeth free:  
My hackney fails, not I; my pen, not sciency.   

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 fearful hearts secure  
Not with slight fancy but with reason pure.  
Evincing the souls independency  
Upon this body that doth her immure,  
That when from this dark prison she shall fly  
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 drenched in Lethe deep,  
Hugging their plantall point. It makes me weep  
Now I so clearly view the solemn Spring  
Of silent Night, whose Magic dew doth steep  
These drowsy 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 height:  
Our parents this revive in nuptial 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 straightness that did bind before  
Our sluggish life: when that is shriveled  
Into its sunken centre, we no more  
Are conscious of life: what can us then restore?   

10  
Unless with fiery whips fell Nemesis  
Do lash our sprights, and cruelly do gore  
Our groaning ghosts; this is the way, I wisse,  
The only way to keep's from Morpheus' power.  
Both these so dismal are that I do shower  
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?   

11  
Thus may you all from your dead drowsiness  
Be waked by inward sting and pinching woe,  
That you could wish that that same heaviness  
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 itself to gnaw  
Itself with madness, while it doth ruminate  
On its deformity and sterile vexing state.   

12  
Continual 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 herself, the more  
She rageth to obtain: thus doth she bring  
More fuel to her flame that scorched sore  
With searching fire, she's forced to yell and loudly roar.   

13  
Thus she devours herself, not satisfies  
Herself, 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 air no longer cools her blood,  
Pleasures of youth and manhood quite are gone,  
Nor songs her ear, nor mouth delicious food  
Doth fill. But I'll have this more fully understood.   

14  
Three centres hath man's soul in Unity  
Together joined; or if you will, but one.  
Those three are one, with a Triplicity  
Of power or rays. Th' highest intellection,  
Which being waked the soul's in Union  
With God. If perfectly regenerate  
Into that better world, corruption  
Hath then no force her bliss to perturbate.  
The low'st do make us subject to disturbing fate.   

15  
But low'st gins first to work, the soul doth frame  
This body's shape, employed in one long thought  
So wholly 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 reached  
And sucked unto herself to work upon  
Is of one warmth with her own spirit, & 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 spirit doth lurk,  
It is no wonder 'tis so easily swayed  
At her command. But when this work shall fade,  
The soul dismisseth it as an old thought.  
'Tis but one form; but many be displayed  
Amid her higher rays, dismissed, and brought  
Back as she list, & many come that ne'er 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 herself into sure sympathies  
With this great world. Her ears like hollow caves  
Resound to her own spirit the energies  
Of the world's spirit. If it ought suffered have,  
Then presentifick circles to her strait notice gave.   

18  
We know this world, because our soul hath made  
Our body of this sensible world's spirit  
And body. Therefore in the glassy shade  
Of our own eyes (they having the same might  
That glass 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 itself so far as't circuleth.   

19  
And where he lighteth on advantages,  
His circuling grow sensible. So hills  
That hollow be do audible voices  
Resound. The soul doth imitate that skill  
In framing of the ear, that sounds may swell  
In that concavity. The crystal 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 spirit  
And ours together; else the circulations  
Of sounds would be well known by outward sight,  
And th' ear would colours know, figures & light.  
So that it's plain that when this body 's gone,  
This world to us is closed in darkness quite,  
And all to us is in dead silence drown.  
Thus in one point of time is this world's glory flown   

21  
But if't be so, how doth Psyche hear or see  
That hath nor eyes nor ears? She sees more clear  
Than we that see but secondarily.  
We see at distance by a circular  
Diffusion of that spirit of this great sphere  
Of th' Universe: Her sight is tactuall.  
The Sun and all the stars that do appear  
She feels them in herself, can distance all,  
For she is at each one purely presential.   

22  
To us what doth diffusion circular,  
And our pure shadowed eyes, bright, crystalline,  
But vigorously our spirit particular  
Affect, while things in it so clearly shine?  
That's done continually in the heaven's sheen.  
The Sun, the Moon, the Earth, blew-glimmering Hell  
Scorched Aetna's bowels, each shape you'll divine  
To be in Nature, every darn cell  
With fire-eyed dragons, or what else therein doth dwell:   

23  
These be all parts of the wide world's excess,  
They be all seated in the Mundane spirit,  
And show just as they are in their bigness  
To her. But circulation shows not right  
The magnitude of things: for distant site  
Makes a deficience in these circuling.  
But all things lie ope●right unto the sight  
Of heavens great eye; their thin shot shadowings  
And lightened sides. All this we find in Nature's springs.   

24  
The worlds great soul knows by Protopathie  
All what befalls this lower spirit; but we  
Can only know't by Deuteropathie,  
At least in sight and hearing. She doth see  
In our own eyes, by the close unity  
Of ours and the world's life, our passion,  
Plainly perceives our idiopathy,  
As we do hers, by the same union;  
But we cannot see hers in that perfection.   

25  
Fresh varnished groves tall hills, and gilded clouds  
Arching an eyelid for the glaring Morn,  
Fair clustered buildings which our sight so crowds  
At distance, with high spires to heaven yborn,  
Vast plains with lowly cottages forlorn  
Rounded about with the low wavering sky,  
Cragged vapours, like to ragged rocks ytorn,  
She views those prospects in our distant eye:  
These and such like be the first centres mystery.   

26  
Or if you will the first low energy  
Of that one centre, which the soul is height,  
Which knows this world by the close unity  
Concorporation with the Mundane spirit,  
Unloosed from this she wants a certain light,  
Unless by true regeneration  
She be incorporate with God, unite  
With his own spirit; so a new mansion  
She has got, oft sought with deepest suspiration.   

27  
But robbed of her first clothing by hard fate,  
If she fall short of this, woe' me! what pains  
She undergoes? when this lost former state  
So kindled hath life's thirst, that still remains.  
Thus her eternity her nothing gains  
But hungry flames, raging voracity  
Feeding on its own self. The heavens she stains  
With execrations and foul blasphemy.  
Thus in fell discontent and smothering fire they frie.   

28  
Vain man that strivest to have all things at will!  
What wilt thou do in this sterility?  
Whom canst thou then command? or what shall fill  
Thy gaping soul? O depth of misery!  
Prepare thyself by deep humility:  
Destroy that fretting fire while thou art here,  
Forsake this world's bewitching vanity,  
Nor death nor hell then shalt thou need to fear.  
Kill and cast down thyself, to heaven God shall thee rear.   

29  
This middle central essence of the soul  
Is that which still survives asleep or waking:  
The life she shed in this gross 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 dry and jejune)  
But all flit souls be not in the same taking:  
That state this life's proportion doth tune,  
So as thou livest here, such measure must ensuen.   

30  
But they whose souls deiform summitie  
Is wakened in this life, and so to God  
Are nearly joined in a firm Unity  
(This outward body is but earthy clod  
Digested, having life transfused abroad,  
The world's life and our lower vitality  
Unite in one) their souls have their abode  
In Christ's own body, are eternally  
One with our God, by true and strong community.   

31  
When we are clothed with this outward world,  
Feel the soft air, behold the glorious Sun,  
All this we have from meat that's daily hurled  
Into these mouths. But first of all we won  
This privilege by our first union  
With this world's body and diffused spirit.  
I'th' higher world there's such communion:  
Christ is the sun that by his cheering might  
Awakes our higher rays to join with his pure light.   

32  
And when he hath that life elicited,  
He gives his own dear body and his blood  
To drink and eat. Thus daily we are fed  
Unto eternal 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 showed  
Our lower rays the soul to subjugate  
To this low world) we fearless sit above all fate,   

33  
Safely that kingdom's glory contemplate,  
O'erflow with joy by a full sympathy  
With that world's spirit, and bless our own estate,  
Praising the fount of all felicity,  
The lovely light of the blessed Deity.  
Vain mortals think on this, and raise your mind  
Above the body's life; strike through the sky  
With piercing throbs and sighs, that you may find  
His face. Base-fleshly fumes your drowsy eyes thus blind.   

34  
So hath my Muse according to her skill  
Discovered the soul in all her rays,  
The lowest may occasionate much ill,  
But is indifferent. Who may dispraise  
Dame Nature's work? But yet you ought to raise  
Yourselves to higher state. Eternity  
Is the souls rest, and everlasting days:  
Aspire to this and hope for victory  
I further yet, shall prove her immortality.    

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA, Or The Immortality of the Soul.  
BOOK III. CANT. 2.  

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

1  
THree apprehensions do my mind divide  
Concerning the souls preexistencie,  
Before into this outward world she glide,  
So hath my Muse with much uncertainty  
Expressed herself, so as her fantasy  
Strongly enacted guides her easy pen;  
I nought obtrude with sour anxiety,  
But freely offer hints to wiser men.  
The wise from rash assent in darksome things abstain.   

2  
Or souls be well awake but hover,  
Not fixed to aught, but by a Magic might  
Drawable here and there, and so their wing  
Struck with the steem of this low Mundane spirit  
May lower flag and take its stooping flight  
Into some plantall man, new edified  
By his own plastic point. Or else (deep Night  
Drawn on by drooping fancy) she doth slide  
Into this world, and by herself that skill is tried;   

3  
Makes to herself this fleshly habitation;  
For this world's spirit hath provoked these rays:  
Then drown in sleep she works that efformation  
Of her own body, all its parts displays,  
As doth the senseless plant. The two next ways  
Are these: A real tricentreitie.  
First centre ever wakes, unmoved stays,  
Height Intellect. The next in sleep doth lie  
Till the last centre burst into this open sky.   

4  
And then the middle wakes. But the last way  
Makes but one centre, which doth sleep likewise  
Till its low life hath reached this world's glad day.  
A fourth we'll add that we may all comprise.  
Take quite away all preexistencies  
Of humane souls, and grant they're then first made  
When they begin this body's edifice,  
And actually this outward world invade.  
None of these ways do show that they must ever fade.   

5  
The first way might be well occasioned  
By what the soul in herself 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 seize her actualities,  
Retains no memory of that strange fact,  
Nor of herself that soared in that high heavenly tract.   

6  
The second way that makes the soul tricentrall,  
The highest awake, the other with sleep drowned,  
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,  
Height Intellect. The lowest is not awake,  
Therefore the midst lies close in sleep upwound.  
Three centres made, that souls may quite forsake  
This base world when union with the lowest they break.   

7  
Again, because this body's fashioned  
Without our knowledge, reason doth suggest  
That it could no wise be thus figured  
From our own centre, and yet we not pressed  
To any adversion. Therefore we are dressed  
With this gross clothing by some plantall spirit  
Centred in Nature. So that glorious vest  
The Deiform intellect by our own might's  
Not made, But we have rays 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 abode  
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 surpass  
Their use. What needs that numerous closed centration,  
Like wasteful sand ytossed with boisterous inundation?   

9  
Let wiser Clerks the truth dare to define  
I leave it lose for men to muse upon  
View at their leisure: 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 erst did feebly bend  
Through weakness; then this world she contemplates,  
And life still blazing higher seeks an heavenly state.   

11  
Breathes after the first fountain of all life,  
Her sweet Creator, thither doth aspire,  
Would see his face, nor will she cease this strife  
Till he fulfil her thirsty fierce desire:  
Nothing can quench this so deep rooted fire  
But his own presence. So he 'gins despise  
This body's pleasures, ceaseth to admire  
Aught 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 penned,  
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 Apogle  
Lifted aloft, not again to descend,  
Nor stoups not sets that Sun, but standeth free  
On never shaken pillars of Eternity.   

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 destroys a central spirit.  
If he sucks in his beams, eternal night  
Seizeth upon that life, that it no'te flow  
In actual efflux, hath no being quite  
But Gods own power. He lets his breath out go,  
The selfsame things again so easily doth he show.   

14  
Let be Noon day, the welkin clear, the Moon  
I'th' nether world, reflecting the Sun's rays  
To cheer the irksome night. Well! That being done,  
Call out some wondrous might, that listlesse stays  
In slower fancies. Bided break all delays;  
Surround with solid dark opacity  
The utmost beams that Phoebus' light displays,  
Softly steal on with equal distancy,  
Till they have close clapped up all his explendency.   

15  
All's now in darkness: tell me, what's become  
Of that infinity of rays that shone?  
Where second centres from whence out did come  
Other faint beams? what be they all quite flone?  
All perished quite? You stiflers now be gone.  
Let fall that smoring mantle. Do not strait  
All things return? The nether world the Moon,  
The Sun enlightens us. The self same light  
Now shines, that shone before this deep and dismal Night.   

16  
If not the same. Then like to flowing stream  
You deem the light that passeth still away,  
New parts ever succeeding. The Sunbeam  
Hath no reflection 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 than 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 striven,  
Phoebus' fair golden locks would rudely move  
Out of their place; and Eastern winds at morn  
Would make more glorious days, while light is driven  
From that bright quarter: Southern blasts do burn  
From midday sun, but yet Northwinds like light have born.   

18  
What then must be the channel 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 Sun's bright beams  
Doth not uphold as the warmth of his gleams  
Or heat that lodgeth there. From this firm might  
Nought leaning on the Air, well may weed deem  
Some subtle body, or some grosser spirit  
Depending of fair Phoebus, of no other wight.   

19  
And when these rays were forced to retire  
Into their fountain, they were not so gone  
But that the same sprung out from the first fire.  
So fine spun glittering silk crumpled in one  
Changeth not 'tis 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 sun, and what I meaned most  
Of him alone depend. He deads' their blaze  
By calling in his breath. Though things be tossed  
And strangely changed, yet nought at all is lost  
Unless he list. Nor then so lost but he  
Can them return, In every thing compost  
Each part of th' essence its centreity  
Keeps to itself, it shrinks not to a nullity.   

21  
When that compounded nature is dissolved,  
Each centre's safe, as safe as second light  
Or driven into the Sun, or thence out-roled.  
So all depend on th' Universal spirit  
From height to depth, as they are ranked right  
In their due orders. Lises full pregnancy  
Breaks out when friendly sympathy doth smite.  
The higher rank the higher energy  
From nature's lowly lap to God's sublimity:   

22  
But well may man be called the epitome  
Of all things. Therefore no low life him made.  
The Highest holds all in His capacity.  
Therefore man's soul from Gods own life outrayed,  
His outgone Centre's on that centre stayed.  
What disadvantage then can the decay  
Of this poor carcase do, when it doth fade?  
The soul no more depends on this frail clay,  
Then on our eye depends bright Phoebus' glistering ray.   

23  
But in this argument we'll no longer stay,  
Consider now the souls conversion  
Into herself. Nought divisible may  
Close with itself by revolution.  
For then or part in this reflection,  
Is driven 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 ways right reason will control.   

24  
If part turn into part, part into whole,  
Whole into part, the thing doth not convert  
Into itself; the thing itself is all  
Not part of it 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'll have no distancy;  
So you destroy supposed divisibility.   

25  
Wherefore that thing is individuous  
What ever can into itself reflect,  
Such is the soul as hath been proved by us  
Before, and further now we do detect  
By her four wheels: The first height Intellect,  
Wherewith she drives into her Nature deep  
And finds it out; next Will, this doth affect  
Herself found out. Herself then out doth peep  
Into these acts, she into both doth easily creep.   

26  
But this conversions from the body free;  
B●gins not thence, nor thither doth return:  
Nor is the soul worse than her energy,  
If in her acts she be far higher born  
Than they should ' penned on this base corpse forlorn:  
Then also she ha●h no dependency  
Upon this body, but may safely scorn  
That low condition of servility,  
And blame all that aver that false necessity.   

27  
If she should issue from this nether spring,  
Nearer she kept to her Original  
She were the stronger, and her works would bring  
To more perfection; but alas! they fall  
They fail by near approach. The best of all  
Wax weak and faint by too close union  
With this foul fount. Might intellectual  
Grows misty by this straight conjunction;  
The will is waxed weak, its vigour quite is gone.   

28  
But O! how oft when she herself doth cut  
From nearer commerce with the low delight  
Of things corporeal, and her eyes doth shut  
To those false fading lights, she feels her spirit  
Filled with excessive pleasure, such a plight  
She finds that it doth fully satisfy  
Her thirsty life. Then reason shines out bright,  
And holy love with mild serenity  
Doth hug her harmless self in this her purity.   

29  
What grave monitions and sure prophecy  
Have men in sickness left? a true testation  
Of the souls utter independency  
On this poor crazy corpse. May that narration  
Of Aristotle's move easy persuasion  
Of his Endemus, to whom sick at Fere  
While sleep his senses bound, this revelation  
A gentle youth did bring with goodly cheer,  
And jolly blithe deportment, chase needless fear.   

30  
Told him that sickness would not mortal prove,  
He should grow well ere long, but deaths dread power  
On that towns tyrant should be shortly drove,  
Swift vengeance on his cursed head should shower:  
Both proved true. I could in plenty pour  
Such like examples, as of Pherecyde,  
Calanus, him of Rhodes, and others more;  
But it is needless, 'tis a truth well tried,  
The higher works the soul the more she is untied.   

31  
Then quite set lose from this her heavy chain  
She 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 ways think she pends at all  
Of that with which she has such repugnancies.  
What thing doth fight with its Original?  
The spring and stream be always homogeneal.   

32  
But the high heavenborn soul sprung out from Jove  
Ever is clashing with the foolery  
Of this dull body, which the sense doth love,  
And erring fancy. It were long to try  
In every thing: O how 'twould magnify  
The height of pleasures that fall under sense.  
This well described would prove its Deity.  
A vast round body clothed with th' excellence  
Of glorious glistering light through the wide air extense,   

33  
Bravely adorned with divers colours gay,  
Even infinite varieties that shine  
With wondrous brightness, varnished 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.  
Add fragrant odours waft with gentle wind,  
Add pleasant taste, soft touch to Venus' dear;  
This is the bodies God, this is its highest sphere.   

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  
Led not our soul unto Idolatry,  
Make us not rest in easy falsity.  
If thou be stirred up by working fire  
To search out god, to find the Deity;  
Take to thyself not what thine eyes admire  
Or any outward sense, or what sense can desire.   

35  
Behold a light far brighter than the Sun!  
The Sun's a shadow if you them compare,  
Or gross 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 subtle star,  
But indisperst is this bright Majesty,  
Yet every where out shining in infinity;   

36  
Unplaced, unparted, one close Unity,  
Yet omnipresent; all things, yet but one;  
Not streaked with gaudy multiplicity,  
Pure light without discolouration,  
Stable without circumvolution,  
Eternal rest, joy without passing sound:  
What sound is made without collision?  
Smell, taste, and touch make God a gross compound;  
Yet truth of all that's good is perfectly here found.   

37  
This is a riddle unto outward sense:  
And heavy fancy, that can rise no higher  
Than outward senses, knows no excellence  
But what those Five do faithfully inspire  
From their great God, this world; nor do desire  
More than they know: wherefore to consopite  
Or quench this false light of bold fancies fire,  
Surely must be an act contrary quite  
Unto this body's life, and its low grovelling spirit.   

38  
Wherefore the body's not Original  
Of humane soul when she doth thus resist  
That principle: which still more clearly shall  
Be proved. Oft when either drowsy mists  
Provoke to sleep, or worst of senses lists  
To ease his swelling veins, or stomach craves  
His wont food, that he too long hath missed,  
Or our dry lungs cool liquor fain would have,  
Or when in war our heart suggests the fear of grave:   

39  
Yet high desire of truth, and deep insight  
Into God's mystery makes us command  
These low attractions; and our countries right  
Bids march on bravely, stout and stiffly stand  
In bloody fight, and tried 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 fulfil.   

40  
This proves the soul to sit at liberty,  
Not wedged into this mass of earth, but free  
Unloosed 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 glimpse of their pure light. So Sol through clouds doth flow.   

41  
How oft do we neglect this body's 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 achievements be yborn  
Within the soul, tend to her perfecting,  
See th' independent mind in herself circuling!   

42  
Best plight of body hinders such like acts.  
How doth she then upon the body penned?  
To do those subtle, high, pure, heavenly facts?  
What? doth the Sun his rays 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 crowd  
Herself rely on that thick vapour where she's shroud.   

43  
But still to prove it clearer: If the mind  
Without the body's help can operate  
Of her own self, than 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 ruinated:  
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, fancy, 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 spirit  
And body, vital corporality  
We have from hence. Our souls be co-unite  
With the world's spirit and body, with these herself she has dight.   

45  
Our body struck by evolution  
Of outward forms spread in the world's vast spirit,  
Our listening mind by its adversion  
Doth notice take, but nothing is empight  
In it. Of old God's hand did all forms writ  
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 roaring winds, they'd hear no more than senseless stock.   

46  
Phansy's th' impression of those forms that flit  
In this low life: They oft continue long,  
When as our spirit 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 fling  
Against our spirit make deep insculption;  
Long time it is till their clear abolition.   

47  
Hence springeth that which men call memory,  
When outward object doth   
Our inward common spirit; or when that we  
From our own soul stir up clear fantasies  
Which be our own elicited Idees,  
Springing from our own central life, by might  
Of our strong Fiat as oft as we please.  
With these we seal that under grosser spirit,  
Make that our notebook, there our choifest notions write.   

48  
But sigh it is not any part of us,  
But longeth unto the great world, it must  
Be changed; 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 spirit,  
The body backward falls into the dust;  
It doth it by degrees. Hence fancy, sight,  
And memory in age do not their functions right.   

49  
Often disease, or some hard casualty  
Doth hurt this spirit, that a man doth lose  
The use of sense, wit, fancy, memory;  
That hence rash men our souls mortal 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 spirit. But her sad misery  
Is that so close she's tied in a prone Unity,   

50  
Leans on this bodies false security,  
Seeks for things there, not in herself, nor higher,  
Extremely loves this body's 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' Eternal light  
The ever-live-Idees, the lamping fire  
Of lasting Intellect, whose nearness might  
Illumin, were our minds not lost in that frail spirit.   

51  
That spirit 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 either's property.  
That spirit hath no perceptibility  
Of his impressions: Fantasy 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 Fancies that be fresh enough,  
Even deeply sealed upon that lower spirit,  
Unless 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, swaying might  
This spirit wound by its fierce riving ray;  
Our sight is hurt by th' eye of the broad blazing day.   

53  
Beside the senses each one are restrained  
To his own object: so is Phantasie.  
That in the spirits compass is contained;  
As likewise the low natural memory.  
But sooth to say, by a strong sympathy  
We both are moved by these, and these do move.  
As the light spider that makes at a fly,  
Herself now moves the web she subtly wove,  
Moved 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 subtle loom we feel as it doth hit;  
Most part into adversion we awake,  
Unless we chance into ourselves betake  
Ourselves, 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 joys.   

55  
All the five senses, Fancy, Memory,  
We feel their work, distinguish and compare,  
Find out their natures by the subtlety  
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 distinguished clear  
One from the other, as I erst did show.  
She knows that spirit, that spirit our soul can never know.   

56  
Sense, Fancy, Memory, as afore was said  
Be hurt by stronger objects, or be spoilt  
By longer exercise: Our soul ne'er fades,  
But doth her spirit commiserate long toiled  
With agitation, when she feels it moild  
Descends to comfort it, and gives it rest;  
But she grows quicker, vaster, never foiled  
With contemplations that this spirit molest:  
The inward soul's renewed as cannot be expressed.   

57  
How soul and spirit be severed we see,  
But how't works by itself is not yet shown;  
I mean without this sprights assistencie,  
Though not quite by herself. High light doth crown  
Her summitie, when sleep that spirit doth drown  
●●apt into highest heavens in ecstasy  
She sees such things as would low life confound,  
Enrage with a tumultuous agony,  
Burst this penned spirit for want of fit capacity.   

58  
Then is she joined with the Eternal Idees,  
Which move our souls as sights do here below:  
Joined with the spirit of God we gaze on these,  
As by the Mundane spirit th' Outworld we know.  
Our soul hangs twixt them both, and there doth go  
Where either spirit doth snatch her. Either raise  
Her inward forms, which leap out nothing-slow  
When sympathy them calls. Thus she displays  
Her inward life, God's light views with her wakened rays.   

59  
When we confute a pregnant falsity  
Clothed with strong phantasms in our snared mind,  
As this suppose, The earth's stability,  
What help can we in our low fancy find,  
Possessed of this impression? what shall bind  
This stubborn falsehood so inveterate?  
That spirit so stiffly set can't be inclined  
By aught but by the soul that contemplates  
Truth by herself, brings out her forms that be innate?   

60  
Flies she to sense? sense pleads for Ptolemee.  
Flies she to her low fancy? that's so swayed  
By sense, and fore-imprest Astronomy,  
By botched inculcate paradigmes made  
By senses dictate, that they'll both persuade  
That Philolaus and wise Heraclide  
Be frantic both, Copernicus twice mad.  
She cannot then this question well decide.  
By aught but her own forms that in herself reside.   

61  
Which she calls out unto her faithful aid,  
Commands deep silence to fond fantasy,  
Whose odious prating truth hath oft betrayed,  
And in her stead brought in rash falsity,  
Seated in sour inert stupidity.  
Then farewell sense, and what from sense hath sprung,  
Saith she, I'll contemplate in purity,  
And quit myself of that tumultuous throng:  
What then she fin●s shall be unfold in my next song.    

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA Or The Immortality of the Soul.  

BOOK III. CANT. III.  
That th' earth doth move, proofs Physical  
Unto us do descry;  
Add reasons Theosophicall,  
Als add Astronomy.   

1  
Blessed souls first Authors of Astronomy!  
Who clomb the heavens with your high reaching mind,  
Scaled the high battlements of the lofty sky,  
To whom compared this earth a point you find;  
Your bodies less, what measure hath defined?  
What art that mighty vastness? Such high facts  
The ancient Giants swollen with raging wind  
Can not effect. A subtle Parallax,  
A dark Eclipse do quite obscure their braving acts.   

2  
O the great might of man's high Fantasy!  
Which with a shade or a divided line,  
That nought, this but a thin exility,  
Can do fare more than strength enraged with tine,  
Hoisted with haughty pride. That brood combine  
To clamber up to heaven. Hill upon hill,  
Ossa upon Olympus doth recline:  
Their brawny arms redoubled force doth fill,  
While they their spirits summon t'effect their furious will.   

3  
But all in vain they want the inward skill.  
What comes from heaven only can thereascend.  
Not rage nor tempest that this bulk doth fill  
Can profit aught, but gently to attend  
The souls still working, patiently to bend  
Our mind to sifting reason, and clear light,  
That strangely figured 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 busy 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 viewed, 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 aged Ptolemce,  
I hearty praise your humble reverence  
If willingly given to Antiquity;  
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 oppugn our outward sense,  
Then are you forced to sense to bid adieu,  
Not what your sense gainsays to holden strait untrue.   

6  
Though contraire unto sense, though it be new  
(But sooth to say th' earth's motion is of tried  
Antiquity, as I above did show:  
In Philolaus and in Heraclide  
Those subtle thoughts of old did close reside)  
Yet reason ought to bear away the bell.  
But ireful ignorance cannot abide  
To be outtopd, reproachfully she will yell,  
Calls mad, when her own self doth with foul fury swell.   

7  
But let them bark like band-dogs at the Moon,  
That mindless passeth on in silencie:  
I'll take my flight above this outward sun,  
Regardless of such fond malignity,  
Lift myself up in the Theology  
Of heavenly Plato. There I'll contemplate  
The Archtype of this sun, that bright Idee  
Of steady Good, that doth his beams dilate  
Through all the worlds, all lives and beings propagate.   

8  
But yet in words to trifle I will deign  
A while: They may our mind fitly prepare  
For higher flight; we larger breath may gain  
By a low hover. These words they are  
All found in that old Oracle of Clare.  
That heavenly power which jao height  
The highest of all the Gods thou mayst declare,  
In spring named Zeus, in summer Helios bright,  
In autumn called Jao, Aides in brumal night.   

9  
These names do plainly denotate the sun,  
In Spring called Zeus, from life or kindly heat;  
In winter, 'cause the day's so quickly done,  
He Aides height, he is not long in sight;  
In Summer, cause he strongly doth us smite  
With his hot darts, than Helios we him name  
From Eloim or Eloah so height;  
In Autumn Jao, Jehovah is the same:  
So is the word depraved by an uncertain fame.   

10  
So great similitude twixt Phoebus' light  
And God, that God himself the Nations deem  
The sun. The learned Seventy have 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 David's odes they make Gods Christ a day;  
His father's then the sun from whence this light doth ray.   

11  
Then by all the wide world's acknowledgement,  
The sun's a type of that eternal light  
Which we call God, a fair delineament  
Of that which Good in Plato's school is height  
His T'agathon with beauteous rays bedight.  
Let's now consult with their Theology,  
And that Idea with our inward sight  
Behold, cashiering sensibility  
Then in clear reason view this correspondency.   

12  
One steady Good, centre of essencies,  
Unmoved Monad, that Apollo height,  
The Intellectual sun whose energies  
Are all things that appear in vital light,  
Whose brightness passeth every creatures sight,  
Yet round about him stirred with gentle fire  
All things do dance; their being, action, might,  
They thither do direct with strong desire,  
To embosomed 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 dispersed comprehend that Unity,  
Yet in their ranks they seemly foot it round,  
Trip it with joy at the world's 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 long e●k  
Rekindled still, by timely influence.  
Thus all things in distinct circumference  
Move about Him that satisfies them all.  
Nor be they thus stirred up by wary sense  
Or foresight, or election rational,  
But blindly reel about the leart of Lives central.   

15  
So doth the Earth one of the erring Seven  
Wheel round the fixed sun, that is the shade  
Of steady Good, shining in this Out-heaven  
With the rest of those stars that God hath made  
Of base matter, all which be arrayed  
With his far-shining light. They sing for joy,  
They frisk about in circuling unstay'd,  
Dance through the liquid air, and nimbly toy  
While Sol keeps clear their spirit, consumes what may accloy.   

16  
Better the indigent be moved, than he  
That wanteth nought: He fills all things with light  
And kindly heat: through his fecundity  
Peoples the world; by his exciting spirit  
Wakens the plants, calls them out of deep night.  
They thrust themselves into his fostering rays,  
Stretch themselves forth stirred by his quickening might.  
And all the while their merry roundelays  
(As lightsome fancies deem) each Planet sprightly plays.   

17  
But sooth to say that sound so subtle is  
Made by percussion of th'ethereal fire  
Against our air (if it be not transmisse  
By its exility,) that none ought admire  
That we no'te hear what well we might desire  
Heaven's harmony. ' 'Cording to others lear  
The sound's so big that it cannot retire  
Into the wind of a mortal 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 infer negation  
From thy dead ear, or non-experience.  
Then let them dance and sing, raise iufluence  
From lively motion, that preserves their spirit  
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 sun's all Light.   

19  
Therefore full safely he may steady stoned,  
Unmoved, at least not removed 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 steady stays  
And moves at once, that same jao height  
In that old Clarian Oracle, that says  
It is the sun. This answer will aright  
To Jove or Plato's On as done those schools descried.   

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 world's sun and centre of hid Morn,  
The radiant light of the deep Deity.  
Thus have I fairly proved the sun's stability.   

21  
Then must the earth turn round, or we want day,  
Or never be in night. Now I'll descend  
Clothed with this truth. As wrathful 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 domestic forms, to whom they are more kind.   

22  
And weaker reason which they want 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 waxed furious,  
Thus in our rage to shake the stable earth,  
Whirling her round with turns prodigious;  
For she doth steadfast stand as it appear'th  
From the unshaken buildings she so safely bear'th.   

23  
If she should move about, then would she sling  
From of herself those fair extructed loads  
Of carved stone: The air aloud would sing  
With brushing trees: Beasts in their dark abodes  
Would brained be by their own caves; th' earth strewed  
With strange destruction. All would shattered lie  
In broken shivers. What mad frantic mood  
Doth thus invade wary Philosophy,  
That it so dotes on such a furious falsity?   

24  
But still more subtly this cause to pursue,  
The clouds would always 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 Aeolus thinketh best.  
Again the Earth's 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  
Add unto these that contrariety  
Of motion, when as the self same things  
At the same time do back and forward high:  
As when for speed the rider fiercely dings  
His horse with iron heel, lays the lose strings  
Upon his neck, westward they swiftly scour,  
When as the Earth, finishing her daily rings,  
Doth Eastward make with all her might and power,  
She quite hath run her stage at end of twice twelve hours.   

26  
These and like fancies do so strongly tie  
The slower mind to aged Ptolemee,  
That shameful madness it were for to deny  
So plain a truth as they deem this to be.  
But yet, alas! if they could stand free  
From prejudice, and heavy swaying sense  
That dims our reason that it cannot see  
What's the pure truth, enough in just defence  
Of Pythagore we find though with small diligence,   

27  
One single truth concerning unity  
Of sprights and bodies, and how on Form may  
Enact a various Corporeity,  
Keeped up together and her might display  
Through all the parts, make't constantly obey  
The powerful dictates of its central spirit,  
Which being one can variously play:  
This lore if we but once had learnt aright,  
All what was brought afore would vanish at first sight.   

28  
For that Magnetic might doth so combine  
Earth, Water, Air, into one animate,  
Whose soul or life so sweetly it doth incline,  
So surely, easily, as none can relate  
But he that's exercised in every state  
Of moving life. What? Can the plastic spirit  
So variously his branching stock dilate  
Downward to hell upward to heaven bright,  
And strangely figured leaves and flowers send into sight?   

29  
Can one poor single Centre do all this  
In a base weed that suddenly decays?  
And shall not the earth's life that is transmisse  
Through sea and air, and with its potent rays  
Informs all this (all this on that life stays)  
 not obtain the like variety  
Of inward ruling motion? Your minds raise,  
O sluggish men! single centrality  
You'll find shall do, what ever's admit by fantasy.   

30  
Now see if this clear apprehension  
Will not with case repel each argument  
Which we rehearsed with an intention  
For to refute. The earth's swift movement,  
Because 'tis natural not violent,  
Will never shatter buildings. With strait line  
It binds down strongly each partic'larment  
Of every edifice. All stones incline  
Unto that Centre; this doth stoutly all combine:   

31  
Nor is less natural that circular motion,  
Then this which each part to the centre drives:  
So every stone on earth with one commotion  
Goes round, and yet withal right stiffly 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 shaked by idle boys  
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 spirit, which easily reached  
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 strait shall chase away. In th' air they lie  
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 inclined.   

34  
What they pretend of the Earth's gravity,  
Is nought but a long taken up conceit:  
A stone that downward to the earth doth hy  
Is not more heavy than dry straws that jet  
Up to a ring made of black shining jet.  
Each thing doth tend to the loud-calling might  
Of sympathy. So 'tis a misconceit  
That deems the earth the only heavy weight.  
They ken not the strange power of the strong central spirit.   

35  
Were there a shiver cut from off the Moon  
And cast quite off from that round entire mass,  
will't fall into our mouths? No, it would soon  
Make back to th' centre from whence forced it was:  
The same in Mars and Sol would come to pass,  
And all the stars that have their proper centres.  
So gravity is nought but close to press  
Unto one Magic 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 central sway,  
Which hinders not but that it may turn round,  
Sith that it moves not a contrary way.  
Which answre I will bend against the fifth assay:   

37  
An arrow shot into the empty air,  
Which strait returning to the bowmans' foot,  
The Earth's stability must proven clear.  
Thus these bad archers do at random shoot,  
Whose easy error I do thus confute.  
The arrow hath one spirit with this sphere,  
Forced upward turns with it, moved by the root  
Of natural motion. So when backed doth bear  
Itself, 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 less, but in the heavens blew  
Those Arks increase, it must not be so slow  
Thus must it needs return unto its idle bow.   

39  
Nor ought we wonder that it doth conform  
Its motions to the circles of the air,  
Sith water in a wooden bucket born  
Doth sit itself unto each periphere,  
By height or depth, as you shall change the sphere.  
So lowly set more water it will contain,  
'Cause its round tumour higher than doth bear  
Itself up from the brims. So  be say  
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 ways, which by a fit retection  
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 cleared the way)  
More plainly prove this seeming paradox  
And make this truth shine brighter than midday,  
Neglect dull sconces mows and idle mocks.  
O constant hearts, as stark as Thracian rocks,  
Well grounded in grave ignorance, that scorn  
Reasons sly force, its light slight subtle strokes.  
Sing we to these waste hills, darn, deaf, forlorn,  
Or to the cheerful children of the quick-eyed Morn?   

42  
To you we sing that live in purer light,  
Escaped the thraldom of down-drooping sense,  
Whose nimble spirit and clear piercing sight  
Can easily 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 subtleties, they show themselves in jangling stout.   

43  
I have the barking of bold sense confuted,  
It's clamorous tongue thus being consopite,  
With reasons easy shall I be well suited,  
To show that P●thagore's position's right.  
Copernicks, or whosever dogmaed height.  
The first is that that's wisely signified  
By Moses Maymons son, a learned wight,  
Who saith each good Astronomer is tied  
To lessen the heaven's motions vainly multiplied,   

44  
And the foul botches of false feigned Orbs:  
Whose useless number reason must restrain,  
That oft the lose luxuriant fancy curbs,  
And in just bounds doth warily contain:  
To use more means than needs is all in vain.  
Why then, O busy sons of Prolemee!  
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 needless phansies this that that huge sphere  
In one short moment must thus whirl around,  
That it must fly six hundred thousand shear  
Of German miles. If that will not confound,  
For pomp add forty 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 Ethereal (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 tied,  
As men do feign the earth in the soft air  
To be unmoved) How will proportion fit?  
So vast a difference there doth appear  
Of motions in those stars that the same bigness bear.   

47  
Besides that difficulty will remain  
Of unconceivable swift motion  
In the Equinoctial stars, where some contain  
This earthy globes mighty dimension,  
Ten thousand times twice told. They hurry on  
With the same swiftness I set down before,  
And with more pains. A globes extension,  
The bigger that it grows, groweth still more  
Nigh to a flat faced figure, and finds resistance fore.   

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●e yielding Aether gives admission:  
So gentle Venus to Mercurius dares  
Descend, and finds an easy intromission,  
Casts  that azu● curtain by a swift discission.   

49  
That famous star nailed down in Cassiopee,  
How was it hammered in your solid sky?  
What pinsers pulled it out again, that we  
No longer see it, whither did it fly?  
Astronomers say 'twas at lest as high  
As the eighth sphere. It gave no parallax,  
No more than those light lamps that there we spy.  
But prejudice before herself she'll tax  
Of holy writ & the heavens she'll make a nose of wax.   

50  
What man will now that's not vertiginous  
Hurry about his head these several lights  
So mighty vast, with so voracious  
And rapid course whirling them day and night  
About the earth, when the earth's motion might  
Save that so monstrous labour, with less pains,  
Even infinitely less? But thoughts empight  
Once in the mind do so possess the brains,  
That hard it is ●o wash out those deep ancient stains.   

51  
Two things there be whose reason's nothing clear:  
Those cool continual breathe 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 moved the earth unto their aid;  
Diurnal and an annual course they have mind  
Like to the suns, beside, by what they're swayed  
To North or South. This myst'ry's easily thus displayed.   

52  
The Ecliptic course, and that diurnal moving,  
Is but apparent as the suns, not true:  
But that the earth doth move, that still wants proving,  
You'll say. Then if you will, these Comets show  
One proof for her two motions. Whence issue  
Those meteors turn? 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 Earth's 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 Equinoctial, 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 Earth's swift hurrying from the West?  
Mid part is strongliest roused the Poles do sleep in rest.   

54  
Wherefore men under th' Equinoctial,  
Where the earth's course most rapid is and swift,  
Sensibly be dashed 'gainst that aereal  
Pure liquid essence. That clear air is left  
Not snatched away so fast, not quite bereft  
Of its own Nature, nor like th' other sky  
Unmoved quite; but slowpaced is yeleft  
And driven close together; sensibly  
So feel we that fine air that seems from East to fly.   

55  
Those parts be in fare greater purity  
Devoid of earthy vapours. Thence it is  
They're not so easily turned by sympathy,  
The air there having less of earthiness;  
So that they move not with one speediness,  
The earth and it. Yet curious men have fun  
Something like this, even in the midland Seas  
Ships four times sooner the same stages run,  
When Westward they do fly, then when they there begun.   

56  
But that disgracement of Philosophy  
From flux and reflux of the Ocean main  
Their monthly and yearly change; this Theory  
Might take't away and show the causes plain.  
Some parts of th' Earth do much more swiftness gain,  
When as their course goes whirling on one way  
With th' annual 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 passse, myself betake  
Unto some reasons Astronomical,  
To which if't please the nimble mind t' awake  
And shake off prejudice, that want forestall  
The ablest wit, I fear not but he'll fall  
Into the same opinion, magnify  
That subtle spirit that hath made this All,  
And hath half-hid his work from mortal eye,  
To sport and play with souls in sweet philosophy,   

58  
But with crabbed mind wisdom will ne'er consort,  
Make her abode with a sour ingeny;  
That harmless spirit herself will ne'er disport  
With bloody zeal, currish malignity,  
With wrathful ignorance, grave hypocrisy.  
Mirth, and Free mindedness, Simplicity,  
Patience, discreetness, and Benignity,  
Faithfulness, heartstruck Teneritie;  
These be the lovely playemates of pure verity.   

59  
The Eternal Son of God, who Logos height,  
Made all things in a fit proportion;  
Wherefore, I wot, 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 shows 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 unmoved,  
This needs must come to pass. For they go round  
In every twice twelve hours, as is proved  
By daily experience. But it would confound  
The world's right order, if't were surely found  
A real motion. Wherefore let it be  
In them but seeming, but a real round  
In th' Earth itself. 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 Annual periods in the liquid Heaven  
They only finish then: which as they be  
Or less or greater, so the time they fly  
In their own circlings hath its difference.  
The Moon a month, Saturn years ten times three;  
Those have the least and biggest circumference.  
So all their times and orbs have mutual reference.   

62  
Next light's, the Planets dark opacity,  
Which long time hath been found in the low Moon:  
Hills, Valleys, and such like asperity  
Through optic 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 Mercury, about the Sun both circulate.   

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 Sun, and further off doth roll.  
But when her circling nearer down doth pull,  
Then 'gins she swell, and waxed bug with horn,  
But lose her light, parts clad with darkness dull  
She shows to us, She and Mercury ne'er born  
Fare from the Sun, proves that about him both do turn.   

64  
They both opake, as also is the Moon  
That turns about the Earth (so turn those four  
'Bout Jupiter, tend him as he doth run  
His annual course) That Tellus so may scour  
Th'ethereal Plain, and have the self same power  
To run her circuits in the liquid sky  
About the Sun, the mind that doth not lour,  
Drooping in earthy dregs, will not deny,  
Sith we so well have proved the stars opacity.   

65  
About the great the lesser lamps do dance,  
The Medicean four reel about Jove;  
Two round old Saturn without Nominance,  
Luna about the earth doth nimbly move:  
Then all as it doth seemly well behoove,  
About the biggest of all great Phoebus height  
With joy and jollity 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 express  
With Poet's pen) it hath so mighty force,  
That an ingenious man 'twould stoutly press  
To give assent unto the Annual 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, choked with that oppression.  
This argument is drawn from the stars retrocession.   

67  
Planets go back, stand still, and forward fly  
With unexpected swiftness: What's the cause  
That they thus stagger in the plain-payed sky?  
Or stupid stand, as if some dull repose  
Did numb their spirits and their sinews lose?  
Here begins the wheelwork of the Epicycle:  
Thus patch they Heaven more botch'dly then old   
This pretty sport doth make my heart to tickle  
With laughter, and mine eyes with merry tears to trickle.   

68  
O daring fancy! 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 perplexed,  
Thrust in on every hint of motion,  
Must be the wondrous art of Nature, next  
Here working under God. Thus, thus vain man  
Entitles always 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 freedom 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 disordered superfluity  
Of Epicycles, or what else is shown  
To salve the strange absurd enormity  
Of staggering motions in the azure sky;  
Both Epicycles and those turns enorm  
Would all prove nought, if you would but let fly  
The earth in the Ecliptic line yborn,  
As I could well describe in Mathematic form.   

71  
So could I (that's another argument)  
From this same principle most clearly prove  
In regress and in progress different  
Of the free Planets: Why Saturn should rove  
With shorter start, give back less than Jove;  
Jove less than Mars; why Venus flincheth out  
More than Mercurius; why Saturn moves  
Ofter in those back jets then Jove doth shoot;  
But Mercury more oft than Venus and Mars stout,   

72  
And why the Sun escaped an Epicycle,  
When as th' old prodigal Astronomy  
On th' other six bestowed that needless cycle;  
Why Saturn, Jove, and Mars be very nigh  
Unto the Earth, show bigger in our eye  
At Eventide when they rise Acronical;  
Why far removed with so vast distancy  
When they go down with setting cronical:  
All these will plain appear from th' earth's course Annual.   

73  
Many other reasons from those heavenly motions  
Might well be drawn, but with exility  
Of subtle Mathematics obscure notions,  
A Poet's pen so fitly no'te agreed;  
And curious men will judgeed 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 bowed course did bend.   

74  
For I have clearly showed that stout resistance  
Of the pure soul against the Mundane spirit  
And body, that's the lower man's consistence;  
How it doth quell by force of reason right  
Those gross impressions which our outward sight  
Sealed 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.    

The Argument of PSYCHATHANASIA, OR, The Immortality of the Soul.  
Book. 3. Cant. 4.  

Justice, true faith in the first good,  
Our best persuasion  
Of blessed eternity unmoved,  
The earth's conflagration.   

1  
IT doth me good to think what things will follow  
That well proved thesis in my former song;  
How we in liquid heavens more swift than swallow  
Do sail on Tellus' lap that doth among  
The other stars 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,  
Hats, envy, covetise, revenge, lust, pride and ire.   

2  
In the eighth sphere Andromeda from chains  
Is not released; fearful Orion flies  
The dreadful Scorpion. Alas! what gains  
Then is it 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 dwells his beauteous Majesty;  
There shines the sun of righteousness in goodly glee.   

3  
And you who boldly all God's providence  
Confine to this small ball, that Tellus height,  
And dream not of a mutual influence,  
And how that she may shine with beams bright  
At a fare distance clad with Sols lent light,  
As Venus and the Moon; O you that make  
This earth God's only 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 Princess Earth  
In their quick circuits, and with anger keen  
Would by't 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 yourselves monopolise  
All the whole world, so yourselves back again  
You wholly give to God. Who can devise  
A better way? Man's soul to God this closely ties.   

5  
But if the Earth doth thankfully reflect  
Both light and influence to other stars,  
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 stars be mutually made  
One for another: Each all the good than bears  
Of th' Universe, for 'tis 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 envy, and vain pride,  
And base contract self-love? which that free flood  
Of bounty hath so confidently tied  
Unto itself alone. Large hearts deride  
This penned hypocrisy. Is he good to me?  
That grace I would not ere should be denied  
Unto my fellow My felicity  
Is multiplied, when others I like happy see.   

7  
But if the rolling stars with mutual rays  
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 sky,  
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 severity  
May deem; but we right careless 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 wrought,   

9  
O th'emptiness of vain Philosophy!  
When thin-spun reason and exile discourse  
Make the soul creep through a straight Theory,  
Wither the blunter mind can never force  
Herself; yet oft, alas! the case is worse  
Of this so subtle wight, when dangers deep  
Approach his life, than his who learning's source  
Did never drink of, near 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 sour  
With rage and tempest, plenteously down shower  
Great floods 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.   

11  
Say now the dagger touched thy trembling breast,  
Couldst thou recall the reasons I have shown  
To prove th' immortal state of men deceased?  
Evolved reason cannot stand at one  
Stoutly to guard thy soul from passion.  
They pass successively like sand i'th' glass;  
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 surpass.   

12  
The just and constant man, a multitude  
Set upon mischief cannot him constrain  
To do amiss by all their uproars rude,  
Not for a tyrant's threat will he ere slain  
His inward honour. The rough Adrian  
Tossed with unquiet winds doth nothing move  
His steady heart. Much pleasure he doth gain  
To see the glory of his Master Jove,  
When his dread darts with hurrying light through all do rove.   

13  
If Heaven and Earth should rush with a great noise,  
he fearless stands, he knows whom he doth trust,  
Is confident of his souls after joys,  
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 spirit  
Of the low man, vigorously finds she must  
Be independent of such feeble might  
Whose motions dare not appear before her awful fight.   

14  
But yet my Muse, still take an higher flight,  
Sing of Platonic Faith in the first Good,  
That Faith that doth our souls to God unite  
So strongly, tightly, that the rapid flood  
Of this swift flux of things, nor with foul mud  
Can slain, nor strike us off from th' unity,  
Wherein we steadfast stand, unshaked, unmoved,  
Engrafted by a deep vitality.  
The prop and stay of things is God's benignity.   

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 sour despite!  
Harsh hearts! that feign in God a tyranny,  
Under pretence t' increase his sovereign Majesty.   

16  
When nothing can to Gods own self accrue,  
Who's infinitely happy; sure the end  
Of this creation simply was to show  
His flowing goodness, 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 bliss each willing heart.  
So the free Sun doth ' light and ' liven every part.   

17  
This is the measure of God's providence,  
The key of knowledge, the first fair Idee,  
The eye of truth, the spring of living sense,  
Whence sprout God's secrets, the sweet mystery  
Of lasting life, eternal charity.  
But you O bitter men and sour of spirit!  
Which brand God's name with such foul infamy  
As though poor humane race he did or slight,  
Or curiously view to do them some despite,   

18  
And all to show his mighty excellency,  
His uncontrolled strength: fond men! aread,  
Is't not as great an act from misery  
To keep the feeble, as his life to speed  
With fatal stroke? The weak shaked whistling reed  
Shows Boreas wondrous strong! but ignorance  
And false conceit is the foul spirits meed;  
Gods lovely life hath there no entrance;  
Hence their fond thoughts for truth they vainly do advance.   

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 loved  
Of my dear soul, and know that I have born  
Much for his sake; yet is it not bence proved  
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 vital breath,  
And my dear spirit to my God commend,  
Yet some foul feign close lurking underneath  
My serious humble soul from me may rend:  
So to the lower shades down we shall wend,  
Though I in heart's simplicity expected  
A better doom; sigh 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 departed,  
Can any be assured, if liberty  
We give to such odd 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 aught we know then God may act that ill,  
Only to show his might, and his free mind fulfil.   

22  
O belch of hell! O horrid blasphemy!  
That Heaven's unblemished beauty thus dost slain  
And brand God's nature with such infamy:  
Can Wise, Just, Good, do aught 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-ful, self-joyed, self-excellent.   

23  
He his fair beams through all has freely 〈◊〉  
Purge but thy soul that thou mayst take them in.  
With froward hypocrite he never went,  
That finds pretexts to keep his darling sin.  
Through all the earth this Spirit takes pains to win  
Unto himself such as be simply true,  
And with malignant pride resist not him,  
But strive to do what he for right doth show;  
So still a greater light he brings into their view.   

24  
All Lives in several circumference  
Look up unto him and expect their food;  
He opes his hand, showers down their sustinence:  
So all things be yfild with their wished good,  
All drink, are satisfied from this free flood.  
But circling life that yet unsettled is  
Grows strait, as it is further still removed  
From the first simple Good, obtains less bliss,  
Sustains sharp pains inflicted by just Nemesis.   

25  
But why do I my soul lose and disperse  
With mouldering 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 woe,  
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  
Goodness itself 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 men's souls deaths hests shall not obey.  
Where there's no incompossibility  
Of things, God's goodness needs must bear the sway.  
You virtuous brood take't for sure verity,  
Your souls shall not fall short of blessed eternity.   

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 spirit  
To have confirmed at my last farewell:  
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 goodness stayed  
So long a time? why did he not display  
From infinite years this out-created ray?  
The mighty stars why not in habited,  
When God may souls proportion to their clay  
As well as to this earth? why not dispred  
The world withouten bounds, endless uncompassed?   

28  
Poor 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 wisdom if it list  
Can so contrive that they'd at last desist  
From sinning, fallen into some providence  
That sternly might rebuke them that have missed  
Their way, and work in them true penitence:  
Thus might they turn to God with double diligence.   

29  
Why be not damned souls devoid of sense,  
If nothing can from wickedness reclaim,  
Rather than 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 central spirit  
Why  not many forms in it contain,  
Which may be waked by some magnetic might,  
‛ 'Cording as is the matter upon which they light?   

30  
For when too several kinds by Venus knit  
Do cause a birth, from both the soul doth take  
A tincture; but if free it were transmit  
Unclothed with th' others seed, than it would make  
One simple form; for than 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 lose will,  
That his innumerous offspring he should foully spill.   

31  
Why was not this unlucky world dissolved  
As soon as that unhappy Adam fell?  
I itch till of this knot I be resolved:  
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 dreary dread designs do make my heart to quake.   

32  
One of a multitude of myriads  
Shall not be saved but broyl in scorching woe;  
Innumerous mischiefs then to mischiefs adds  
This world's continuance if that be so:  
Ill infinitely more than good doth grow.  
So God would show much more benignity  
If he the ribs of heaven about would strew,  
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 God's secrets dive,  
Base fear my manly face no'te make m'avert.  
In that odd question which thou first didst start  
I'll plainly prove thine incapacity  
And force thy feeble feet back to revert,  
That cannot climb so high a mystery.  
I'll show thee strange perplexed inconsistency.   

34  
Why was this world from all infinity  
Not made? sayest thou: why? could it be so made  
Say I. For well observe the sequency:  
If this Outworld continually hath wade  
Through a long long spun-time that never had  
Beginning, then there as few circuling  
Have been in the quick Moon as Saturn sad;  
And still more plainly this clear truth to sing,  
As many years as days or fleeting hours have been.   

35  
For things that we conceive are infinite,  
One th'other no'te surpass in quantity.  
So I have proved with clear convincing light,  
This world could never from infinity  
Been made. Certain deficiency  
Doth always follow evolution:  
Nought's infinite but tied eternity  
Close thrust into itself: extension  
That's infinite implies a contradiction.   

36  
So then for aught 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 ne'er desist  
From running still. But we may safely say  
Time passed compared with this long future list  
Doth show as if the world but yesterday  
Were made, and in due time God's 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 day's approach. This will hap certainly  
At this world's shining conflagration.  
Fayes, Satyrs, Goblins the night merrily  
May spend, but ruddy Sol shall make them all to fly.   

38  
The roaring Lions and dread beasts of prey  
Rule in the dark with piteous cruelty;  
But harmless man is master of the day,  
Which doth his work in pure simplicity.  
God bless his honest useful industry.  
But pride and covetise, ambition,  
Riot, revenge, self love, hypocrisy,  
Contempt of goodness, forced opinion;  
These and such like do breed the world's confusion.   

39  
But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse  
Seemeth to vaunt as in got victory,  
And with puissant stroke the head to bruise  
Of her stiff foe, and daze his fantasy,  
Captive his reason, dead each faculty:  
Yet in herself so strong a force withstands  
That of herself afraid, sh●'ll not abye,  
Nor keep the field. She'll fall by her own hand  
As Ajax once laid Ajax dead upon the strand.   

40  
For thus herself by her own self's opposed;  
The Heavens the Earth the universal Frame  
Of living Nature God so soon disclosed  
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 World's Creation  
More suddenly were made then man's swift thought can run?   

41  
Wherefore that Heavenly Power or is as young  
As this World's date; or else some needless space  
Of time was spent, before the earth did clung  
So close unto herself and seas embrace  
Her hollow breast, and if that time surpass  
A finite number then infinity  
Of years before this World's Creation pass.  
So that the durance of the Deity  
We must contract or straight his full Benignity.   

42  
But for the cradle of the Cretian Jove,  
And guardians of his vagient Infancy  
What sober man but sagely will reprove?  
Or drown the noise of the fond Dactyli  
By laughter loud? Dated Divinity  
Certes is but the dream of a dry brain●  
God maimed in goodness, inconsistency;  
Wherefore my troubled mind is now in pain  
Of a new birth, which this one Canto will not contain.     

Nihil tamen frequentius inter Autores occurrit, quàm ut omnia adeò ex modulo ferè sensuum suorum aestimant, ut ea quae insuper infinit is rerum spariis extare possunt sive superbè sive imprudenter rejiciant; quin & ea omnia in usum suum sabricata suisse glorientur, perinde facientes ac si pediculi humanum caput, aut pulices sinum muliebrem propter se solos condita existimarent, eáque demum ex gradibus saltibûsque suis metirentur.  The Lord Herbert in his De Causis Errorum. 
De generali totius hujus mundi aspectabilis constructione ut rectè Ph●losophemur duo sunt imprimis observanda: Unum ut attendentes ad infinitam Dei potentiam & bonitatem, nè vereamur nimis ampla & pulohra & absoluta ejus opera imaginari: sed è contra caveamus, nè si quos fortè limites nobis non certò cognitos, in ipsis supponanius, non satìs magnificè de creatoris potentia sentire videamur.  
Alterum, ut etiam caveamus, nè nimis superbè de nobis ipsis sentiamus. Quod sieret non modò, si quos limites nobis nullâ cognitos ratione, nec divinâ revelatione, mundo vellemus assingere, tanquam si vis nostra cogitationis, ultra id quod à Deo revera factum est ferri posset; sed etiam maximè, si res omnes propter nos s●los, ab illo creatas esse singeremus.  Renatus Des Cartes in his Princip. Philosoph. the third part.  

Democritus Platonissans, OR AN ESSAY upon the INFINITY OF WORLDS out of Platonic Principles. Annexed To this second part of the SONG of the SOUL, as an Appendix thereunto.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  Plat. Pythagoras Terram Planetam quendam esse censuit qui ●irca solem in centro mundi defixum converteretur. Pythagoram secuti sunt Philolaus, Seleucus, Cleanthes, etc. imò PLATO jam senex, ut narras Theophrastus. Libert. Fromond. de Orb terrae immobili. 
CAMBRIDGE, Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the University. 1647.   

To the Reader.  
Reader,  
I Present to thee here in its proper place what I have heretofore offered to thee upon less advantage, but upon so little, no where (I conceive) as that I should despair of thy acceptance, if the overstrangenesse of the Argument prove no hindrance. infinity of WORLDS. A thing monstrous if assented to, and to be startled at, especially by them, whose thoughts this one have always so engaged, that they can find no leisure to think of any thing else. But I only make a bare proposal to more acute judgements, of what my sportful fancy, with pleasure hath suggested: following my old design of furnishing men's minds with variety of apprehensions concerning the most weighty points of Philosophy, that they may not seem rashly to have settled in the truth, though it be the truth: a thing as ill beseeming Philosophers, as hasty prejudicative sentence Political Judges. But if I had relinquished here my wont self, in proving Dogmatic, I should have found very noble Patronage for the cause among the ancients, Epicurus, Democricus, Lucretius, etc. Or if justice may reach the dead do them the right as to show, that though they be hooted at, by the Rout of the learned, as men of menstruous conceits, they were either very wise or exceeding fortunate to light on so probable and specious an opinion, in which notwithstanding there is so much difficulty and seeming inconsistency.  
Nay and that sublime and subtle Mechanic too, Des-Chartes, though he seem to mince it must hold infinitude of worlds, or which is as harsh, one infinite one. For what is his mundus indefinitè ext●nsus, but extensus infinitè? Else it sounds enely infinitus quoad nos, but simpliciter finitus. But if any space be lest out u●stussed with Atoms, it will hazard the dissipation of the whole frame of Nature into disjointed dust; as may be proved by the Principles of his own Philosophte. And that that there is space wherever God is, or any actual and self-subsistent Being, seems to me no plainer than one of their 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
For mine own part, I must confess these apprehersions do plainly oppose what heretofore I have conceived; but I have sworn more faithful friendship with Truth then with myself. And therefore without all ren●rse ●ay battery against mine own edifice: not sparing to show how week that is, that myself now deems not impregnably strong. I have at the latter end of the last Canto of P●ychathanasia, not without triumph concluded, that the world hath not continued ab aeterno from this ground: 
— Extension  
That's infinite implies a contradiction.  And this is in answer to an objection against my last argument of the souls Immortality, viz. divine goodness. Which I there make the measure of his providence. That ground limits the Essence of the world as well as its duration, and satisfies the curiosity of the Opposer, by showing the incompossibilitie in the Creature, not want of goodness in the Creator to have stayed the framing of the Vaiverse. But now roused up by a new Philosophic fury, I answer that difficulty by taking away the Hypothesis of either the world or time being finite: defending the infinitude of both. Which though I had done with a great deal of vigour and life, and semblance of assent, it would have agreed well enough with the free heat of Poesy, and might have passed for a pleasant flourish: but theseverity of my own judgement and sad Genius, hath cast in many correctives and coolers into the Canto itself; so that it cannot amount to more than a discussion. And discussion is no prejudice but an honour to the truth: for then and never but then is she victorious. And what a glorious Trophy shall the finite world erect when it hath vanquished the Infinite; a Pygmy a Giant!  
H. M.   

The Argument of Democritus Platonissans, OR The Infinite of Worlds.  

'Gainst boundless time th' objections made,  
And waste infinity  
Of worlds, are with new reasons weighed,  
Mens judgements are left free.   

1  
HEnce, hence unhallowed cars & hearts more hard  
Than 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;  
Winte're my pregnant Muse brings forth to light,  
Sh●'ll not acknowledge to be of her kind,  
Till Eaglelike she turn them to the sight  
Of the eternal Word all decked with glory bright.   

2  
Strange sights do straggle in my restless thoughts,  
And lively forms with orient colours clad  
Walk in my boundless mind, as men ybourhgt  
Into some spacious room, who when '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 possess me till they out again.   

3  
And thus possessed, 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 passed 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 heedless haste elsewhere, 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 placed above all mortal skill.  
But yet our various thoughts to represent  
Each gentle wight will deem of good intent.  
Wherefore with leave th' infinity I'll sing  
Of Time, of Space: or without leave; I'm brent  
With eager 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 endless 'spersed air.  
My nimble mind this clammy clod doth leave,  
And lightly stepping on from star to star  
Swifter than lightning, passeth wide and fare,  
Measuring th' unbounded Heavens and wasteful sky;  
Ne ought she finds her passage to debar,  
For still the a zure Orb as she draws nigh  
Gives back, new stars appear, the world's walls 'fore her fly.   

6  
For what can stand that is so badly stayed?  
Well may that fall whose groundwork is unsure.  
And what hath walled the world but thoughts unweighed  
In freer reason? That antiquate, secure,  
And easy dull conceit of corporature,  
Of matter, quantity, and such like gear  
Hath made this needless, thankless enclosure,  
Which I in full disdain quite up will tear  
And lay all , that as things are they may appear.   

7  
For other they appear from what they are  
By reason that their Circulation  
Cannot well represent entire from fare  
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 fight;   

8  
All in just bigness and right colours dight.  
But total presence without all defect  
Belongs only to that Trinity by right,  
Ahad, Aeon, Psyche with all graces decked,  
Whose nature well this riddle will detect;  
A circle whose circumference no where  
Is circumscribed, whose Centre's each each where set,  
But the low Cusp's a figure circular,  
Whose compass is ybound, but centre's every where.   

9  
Wherefore who'il judge the limits of the world  
By what appears unto our failing sight  
Appeals to sense, reason down headlong hurled  
Out of her throne by giddy vulgar might.  
But here base senses dictates they will dight  
With specious title of Philosophy,  
And stiffly will contend their cause is right  
From rotten rolls of school antiquity,  
Who constantly deny corporal infinity.   

10  
But who can prove their corporalitie  
Since matter which theretoes essential  
If rightly sifted's but a fantasy.  
And quantity who's deemed Original  
Is matter, must with matter likewise fall.  
What ever is, is Life and Energy  
From God, who is th' Original of all;  
Who being everywhere doth multiply  
His own broad shade that endless throughout all doth lie.   

11  
He from the last projection of light  
Yclept Shamajim, which is liquid fire  
(It Aether eke and central Tasis height)  
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 darkness dead doth bind,  
And without borrowed rays they be both cold and blind.   

12  
All these be knots of th' universal stole  
Of sacred Psyche; which at first was fine,  
Pure, thin, and pervious till hid powers did pull  
Together in several points and did incline  
The nearer parts in one clod to combine.  
Those central 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 usual law.   

13  
And what is done in this Terrestrial star  
The same is done in every Orb beside.  
Each flaming Circle that we see from fare  
Is but a knot in Psyche's garment tide.  
From that lax shadow cast throughout the wide  
And endless world, that low'st projection  
Of universal life each thing's derived  
What ere appeareth in corporeal fashion;  
For bodies but this spirit, fixed, gross by conspissation.   

14  
And that which doth conpissate active is;  
Wherefore not matter but some living spirit  
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 phantafies  
The essence of our soul not changed a whit  
So do these Atoms change their energies  
Themselves unchanged into new Centreities.   

15  
And as our soul's not superficially  
Coloured by phantasms, nor doth them reflect  
As doth a lookingglass such imagery  
As it to the beholder doth detect:  
No more are these lightly or smeared or decked  
With form or motion which in them we see,  
But from their inmost Centre they project  
Their vital rays, not merely passive be,  
But by occasion waked rouse up themselves on high.   

16  
So that they're life, form, spirit, not matter pure,  
For matter pure is a pure nullity,  
What nought can act is nothing, I am sure;  
And if all act, that is they'll not deny  
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 pass,  
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 endless large Extent  
Of lowest life (which I styled whileere  
The Cuspis of the Cone that's every where)  
Was first all dark, till in this spacious Hall  
Hideous through silent horror torches clear  
And lamping lights bright shining over all  
Were set up in due distances proportional.   

18  
Innumerable numbers of fair Lamps  
Were rightly ranged in this hollow hole,  
To warm the world and chase the shady damps  
Of immense darkness, rend her pitchy stole  
Into short rags more dusty dim then coal.  
Which pieces then in several were cast  
(Abhorred relics of that vesture foul)  
Upon the Globes that round those torches traced,  
Which still fast on them stick for all they run so fast.   

19  
Such an one is that which mortal men call Night,  
A little shted of that unbounded shade.  
And such a Globe is that which Earth is height;  
By witless Wizzards the sole centre made  
Of all the world, and on strong pillars stayed.  
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 than infinite Earth's 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 vicious pen her sacred worth defile.  
If we no more of truth should deign t' embrace  
Then what unworthy mouths did never soil,  
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 sun, the visible Deity  
Of this external Temple. Mercury  
Next placed and warmed more throughly by his rays,  
Right nimbly 'bout his golden head doth fly:  
Then Venus nothing slow about him strays,  
And next our Earth though seeming sad full sprightly plays.   

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 could wons in our outmost sky.  
The skirts of his large Kingdom surely lie  
Near to the confines of some other worlds  
Whose Centres are the fixed stars on high,  
'Bout which as their own proper Suns are hurled  
Jove's, Earth's, and Satur's; round on their own axes twurld.   

23  
Little or nothing are those stars to us  
Which in the azure Evening gay appear  
(I mean for influence but judicious  
Nature and careful Providence her dear  
And matchless 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 cheered be in dampish night.   

24  
And as the Planets in our world (of which  
The sun's the heart and kernel) do receive  
Their nightly light from suns that do enrich  
Their sable mantle with bright gems, and give  
A goodly splendour, and sad men relieve  
With their fair twinkling rays, so our world's sun  
Becomes a star elsewhere, and doth derive  
Joint light with others, cheereth 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 the nightly star,  
But their main work is vital heat t' inspire  
Into the frigid spheres that 'bout them far,  
Which of themselves quite dead and barren are  
But by the wakening warmth of kindly days,  
And the sweet dewy nights they well declare  
Their seminal virtue, in due courses raise  
Long hidden shapes and life, to their great Maker's praise.   

26  
These with their suns I several worlds do call,  
Whereof the number I deem infinite:  
Else infinite darkness were in this great Hall  
Of th' endless Universe; For nothing finite  
Can 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.   

27  
But if he shine all solitary, 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 central fire. But wrath will rend  
This strange composure backed 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 stars?  
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 equal 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 adjoin  
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 star) prove Suns and Planets fly  
About their flaming heads amid the thronged sky.   

30  
For whatsoever that there number be  
Whether by seven, or eights, or five, or nine,  
They round each fixed lamp; Infinity  
Will be redoubled thus by many times.  
Besides each greater Planet th' attendance finds  
Of lesser, Our Earth's handmaid is the Moon,  
Which to her darkened side right duly shines,  
And Jove hath four, as hath been said aboven,  
And Saturn more than four if the plain truth were known:   

31  
And if these globes be regions of life  
And several kinds of plants therein do grow,  
Grass, flowers, herbs, trees, which the impartial knife  
Of all consuming. Time still down doth mow,  
And new again doth in succession show;  
Which alsoes done in flies, birds, men and beasts;  
Add sand, pearls, pebbles, that the ground do strew,  
Leaves, quills, hairs, thorns, blooms, you may think the rest  
Their kinds by mortal pen cannot be well expressed:   

32  
And if their kinds no man may reckon well,  
The sum 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 spheres,  
Suppose this Earth; what then will all those Rounds  
Produce? No Atlas such a load upbears.  
In this huge endless heap overwhelmed, drowned,  
Choked, stifled, lo! I lie, breathless, even quite confound.   

33  
Yet give me space a while but to respire,  
And I myself shall fairly well out-wind;  
Keep this possession true, unhurt, entire,  
That you no greater difficulty find  
In this new old opinion here defined  
Of infinite worlds, than one world doth imply.  
For if we do with steady patience mind  
All is resolved int' one absurdity,  
The grant of something greater than infinity.   

34  
That God is infinite all men confess,  
And that the Creature is some realty  
Besides God's self, though infinitely less.  
Join now the world unto the Deity.  
What? is there added no more entity  
By this conjunction, than there was before?  
Is the broad breasted earth? the spacious sky  
Spangled with silver light, and burning Ore?  
And the wide bellowing Seas, whose boiling billows roar,   

35  
Are all these nothing? But you will reply;  
As is the question so we ought restrain  
Our answer unto Corporeity.  
But that that fantasy of the body's vain  
I did before unto you maken plain.  
But that no man departed unsatisfied  
A while this Universe here will we feign  
Corporeal, till we have gainly tried,  
If aught that's bodily may infinite abide.   

36  
What makes a body saving quantity?  
What quantity unless extension?  
Extension if it admit infinity  
Bodies admit boundless dimension.  
That some extension forward on doth run  
Withouten limits, endless, infinite  
Is plain from Space, that ever paceth on  
Unstopped, 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 armed 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 try?  
But here perversely subtle you'll 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 fly,  
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:   

39  
Now to that shift that says 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 needless niceties) whether that it be  
A real being; yet that there's parts distent  
One from another, no man's fantasy  
Can e'er reject if well he weight and warily.   

40  
For now conceive the air and azure sky  
All swept away from Saturn to the Sun,  
Which each is to be wrought by him on high.  
Then in this place let all the Planets run  
(As erst they did before this feat was done)  
If not by nature, yet by divine power,  
Ne one hairs breadth their former circuit shun  
And still for fuller proof, th' Astronomer  
Observe their heights as in the empty heavens they scour.   

41  
Will then their Parallaxes prove all one  
Or none, or different still as before;  
If so, their distances by mortal men  
Must be acknowledged such as were of yore,  
Measured by leagues, miles, stades, nor less nor more  
From circuit unto circuit shall be found  
Then was before the sweeping of the floor.  
That distance therefore hath most certain ground  
In emptiness we may conclude with reason sound.   

42  
If distance now so certainly attend  
All emptiness (as also mensuration  
Attendeth distance) distance without end  
Is wide dispersed above imagination  
(For emptiness is void of limitation)  
And this unbounded voidness doth admit  
The least and greatest measures application;  
The number thus of th' greatest that doth fit  
This infinite void space is likewise infinite.   

43  
But what so e'er that infinite number be,  
A lesser measure will a number give  
So fare 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 try  
Which at the same mark doth as fully drive  
And with a great deal more facility.  
Look on this endless Space as one whole quantity.   

44  
Which in your mind in't equal parts divide,  
Ten, 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 defined  
By finite measures easily well expressed,  
A myriad suppose of miles assigned  
Then to a thousand myriads is the whole confined.   

45  
Wherefore this wide and waste Vacuity,  
Which endless is out stretched through all.  
And lies even equal with the Deity,  
Nor is a thing merely imaginall,  
(For it doth fare men's fantasies forestall  
Nothing beholden to our devicefull thought)  
This infine voidness as much our mind doth gall,  
And has as great perplexities ybourhgt  
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 says and unsayes, does she knows not what.  
Why then should we the world's infinity  
Misdoubt, because when as we contemplate  
Its nature, such strange inconsistency  
And unexpected sequels, we therein descry?   

47  
Who dare gainsay but God is every where  
Unbounded, measureless, 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 straight  
A portion infinite, which if it be,  
One infinite will into myriads multiply.   

48  
But with new argument to draw more near  
Our purposed end. If God's omnipotent  
And this omnipotent God be every where,  
Where e'er he is then can he easily vent  
His mighty virtue through all extent.  
What then shall hinder but a roscid air  
With gentle heat eachwhere be 'sperst and sprent  
Unless omnipotent power we will empair,  
And say that empty space his working can debar●   

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, Leted be light.  
Was this one space better than all beside,  
And more obedient to what God decreed?  
Or would not all that endless Emptiness  
Gladly embraced (if he had ever tried)  
His just command? and what might come to pass  
Implies no contradictious inconsistentnesse.   

50  
Wherhfore this precious sweet Ethereal dew  
For aught we know, God each where did distil,  
And through all that hollow voidness threw  
And the wide gaping drought therewith did fill,  
His endless overflowing goodness spill  
In every place; which straight he did contrive  
Int' infinite several worlds, as his best skill  
Did him direct and creatures could receive:  
For matter infinite needs infinite worlds must give.   

51  
The Centre of each several world's a Sun  
With shining beams and kindly warming heat,  
About whose radiant crown the Planets run,  
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 height  
A full sufficient reason is to me,  
Who simple Goodness 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 open unbar'd of all pretence.  
But frozen hearts! away! fly fare from hence,  
Unless you'll thaw at this celestial 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 Canopy all to be spangled o'er  
With sprinkled stars, what can you well devise  
Which causen may such careless order in the skies?   

54  
A peck of peasen rudely poured out  
On plaster flore, from hasty heedless hon  
Which lie all careless scattered about,  
To sight do in as seemly order stoned,  
As those fair glistering lights in heaven are found.  
If only for this world they were intended,  
Nature would have adorned this azure Round  
With better Art, and easily have mended  
This harsh disordered order, and more beauty lended.   

55  
But though these lights do seem so rudely thrown  
And scattered throughout the spacious sky,  
Yet each most seemly 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 cheerfully  
Their daily task. No blemish may deface  
The worlds in several decked with all art and grace:   

56  
But the appearance of the nightly stars  
Is but the by-work of each neighbour sun;  
Wherefore less marvel 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 stars and Phoebus fixed light,  
They being both with steadiness endued  
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 several worlds by right,  
For right it is that none a sun debar  
Of Planets which his just and due retinue are.   

58  
If stars be merely stars not central lights  
Why swell they into so huge bignesses?  
For many (as Astronomers do write)  
Our sun in bigness many times surpass.  
If both their number and their bulks were less  
Yet lower placed, light and influence  
Would flow as powerfully, & the bosom press  
Of the impregned Earth, that fruit from hence  
As fully would arise, and lordly affluence.   

59  
Wherefore these fixed Fires mainly attend  
Their proper charge in their own Universe,  
And only by the by of curtsy lend  
Light to our world, as our world doth reverse  
His thankful rays so far as he can pierce  
Back unto other worlds. But fare aboven  
Further than furthest thought of man can traverse,  
Still are new worlds aboven and still aboven,  
In th'endless hollow Heaven, and each world hath his Sun.   

60  
An hint of this we have in winter-nights,  
When reason may see clearer than our eye,  
Small subtle stars appear unto our sights  
As thick as pin-dust scattered in the sky.  
Here we accuse our seeing faculty  
Of weakness, and our sense of foul deceit,  
We do accuse and yet we know not why.  
But the plain truth is, from a vaster height  
The numerous upper worlds amaze our dazzled sight.   

61  
Now sigh so far as sense can ever try  
We find new worlds, that still new worlds there be;  
And round about in infinite numbers lie,  
Further than reach of man's weak fantasy  
(Without suspicion of temerity)  
We may conclude; as well as men conclude  
That there is air fare 'bove the mountains high,  
Or that th'Earth a sad substance doth include  
Even to the Centre with like qualities endued.   

62  
For who did ever the Earth's Centre pierce,  
And felt or sand or gravel 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 bottom made  
Of solid earth, and that her nature's one  
Throughout, though plain experience hath it never shown.   

63  
But sigh sad earth so fare as they have gone  
They still descry, easily they do infer  
Without all check of reason, were they down  
Never so deep, like substance would appear,  
Ne dream of any hollow horror there.  
My mind with like uncurbed facility  
Concludes from what by sight is seen so clear:  
That there's no barren waist vacuity  
Above the worlds we see, but still new worlds therely,   

64  
And still and still even to infinity:  
Which point since I so fitly have proposed,  
Abating well the inconsistency  
Of harsh infinitu de therein supposed  
And proved by reasons never to be loosed  
That infinite space and infinite worlds there be;  
This load laid down, I'm freely now disposed  
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, sigh endless space  
(Whose perplexed nature well man's 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 world's infinite matters endless 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 roam.   

67  
This all would be if the Cusp of the Cone  
Were very God. Wherefore I rightly it deem  
Only a creatural projection,  
Which flowing yet from God hath ever been,  
Filled the vast empty space with its large streem.  
But yet it is not total every where  
As was even now by reason rightly seen:  
Wherefore not God, whose nature doth appear  
Entirely omnipresent, weighed with judgement clear.   

68  
A real infinite matter, distinct  
And yet proceeding from the Deity  
Although with different form as then untinct  
Has ever been from all Eternity.  
Now what delay can we suppose to be,  
Since matter always was at hand prepared  
Before the filling of the boundless sky  
With framed Worlds; for nought at all debarred.  
Nor was His strength ungrown, nor was His strength impaired.   

69  
How long would God be forming of a fly?  
Or the small wand'ring moats that play in th' sun?  
Lest moment well will serve none can deny,  
His Fiat spoke and straight the thing is done.  
And cannot He make all the World as soon?  
For in each Atom of the matter wide  
The total Deity doth entirely won,  
His infinite presence doth therein reside,  
And in this presence infinite powers do ever abide.   

70  
Wherhfore at once from all eternity  
The infinite number of these World's He made,  
And will conserve to all infinity,  
And still drive on their ever moving trade,  
And steady hold what ever must be stayed;  
Ne must one mite be minished of the sum,  
Ne must the smallest atom ever fade,  
But still remain though it may change its room;  
This truth abideth strong from everlasting doom.   

71  
Ne fear I what hard sequel afterwit  
Will draw upon me; that the number's one  
Of years, months, days, hours, and of minute's fleet  
Which from eternity have still run on.  
I plainly did confess awhile ago  
That be it what it will that's infinite  
More infinites will follow thereupon,  
But that all infinites do justly fit  
And equal be, my reason did not yet admit.   

72  
But as my emboldened mind, I know not how,  
In empty Space and pregnant Deity  
Endless infinitude dares to allow,  
Though it begets the like perplexity:  
So now my soul drunk with Divinity,  
And born away above her usual bounds  
With confidence concludes infinity  
Of Time of Worlds, of fiery 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 boldness to repress and strength to tyre.  
But I will wipe them off like summer sweat,  
And make their streams straight back again retreat.  
If that these worlds, say they, were ever made  
From infinite time, how comesed to pass that yet  
Art is not perfected, nor metals fade,  
Nor mines of grimie coal low-hid in griefly shade.   

74  
But the remembrance of the ancient Flood  
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 World's continuance is not infinite.   

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 tried  
With searching eye thereto what fitteth right  
Thyself of former Worlds right learnedly dost write:   

76  
To weet that long ago there Earth's 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 world's Date and Adam's efformation,  
Another Adam once received breath  
And still another in endless repedation,  
And this must perish once by final conflagration.   

77  
Witness ye Heavens if what I says not true,  
Ye flaming Comets wandering on high,  
And new fixed stars found in that Circle blue,  
The one espied in glittering Cassiopie,  
The other near to Ophiuchus thigh.  
Both bigger than the biggest stars that are,  
And yet as fare removed from mortal eye  
As are the furthest, so those Arts declare  
Unto whose reaching sight Heaven's mysteries lie bare.   

78  
Wherefore these new-seen lights were greater once  
By many thousand times then this our sphere  
Wherein we live, 'twixt good and evil chance.  
Which to my musing mind doth strange appear  
If those large bodies than 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.   

79  
But that they were created both of old,  
And each in his due time did fair display  
Themselves in radiant locks more bright than gold,  
Or silver sheen purged from all drossy 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'er.   

80  
Which when I'd exercised 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 produced of that strange prodigy,  
But that some mighty Planet that doth run  
About some fixed star in Cassiopie  
As Saturn paceth round about our Sun,  
Unusual light and bigness by strange fate had won.   

81  
Which I conceive no gainer way is done  
Then by the seizing 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 busy 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 rays  
Of its own sun and every neighbour star,  
It soon appeared with shining silver blaze,  
And then 'gan first be seen of men from fare.  
Besides that fiery flame that was so nar  
The Planet's self, which greedily did eat  
The wastning mould, did contribute a share  
Unto this brightness; and what I conceit  
Of this star doth with that of Ophiuchus fit.   

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 fare strown  
Along the sky, pointing still opposite  
Unto the sun, however they may roam;  
Wherefore a cluster of small stars unite  
These Meteors some do deem, perhaps with judgement right.   

84  
And that the● tails are streams of the sun's light  
Breaking through their near bodies as through clouds.  
Besides the Optic glass has shown to sight  
The dissolution of these starry crowds.  
Which thing if't once be granted and allowed,  
I think without all contradiction  
They may conclude these Meteors are routs  
Of wandering stars, which though they one by one  
Cannot be seen, yet joined cause this strange vision.   

85  
And yet methinks, in my devicefull mind  
Some reasons that may happily repress  
These arguments it's not uneath to find.  
For how can the sun's rays that be transmisse  
Through these lose knots in Comets, well express  
Their beards or curled tails 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 stars are come so nigh  
As to seem one, the Comet must appear  
In biggest show, because more lose they lie  
Somewhat spread out, but as they draw more near  
The compass of his head away must wear,  
Till he be brought to his least magnitude;  
And then they passing cross, he doth repair  
Himself, and still from his last loss renewed  
Grows till he reach the measure which we first had viewed.   

87  
And then fare distanced they bid quite adieu,  
Each holding on in solitude his way.  
Ne any footsteps in the empty Blue  
Is to be found of that farre-shining ray.  
Which process sigh no man did yet bewray,  
It seems unlikely that the Comets be  
Synods of stars that in wide Heaven stray:  
Their smallness eke and numerosity  
Increaseth doubt and lessens probability.   

88  
A cluster of them makes not half a Moon,  
What should such tennis-balls do in the sky?  
And few'll not figure out the fashion  
Of those round fiery Meteors on high.  
Ne ought their beards much move us, that do lie  
Ever cast forward from the Morning sun,  
Nor back cast tails turned to our Evening-eye,  
That fair appear when as the day is done.  
This matter may lie hid in the stars shadowed Cone.   

89  
For in these Planet's conflagration,  
Although the smoke mount up exactly round,  
Yet by the sun's irradiation  
Made thin and subtle no where else it's found  
By sight, save in the dim and duskish bound  
Of the projected Pyramid opake,  
Opake with darkness, smoke and mists unsound  
Yet gilded like a foggy cloud doth make  
Reflection of fair light that doth our senses take.   

90  
This is the reason of that constant site  
Of Comets tails and beards: And that their shows  
Not pure Pyramidal, nor their ends seem straight  
But bowed like brooms, is from the winds that blow,  
I mean Ethereal winds, such as below,  
Men finden under th' Equinoctial line.  
Their widend beards this air so broad doth strew  
Incurvate, and or more or less decline:  
If not let sharper wits more subtly here divine.   

91  
But that experiment of the Optic glass  
The greatest argument of all I deem,  
Ne can I well encounter nor let pass  
So strong a reason if I may esteem  
The feat withouten fallacy to been,  
Nor judge these little sparks and subtle lights  
Some ancient fixed stars though now first seen,  
That near the ruin'd Comets place were pight,  
On which that Optic instrument by chance did light   

92  
Nor finally an uncouth after-sport  
Of th' immense vapours that the searching fire  
Had boiled out, which now themselves consort  
In several parts and closely do conspire,  
Clumpered in balls of clouds and globes entire  
Of curdled smoke and heavy clunging mists;  
Which when 've stayed a while at last expire;  
But while they stay any may see that lists  
So be that Optic Art his natural sight assists.   

93  
If none of these ways 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 joined 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 fixed stars there's no pretence,  
Nor beard nor tail to take occasion by,  
To bring in that unlucky inference  
Which weaken might this new built mystery.  
Certes in raging fire they both did frie.  
A sign whereof you rightly may aread  
Their colours changeable variety,  
First clear and white, then yellow, after red,  
Then blewly pale, than duller still, till perfect dead.   

95  
And as the order of these colours went,  
So still decreased that Cassiopean star,  
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 fare.  
Ne can our Earth from this state standen free  
A Planet as the rest, and Planets fate must try.   

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 Noah's flood which all creatures choked 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, perished 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 erst did light  
Upon the sinful world. For as the seas  
Boiling with swelling waves aloft did rise,  
And met with mighty showers and pouring rain  
From Heavens spouts, so the broad flashing skies  
With brimstone thick and clouds of fiery bain  
Shall meet with raging Aetna's and Vesuvius flame.   

98  
The burning bowels of this wasting ball  
Shall gullup up great flakes of rolling fire,  
And belch out pitchy flames, till over all  
Having long raged, Vulcan himself shall tyre  
And (th' earth an asheap made) shall then expire:  
Here Nature laid asleep in her own Urn  
With gentle rest right easily will respire,  
Till to her pristine task she do return  
As fresh as Phoenix young under th' Arabian Morn.   

99  
O happy they that then the first are born,  
While yet the world is in her vernal pride:  
For old corruption quite away is worn  
As metal pure so is her mould well tried.  
Sweet dews, cool breathing airs, and spaces wide  
Of precious spicery wafted with soft wind:  
Fair comely bodies goodly beautfied  
Snow-limbed, rose-cheeked, ruby-liped, pearl-ted, star-eyned.  
Their parts each fair in fit proportion all combined.   

100  
For all the while her purged ashes rest  
These relics dry suck in the heavenly dew,  
And roscid Manna reins upon her breast,  
And fills with sacred milk sweet fresh and new,  
Where all take life and doth the world renew;  
And then renewed with pleasure be yfed.  
A green soft mantle doth her bosom 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 central 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  
Witness that uncouth bird of Arabia  
Which out of her own ruins doth revive  
With all th' exploits of skilful Chemistry,  
Such as no vulgar wit can well believe.  
Let universal Nature witness give  
That what I sing 's no feigned forgery.  
A needless task new fables to contrive,  
But what I sing is seemly verity  
Well suiting with right reason and Philosophy.   

103  
But the fit time of this mutation  
No man can finden out with all his pains.  
For the small spheres of humane reason run  
Too swift within his narrow compassed 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 bottom shall to ruin fall.  
And all those goodly Statues shall be brent  
Which were erect to the memorial  
Of Kings, and Kaesars', ne may better ' fall  
The boastful works of brave Poetic pride  
That promise life and fame perpetual;  
Ne better fate may these poor lines abide.  
Betid what will to what may live no longer tide.   

105  
This is the course that neverdying Nature  
Might ever hold from all Eternity  
Renewing still the faint decayed creature  
Which would grow stark and dry as aged tree,  
Unless by wise preventing Destiny  
She were at certain periods of years  
Reduced back unto her Infancy,  
Which well framed argument (as plainly appears)  
My ship from those hard rocks and shelves right safely stears.   

106  
Lo! now my faithful 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 show  
But earnest to give either part their due;  
Now urging th'uncouth strange perplexity  
Of infinite worlds and Time, then of a new  
Softening that harsher inconsistency  
To fit the immense goodness of the Deity.   

107  
And here by curious men it may be expected  
That I this knot with judgement grave decide,  
And then proceed to what else was objected.  
But, ah! What mortal wit may dare t' aread  
heavens counsels in eternal horror hid?  
And Cynthius pulls me by my tender ear,  
Such signs I must observe with wary heed:  
Wherefore my restless Muse at length forbear.  
Thy silver sounded Lute hang up in silence here.   
FINIS.   

ANTIPSYCHOPANNYCHIA OR The third Book of the song of the SOUL: Containing a Confutation of the sleep of the SOUL after death.  
By H. M. Master of Arts, and Fellow of Christ's College in Cambridge.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Plotin. Ennead. 3.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, John 11.  
CAMBRIDGE Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the University. 1647.   

The Preface to the Reader.  
TO preface much concerning these little after-pieces of Poetry, I hold needless, having spoke my mind so fully before. The motives that drew me to add them to the former are expressed in the Poems themselves. My drift is one in them all: which is to raise a certain number of well ordered Phantasms, fitly shaped out and warily contrived, which I set to skirmish and conflict with all the furious fancies of Epicurism and Atheism. But here's my disadvantage, that victory will be no victory, unless the adversary acknowledge himself overcome. None can acknowledge himself overcome, unless he perceive the strength, and feel the stroke of the more powerful arguments. But the exility and subtlety of many, and that not of the meanest, is such (nor can they be otherwise) that they will (as that kind of thunder which the Poets do commonly call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, from it's over quick and penetrating energy) go through their more porous and spongy minds without any sensible impression.  
Sure I am that sensuality is always an enemy to subtlety of reason, which hath its rise from subtlety of fancy: so that the life of the body, being vigorous and radiant in the soul, hinders us of the sight of more attenuate phantasms, But that being suppressed or very much castigate and kept under, our inward apprehension grows clearer and larger. Few men can imagine any thing so clearly awake, as they did when they were asleep, And what's the reason, but that the sense of the body is then bound up or dead in a manner?  
The dark glasse-windows will afford us a further illustration for this purpose. Why is it that we see our own faces there by night? What can reflect the species (as they phrase it) when the glass is pervious and transparent? Surely reflection in the ordinary apprehension is but a conceit. The darkness behind the glass is enough to exhibit visibly the forms of things within, by hiding stronger objects from the eye, which would bury these weak idola in their more orient lustre.  
The stars shine and fill the air with their species by day, but are to be seen only in a deep pit, which may fence the Sun's light from striking our sight so strongly. Every contemptible candle conquers the beams of the Moon, by the same advantage that the Suns doth the Stars, viz. propinquity. But put out the candle, and you will presently find the moonlight in the room; exclude the moon, and then the feeblest of all species will step out into energy, we shall behold the night.  
All this is but to show, how the stronger or nearer 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 doth obscure the weaker or further off; and how that one being removed, the energy of the other will easily appear.  
Now that our comparison may be the fit, let us consider what Aristotle saith of fancy, that it is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Thus much I will take of him, that Fancy is sense; and add to it that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is also 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and what I have intimated in some passages of these Poems, that the soul doth always feel itself, it's own actual Idea, by its omniform central self. So that the immediate sense of the soul is nothing else but to perceive its own energy.  
Now sigh that, that which we call outward sense, is indeed the very energy of the soul, and inward sense which is fancy can be no other, there seems to be no real and intrinsical difference betwixt the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of any form; no more than there is betwixt a frog born by the Sun and mere slime, and one born by copulation: For these are but extrinsecall relations. Wherefore 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in the soul itself is all one.  
But now sigh it is the same nature, why is not there the same degrees in both? I say there is, as appears plainly in sleep, where we find all as clear and energetical as when we wake.  
But here these 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (for I have proved them all one) do as greater and lesser lights dim one another; or that which is nearest worketh strongliest. Hence it is that the light or life of this low spirit or body of ours, stirring up the soul into a perpetual senfuall energy, if we foster this and unite our minds, will, and animadversion with it, will by its close nearness with the soul dim and obscure those more subtle and exile phantasms or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 risen from the soul itself, or occasioned by other men's writings. For they will be in the flaring light or life of the body as the stars in the beams of the Sun scarce to be seen, unless we withdraw ourselves out of the flush vigour of that light, into the profundity of our own souls, as into some deep pit.  
Wherefore men of the most tamed and castigate spirits are of the best and most profound judgement, because they can so easily withdraw themselves from the life and impulse of the lower spirit of this body.  
Thus being quit of passion, they have upon any occasion a clear though still and quiet representation of every thing in their minds, upon which pure bright sydereall phantasms unprejudiced reason may safely work, and clearly discern what is true or probable.  
If my writings fall into the hands of men otherwise qualified, I shall gain the less approbation. But if they will endeavour to compose themselves as near as they can to this temper; though they were of another opinion then what my writings intent to prove, I doubt not but they will have the happiness to be overcome, and to prove gainers by my victory.  
To say any thing more particularly concerning these last I hold it needless. Only let me excuse myself, if any chance to blame me for my 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as confuting that which no man will assert. For it hath been asserted by some; as those Mauri whom Ficinus speaks of; and the question is also discussed by Plotinus in his fourth Ennead, where he distinguisheth of, all souls being one, after this manner, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The latter member is that, which my arguments conclude against. though they were 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 yet were we safe enough; as safe as the beams of the Sun the Sun existing. But the similitude of Praxiteles broken glass is brought in, according to the apprehension of such, as make the image to vanish into nothing, the glass being taken away: and that as there is but one face, though there be the appearances of many; so though there be the appearances of many souls, by reason of that one's working in divers bodies, yet there is but one soul; and understanding sense and motion to be the acts of this one soul informing several bodies.  
This is that which both Plotinus and I endeavour to destroy, which is of great moment: For if one only soul act in every body, what ever we are now, surely this body laid in the dust we shall be nothing.  
As for the Oracles answer to Amelius, if any vulgar conceited man think it came from a devil with Bats wings and a long tail, the Seventies' translation of the eight verse of the 32. chapter of Deuteronomy may make it at least doubtful. When the most High divided to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the sons of Adam he set the bounds of the people, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. He did not then deliver them into the hand and jurisdiction of devils, nor to be instructed and taught by them.  
But if Apollo who gave so good a testimony of Socrates while he was living, and of Plotinus after his death, was some foul fiend, yet 'tis no prejudice to their esteem, since our Saviour Christ was acknowledged by the devil.  
But I have broke my word, by not breaking off before this. Reader, 'tis time now to leave thee to the perusal of my writings, which if they chance to please thee, I repent me not of my pains; if they chance not to please, that shall not displease me much, for I consider that I also with small content and pleasure have read the writings of other men.  
Yours H. M.   

The Argument of ANTIPSYCHOPANNYCHIA Or The confutation of the sleep of the Soul.  

CANT. I.  

Adam's long sleep, will, mind compared  
With low vitality,  
The fondness plainly have unbar'd  
Of Psychopannychie.   

1  
THe souls ever durancy I sung before,  
Ystruck with mighty rage. A powerful fire  
Held up my lively Muse and made her soar  
So high that mortal wit, I fear, she'll tyre  
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 add 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 lulled in listlesse sleep  
They senseless lie wrapped in eternal mist,  
Bound up in foggy clouds, that ever weep  
Benumbing tears, and the souls centre steep  
With deading liquor, that she never minds  
Or feeleth aught. Thus drenched in Lethe deep,  
Nor misseth she herself, nor seeks nor finds  
Herself. This mirksome state all the souls actions binds.   

3  
Desire, fear, love, joy, sorrow, pleasure, pain,  
Sense, fancy, wit, forecasting providence,  
Delight in God, and what with sleepy brain  
Might suit, slight dreams, all banished fare from hence.  
Nor pricking nor applauding conscience  
Can wake the soul from this dull Lethargy;  
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 writ 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 drowsy 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 senseless sod with sleep ydead?  
And have those flames, that steep Olympus climb  
Right nimbly wheeled o'er his heedless head  
So oft, in heaps of years low buried:  
And yet can ken himself when he shall rise  
Wakened by piercing trump, that fare doth shed  
Its searching sound? If we our memories  
And wit do lose by sickness, 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 mouldering brains, and spirits have retreat  
From whence they came, spread in the common fire,  
And many thousand sloping suns have set  
Since his last fall into his ancient mire,  
How he will ken himself reason may well admire:   

7  
For he must know himself by some impression  
Left in his ancient body unwashed out,  
Which seemeth strange. For can so long succession  
Of sliding years that great Colossuses might  
Well moulder into dust, spare things ywrought  
So slightly as light phantasms in our brain,  
Which oft one year or month 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 vital spirit  
And turned 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 sealed  
And fairly glisteren like to comets bright  
In our blue Chaos, if the soul congealed  
With her own body lose these forms as I revealed,   

9  
Then so long time of their disjunction  
(The body being into dust confract,  
The spirit diffused, spread by dispersion)  
And such Lethean sleep that doth contract  
The souls hid rays that it did nothing act  
Must certainly wipe all these forms away  
That sense or fancy ever had impact.  
So that old Adam will in vain assay  
To find who here he was, he'll have no memory.   

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 no store.  
Yet when men wake they find themselves at morn.  
But if their memory away were worn  
With one night's sleep, as much as doth respect  
Themselves, these men they never were before,  
This day's their birth day: they cannot conject  
They ever lived till now, much less the same detect.   

11  
So when a man goes hence, thus may he say,  
As much as me concerns I die now quite.  
Adieu, 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 spoils our memory.  
So my dear self henceforth I cannot weet.  
Wherefore to me it's perfectly to die,  
Though subtler Wits do call't but Psychopannychie.   

12  
Go now you Psychopannychites! persuade  
To comely virtues and pure piety  
From hope of joy, 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 aught:  
And tract of time at least all memory  
Will qui●e debar, that reacquainten might  
Myself with mine own self, if so myself I sought.   

13  
But I shall neither seek myself, nor find  
Myself unsought: Therefore not deprehend  
Myself 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 spirit with present pain to gall  
For what I ne'er shall judge myself 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 vital rays: those rays Death down doth lop,  
And all her goodly beauty quite doth crop  
With his black claws. Wisdom, love, piety,  
Are strait dried up: Death doth their fountain stop,  
This is those sleepers dull Philosophy,  
Which fairly men invites to foul impiety.   

15  
But if we grant, which in my former song  
I plainly proved, that the souls energy  
Pends not on this base corpse, but that self-strong  
She by herself can work, then when we fly  
The body's commerce, no man can deny  
But that there is no interruption  
Of life; where will puts on, there doth she high  
Or if she's carried by coaction.  
That force yet she observes by press adversion.   

16  
And with most lively touch doth feel and find  
Herself. For either what she most doth love  
She then obtains; or else with cross, unkind  
Contrary life since her decease sh' hath striven,  
That keeps her wake, and with like might doth move  
To think upon herself, 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 herself doth fight.   

17  
But hearty love of that great vital spirit,  
The sacred fount of holy sympathy;  
Prepares the soul with its deep quickening 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.  
Ourselves live most, when most we feed our central fire.   

18  
Thus is the soul continually in life  
Withouten interruption, if that she  
Can operate after the fatal knife  
Hath cut the cords of lower sympathy:  
Which she can do, if that some energy  
She exercise (immured 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.   

19  
All comprehending Will, proportionate  
To whatsoever shall fall by God's decree  
Or prudent sufferance, sweetly spread, dilate,  
Stretched out t' embrace each act or entity  
That creep from hidden cause that none can see  
With outward eyes. Next Intellect, whose height  
Of work's then, when as it stands most free  
From sense and grosser fancy, deep empight  
In this vild corpse, which to purged minds yields small delight.   

20  
Both Will and Intellect than worketh best,  
When Sense and Appetite be consopite,  
And grosser fancy lulled in silent rest:  
Then Will grown full with a mild heavenly light  
Shines forth with goodly mental rays bedight,  
And finds and feels such things as never pen  
Can setten down, so that unexpert wight  
May read and understand. Experienced men  
Do only know who like impressions sustain:   

21  
So far's the Soul from a dependency  
(In these high actions) on the body base.  
And further sign is want of memory  
Of these impressions wrought in heavenly place,  
I mean the holy Intellect: they pass  
Leaving no footsteps of their former light,  
When as the soul from thence descended has.  
Which is a sign those forms be not empight  
In our low proper Chaos or Corporeal spirit.   

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 strait spirit. Like torch that droppeth down  
From some high tower, held steady clearly shone,  
But in its fall leaves all its light behind,  
Lies now in darkness on the grail, or stone,  
Or dirty earth: That erst so fully shined,  
Within a glowing coal hath now its light confined.   

23  
So doth the soul when from high Intellect  
To grovelling sense she takes her stooping flight,  
Falling into her body, quite neglect,  
Forget, forgother former glorious sight.  
Gross glowing fire for that wide shining light;  
For purest love, foul fury and base passion;  
For clearest knowledge, fell contentious fight  
Sprung from some scorching false inust impression  
Which she'll call truth, she gains. O witless Commutation!   

24  
But still more clear her independent might  
In understanding and pure subtle 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 Outworld, that when my curious quill,  
Hath well described their great disparity,  
To th' highest we may give an independency.   

25  
The faculties we deem corporeal,  
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.  
Add lower fancy, Mundane memory:  
Those powers be all or more or less ypent  
In this gross 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 spongy tongue;  
Nor is the Mundane spirit (through all extent)  
From whence are sense and lower fancy sprung  
Perceived by the best of all among  
These learned Five, nor yet by fantasy:  
Nor doth or this or those so nearly throng  
Unto themselves as by propinquity  
To apprehend themselves. They no'te themselves descry;   

27  
Nor e'er 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 fancy; for each furious wight  
Hath fancy full enough, so fulled doth show  
As sense; nor he, nor's fancy doth that fancy know.   

28  
Age, potent objects, too long exercise  
Do weaken, hurt, and much debilitate  
Those lower faculties. The Sun our eyes  
Confounds with dazzling beams of light so that  
For a good while we cannot contemplate  
Aught visible: thus thunder deafs the ear,  
And age hurts both, that doth quite ruinated  
Our sense and fancy: so if long we hear  
Or see, it 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 ear  
Hears sounds, the nostrils snuff perfumed wind;  
What gross impressions the out-senses bear  
The fancy represents, sometimes it dare  
Make unseen shapes, with uncouth transformation,  
Such things as never in true Nature are.  
But all this while the fancies operation  
To laws bodily is bound: such is her figuration.   

30  
This is the nature of those faculties  
That of the lower Mundane spirit depend.  
But in our Intellect fare otherwise  
Wouldst see it, if we pressely will attend  
And trace the parallels unto the end.  
There's no self-knowledge. Here the soul doth find  
Herself. If so, then without instrument.  
For what more fit to show our inward mind  
Then our own mind? But if it be otherwise defined;   

31  
Then tell me, Knows she that fit instrument?  
if she ken not that instrument, how can  
She judge, whether truly it doth represent  
Herself? there may be foul delusion.  
But if she ken this Organ; strait upon  
This grant, I'll ask how ken she this same toll?  
What? by another? by what that? so go on  
Till to infinity you forward roll,  
An horrid monster count in Philosophic school.   

32  
The soul than works by it self, and is self-lived,  
Sith that it acts without an instrument:  
Free motions from her own self derived  
Flow round. But to go on. The eyes yblent  
Do blink even blind with objects vehement,  
So that till they themselves do well recure  
Less matters they no'te see. But rays down sent  
From higher source the mind doth maken pure,  
Do clear, do subtilise, 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;  
Witness wise Socrates, from morn to morn  
That stood as stiff as any trunk of tree:  
What eye could bear in contemplation  
So long a fix'dnesse, none so long could see,  
It's 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 grows dim and dark that it unneath  
Can see through age, the mind then close collect  
Into herself, such mysteries doth detect  
By her far-piercing beams, that youthful hear  
Doth count them folly and with scorn neglect,  
His ignorance concludes them but deceit;  
He hears not that still voice, his pulse so loud doth beat.   

35  
Lastly sense, fancy, though they be confined  
To certain objects, which to several  
Belong; yet sure the Intellect or mind  
Apprehends all objects, both corporeal,  
As colours, sounds; and incorporeal,  
As virtue, wisdom, and the higher spirit,  
God's love and beauty intellectual;  
So that its plain that she is higher pight  
Then in all acts to penned on any earthly might.   

36  
If will and appetite we list compare,  
Like difference we easily their discover,  
This penned, contract, yfraught with furious jar  
And fierce antipathy. It boileth 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 enslaved to what she findeth here,  
But in a free suspense herself doth nimbly bear.   

37  
Mildred, gentle, calm, quick, large, subtle, serene,  
These be her properties which do increase  
The more that vigour in the body's vein  
Doth waste and waxed faint. Desires decrease  
When age the Mundane spirit doth more release  
From this strait 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 vernal hour.   

38  
Wherefore I think we safely may conclude  
That Will and Intellect do not rely  
Upon the body, sigh they are endued  
With such apparent contrariety  
Of qualities to sense and fantasy,  
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.    

The Argument of ANTIPSYCHOPANNYCHIA OR, The Confutation of the Sleep of the Soul.  
Cant. 2.  

Bondage and freedom's here set out  
By an inverted Cone:  
The self-formed soul may work without  
Incorporation.   

1  
FOuntain of beings! the vast deep abyss  
Of Life and Love and penetrating Will,  
That breaks through narrow Night. & so transmiss  
At last doth find itself! What mortal skill  
Can reach this mystery? my trembling quill  
Much less may set it forth; yet as I may  
I must attempt this task for to fulfil.  
He guide my pen while I this work assay  
Who All, through all himself doth infinitely display.   

2  
My end's lose largeness and full liberty  
To finden out; Most precious thing I ween.  
When contrall life her outgone energy  
Doth spreaden forth, unsneeped by foeman keen,  
And like unclouded Sun doth freely shine;  
This is right Liberty, whose first Idee  
And measure is that holy root divine  
Of all free life, height Ahad, Unity:  
In all things He at once is present totally.   

3  
Each total 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 Deity,  
But that infinity so infinite  
Must be in every infinite: so we  
Must multiply this infinite single sight  
Above all apprehension of a mortal wit.   

4  
What is not infinitely infinite,  
It is not simply infinite and free:  
For straightness (if you do conceive aright)  
Is the true daughter of deficiency.  
But sigh there's no defect in Unity,  
Or Ahad, (Ahad this first centre height  
In Poetry as yet to vulgar eye  
Unpublished) Him first freedom infinite  
We may well style. And next is that eternal Light;   

5  
Son unto Ahad, Aeon 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 height: for perfect Unity  
Makes all those one. So hitherto we have  
Unmeasurable freedom. Semele  
Is next, whom though fair fluttering forms embrave,  
Yet motion and defect her liberty deprave.   

6  
Imagination's not infinite,  
Yet freer fare than sense; and sense more free  
Than vegetation or spermatick spirit.  
Even absent things be seen by fantasy;  
By sense things present at a distancie;  
But that spermatick spirit is close confined  
Within the compass of a stupid tree,  
Imprisoned quite in the hard rugged rind,  
Yet their defective Re'plication we find:   

7  
Fare more defective then in fantasy  
Or sense; yet freer is the plastic spirit  
Then quantity, or single quality,  
Like quantity itself 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 rays to bear;  
If there be such to Hyle they do verge most near.   

8  
But Hyles self is perfect penury,  
And infinite straightness: Here we sinden nought,  
Nor can do aught. If curiously we pry  
Into this mirksome corner quite distraught  
From our own life and being, we have brought  
Ourselves to nothing. Or the sooth to say  
The subtlest soul herself hath never wrought  
Into so straight a place, could ne'er constrain  
Herself to enter, or that Hag 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 steady stays  
A● the wide Basis of this Cone inverse,  
Yet it's own essence doth it swiftly chase,  
O'ertakes at once; so swiftly doth it pierce  
That motion here's no motion.   

10  
Suppose the Sun so much to mend his pace,  
That in a moment he did round the sky,  
The nimble Night how swiftly would he chase  
About the earth? so swift that scarce thine eye  
Can aught but light discern. But let him high  
So fast, that swiftness hath grown infinite,  
In a pure point of time so must he fly  
Around this ball, and the vast shade of Night  
Quite swallow up, ever steady stand in open sight.   

11  
For that which from its place is not away  
One point of time, how can you say it moves?  
Wherefore the Sun doth always steady stay  
In our Meridian, as this reason proves.  
And sigh 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 fairly shine.  
Nor that large stretchen space his freeness can confine.   

12  
The Sun himself at once stands in each point  
Of his diurnal circle: Thus we see  
That rest and motion cannot be disjoint,  
When motion's swift even to infinity.  
Here contrarieties do well agree,  
Eternal shade and everlasting light  
With one another here do well comply;  
Instant returns of Night make one long Night.  
Wherefore infinity is freedom infinite.   

13  
No hindrance to aught that doth arrive  
To this free camp of fair Elysium,  
But nearer that to Hyle things do dive,  
They are more penned, and find much lesser room.  
Thus sensual 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 harmless fate, fare greater liberty  
Must gain: for when it hath departed hence  
(As all things else) should it not backward high  
From whence it came? but such divinity  
Is in our souls that nothing less than God  
Can send them forth (as Plato's schools descry)  
Wherefore when they retreat a free abode  
They'll find, unless kept off by Nemesis just rod.   

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 less doth pen  
Herself, as more or less she erst did side  
With sense and vice, while here she did abide.  
Sterile defect and nere-obtained desire  
Create a Cone, whose Cusp is not more wide  
Than this world's Cone. Here close-contracted fire  
Doth vex, doth burn, doth scorch with searching heat and ire.   

16  
Nor easily can she here fall fast asleep  
To slake her anguish and tormenting pain:  
What drizzling mists may here her senses steep?  
What foggy fumes benumb her moistened brain?  
The flitten soul no sense doth then retain.  
And sleep ariseth from a sympathy  
With these low sprights that in this flesh remain.  
But when from these the soul is setten free,  
What sleep may bind her from continual energy?   

17  
Here they'll reply, It is not a gross sleep  
That binds the soul from operation.  
But sigh 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 than the soul from these quite being fled,  
Unmoved of aught must lie, sunk in deep drowsihead   

18  
Nought than she hath whereon to contemplate,  
Her ancient phantasms melt and glide away,  
Her spirit sucked back by all-devouring fate  
And spread abroad, those forms must needs decay  
That were therein imprinted. If they stay,  
Yet sigh 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 wrapped in eternal Night.   

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 rays transmisse  
From divers worlds, that with such mockeries  
Kindling an hungry fire and eager will,  
They do the wretched soul but Tantalise,  
And with fierce choking flames and fury fill,  
So vexed, that if she could in rage herself she'd kill.   

20  
If any doubt of this perplexity,  
And think so subtle thing can suffer nought:  
What's gnawing conscience from impiety  
By highest parts of humane soul ywrought?  
For so our very soul with pain is fraught,  
The body being in an easy plight.  
Through all the senses when 've pressly sought,  
In none of them you'll find this sting empight:  
So may we deem this dart the soul itself 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 returned  
Unto her body new resuscitate  
From sleep, remembering well how erst she mourned,  
Marvels how all so soon to peace and ease is turned.   

22  
Wherefore the soul itself receiveth pain  
From her own self, withouten sympathy  
With something else, whose misery must constrain  
To deep compassion. So if struck she be  
With secret ray, or some strong energy  
Of any world, or Lives that there remain,  
She's kept awake. Besides fecundity  
Of her own nature surely doth contain  
Innate Idees; This truth more fully I'll explain.   

23  
Strong forward bearing will or appetite,  
A never wearied importunity,  
Is the first life of this deep central spirit:  
Thus thrusts she forth before her some Idee  
Whereby herself now actual she doth see.  
Her mighty Fiat doth command each form  
T' appear: As did that ancient Majesty  
This world of old by his dread Word 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 actual forms, and so doth safely enter  
To knowledge of herself.  
Flush light she sendeth forth, and live Idees:  
Those be the glass whereby the soul doth paint her.  
Sweet central love sends out such forms as please;  
But central hate or fear foul shapes with evil ease.   

25  
The manner of her life on earth may cause  
Diversity of those cruptions,  
For will, desire, or custom do dispose  
The soul to such like figurations:  
Propension brings imaginations,  
Unto their birth. And oft the soul let's fly  
Such unexpected eructations,  
That she herself cannot devisen why,  
Unless 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 rays hath dight:   

27  
So when the oil 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 fullness and quick pregnancy:  
Unthought of life her Nature may display  
Unto herself; not by forced industry,  
But naturally it sprouts from her fecundity.   

28  
Now sigh adversion is a property  
So deeply essential to the rational 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 rays extol  
Possess each point of their circumference  
Presentially. Wherefore the soul so full  
Of life, when it rays out, with press presence  
O'ertakes 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,  
Essential forms created with the mind.  
But things obscure no'te easily be defined.  
Yet some few reasons I will venture at,  
To show that God's so liberal and kind  
As, when as 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 confess  
That some external species strikes the eye  
Like to its object, in the selfsame dress.  
But my first argument hence I'll begin to press.   

31  
If like be known by like, then must the mind  
Innate idolums in itself 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 glass  
(That light and various forms do gaily slain)  
Set out in open streets, shapes as they pass  
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 ne'er meant  
To answer so. For strait 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 not ascititious form alone  
Can make us see or hear; but when this spirit  
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 energy  
By her own central self who forth it let,  
Is viewed. Her central omniformity  
Thus easily keepeth off needless infinity.   

34  
For the quick soul by it self doth all things know.  
And sigh withouten apt similitude  
Nought's known, upon her we must needs bestow  
Essential central forms, that thus endued  
With universal likeness ever transmewed  
Into a representing energy  
Of this or that, she may have each thing viewed  
By her own central self-vitality  
Which is her self-essentiall omniformity.   

35  
If plantall souls in their own selves contain  
That vital formative fecundity,  
That they a tree with different colour stain,  
And divers shapes, smoothness, asperity,  
Straightness, acuteness, and rotundity,  
A golden yellow, or a crimson red,  
A varnished 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 Universal notion,  
What object ever did that form impress  
Upon the soul? What makes us venture on  
So rash a matter, as ere to confess  
Aught generally true? when nevertheless  
We cannot e'er run through all singulars.  
Wherefore in our own souls we do possess  
Free forms and immaterial characters.  
Hence 'tis the soul so boldly general truth declares.   

37  
What man that is not dull or mad would doubt  
Whether that truth (for which Pythagoras,  
When he by subtle study found it out,  
Unto the Muses for their helping grace  
An Hecatomb did sacrifice) may pass  
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 Ideses.   

38  
Add unto these incorporeity  
Apprehended by the soul, when sense ne'er saw  
Aught incorporeal. Wherefore must she  
From her own self such subtle 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 blameless angularity?   

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 say when ever she doth strive  
To find pure truth, her own profundity  
She enters, in herself doth deeply dive;  
From thence attempts each essence rightly to descrive.   

40  
Last argument, which yet is not the least.  
Wise Socrates dispute with Theaetete  
Concerning learning fitly doth suggest.  
A midwives son yclept Phenarete,  
He calls himself: Then makes a acquaint conceit;  
That he his mother's trade did exercise.  
All witless his own self yet well did weet  
By his fit questions to make others wise;  
A midwife that no'te bear another's birth unties.   

41  
Thus jestingly he fling out what was true,  
That humane souls be swollen with pregnancy  
Of hidden knowledge, if with usage due  
They were well handled, they each verity  
Would bringen forth from their fecundity;  
Wise framed questions would facilitate  
This precious birth, stir up th' inward Idee,  
And make it stream with light from forms innate.  
Thus may a skilful man hid truth elicitate.   

42  
What doth the teacher in his action  
But put slight hints into his scholar's mind?  
Which breed a solemn contemplation  
Whether such things be so; but he doth find  
The truth himself. But if truth be not signed  
In his own Soul before, and the right measure  
Of things proposed, in vain the youth doth wind  
Into himself, and all that anxious leisure  
In answering proves useless without that hid treasure.   

43  
Nor is his master's knowledge from him flit  
Into his scholar's head: for so his brain  
In time would be exhausted and void of wit,  
So would the sorry man but little gain  
Though richly paid. Nor is't more safe to same  
As fire breeds fire, art art doth generate,  
The soul with Corporeityed would slain:  
Such qualities outwardly operate,  
The soul within; her acts there closely circulate.   

44  
Wherefore the soul itself by her Idee,  
Which is herself, doth every thing discover;  
By her own central Omniformity  
Brings forth in her own self when aught doth move her;  
Till moved 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 actual forms shall fill.    

The Argument of ANTIPSYCHOPANNYCHIA OR, The Confutation of the Sleep of the Soul.  
Cant. 3.  

Departed souls by living Night  
Sucked in, for pinching woe  
No'te sleep; or if with God unite,  
For joys with which they flow.   

1  
MY hardest task is gone, which was to prove  
That when the soul die death's cut off from all,  
Yet she within herself might live and move,  
Be her own world, by life imaginall.  
But sooth to said, it seems not so natural.  
For though a star, part of the Mundane spirit,  
Shine out with rays circumferential  
So long as with this world it is unite;  
Yet what it would do cut off, so well we cannot weet.   

2  
But sigh our soul with God himself may meet,  
Enacted by His life, I cannot see  
What scruple then remains that moven might  
Lest doubt, but that she wakes with open eye,  
When Fate her from this body doth untie,  
Wherefore her choicest forms do then arise,  
Roused up by union and large sympathy  
With Gods own spirit; she plainly then descries  
Such plenitude of life, as she could ne'er devise.   

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 rays from Moses face did once extend  
Themselves on Sinai hill, where he did get  
Those laws from Gods own mouth, man's life to mend;  
And from Messiah on mount Saron set  
Fare greater beauty shone in his disciples sight.   

4  
Als Socrates, when (his large Intellect  
Being filled with streaming light from God above)  
To that fair sight his soul did close collect,  
That inward lustre though 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 approved by all antiquity;  
With them Philosophers and Priests we find  
All one: or else at least Philosophy  
Linked with God's worship and pure piety:  
Witness Pythagoras, Aglaophemus,  
Zoroaster, thrice-mighty Mercury,  
Wise Socrates, nothing injurious,  
Religious Plato, and vice-taming Orpheus.   

6  
All these, addicted to religion,  
Acknowledged God the fount of verity,  
From whence flows out illumination  
Upon purged souls. But now, O misery!  
To seek to God is held a fantasy,  
But men hug close their loved lust and vice,  
And deem that thraldom a sweet liberty;  
Wherefore reproach and shame they do devise  
Against the braver souls that better things emprise.   

7  
But lo! a proof more strong and manifest:  
Few men but will confess that prophecy  
Proceeds from God, when as our soul's possessed  
By his Allseeing spirit; als ecstasy  
Wherein the soul snatched by the Deity.  
And for a time into high heaven hent  
Doth contemplate that blessed Divinity  
So Paul and John that into Patmos went,  
Herd and saw things inestimably excellent.   

8  
Such things as these, men jointly do confess  
To spring from Gods own spirit immediately:  
But if that God ought on the soul impress  
Before it be at perfect liberty,  
Quite rend from this base body; when that she  
Is utterly released, she'll be more fit  
To be informed 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 plastic spirit:  
Thus he the world with various forms doth dight  
And when his vigour hath framed 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 lie.   

10  
Even so it is with th' intellectual sun,  
Fountain of life, and all-discovering light,  
He frames our souls by his creation,  
Als he indews them with internal sight,  
Then shines into them by his lucid spirit.  
But corporal 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.   

11  
Fear, anger, hope, fierce vengeance, and swollen hate,  
Tumultuous joy, envy and discontent,  
Self-love, vainglory, 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 Sun unseen on a trees rugged rind.   

12  
But the clean soul by virtue purified  
Collecting her own self from the foul steem  
Of earthly life, is often dignified  
With that pure pleasure that from God doth streem,  
Often's enlightened by that radiant beam,  
That issues forth from his divinity,  
Then feelingly immortal she doth deem  
Herself, conjoined by so near unity  
With God, and nothing doubts of her eternity.   

13  
Nor death, nor sleep nor any dismal shade  
Of low contracting life she then doth fear,  
No troubled thoughts her settled mind invade,  
Th' immortal root of life she seethe clear,  
Wisheth she were for ever grafted here:  
No cloud, no darkness, no deficiency  
In this high heavenly life doth ere appear;  
Redundant fullness, and free liberty,  
Easie flowing knowledge, never weary energy,   

14  
Broad open sight, eternal wakefulness,  
Withouten labour or consuming pain:  
The soul all these in God must needs possess  
When there deep-rooted life she doth obtain,  
As I in a few words shall maken plain.  
This body's life by powerful sympathy  
The soul to sleep and labour doth constrain,  
To grief, to weariness and anxiety,  
In fine, to hideous sense of dread mortality.   

15  
But sigh no such things in the Deity  
Are to be found; She once incorporate  
With that quick essence, she is setten free  
From aught that may her life obnubilate,  
What then can her contract or maken straight?  
For ever moved by lively sympathy  
With Gods own spirit, an everwaking 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 hindrance to close union:  
Als must confess 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 sigh the soul is of such subtlety,  
And close collectednesse, in dispersion,  
Full by her central 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 dispersions 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 corporeal, which dispersed be.  
He also the first Goodness is defined  
Wherefore the soul most powerfully's inclined  
And strongly drawn to God. But life that's here,  
When into it the soul doth closely wind,  
Is often sneeped by anguish and by fear,  
With vexing pain and rage that she no'te easily bear.   

19  
Fare 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 herself, the greater liberty  
And freer welcome, brighter purity  
She finds, and more enlargement, joy and pleasure  
overflowing, yet without satiety,  
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 stell descrive:  
Their freeness and incarceration  
Were plainly setten forth. What down doth dive  
Into the straitened Cuspis needs must strive  
With stringent bitterness, 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 conjoined to God,  
And closer union surer sympathy;  
Wherefore so long as they make their abode  
In Him, incorp'rate by due Unity  
They liven in eternal energy.  
For Israel's God nor slumbers, nor doth sleep;  
Nor Israel lost in dull lethargy  
Must list less , while numbing streams do steep.  
His heavy head, overwhelmed in oblivion deep.   

22  
But here more curious men will strait inquire,  
Wither after death the wicked soul doth go,  
That long hath wallowed in the sinful mire.  
Before this question I shall answer to,  
Again the nature of the soul I'll show.  
She all things in herself doth centrally  
Contain; what ever she doth feel or know,  
She feels or knows it by th' innate Idee:  
She's all proportioned by her omniformity.   

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 strait possess that fitting vital vein  
That belongs 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 starve  
My stile with too much subtlety) I ne'er meant  
To grant that there's any such thing existent  
As a mere body: For all's life, all spirit,  
Though lives and sprights be very different.  
Three general sprights there be, Eternal Light  
Is one, the next our World, the last Infernal Night.   

25  
This last lies next unto old nothingness  
Hight Hyle, whom I termed point of the Cone:  
Her daughter Night is full of bitterness,  
And straight constraint, and penned privation:  
Her sturdy ray's scarce conquered by the moon.  
The earth's great shade breaks out from this hid spirit,  
And active is; so soon the Sun is gone,  
Doth repossess the air shotten forth right  
From its hid central life, yclept Infernal Night.   

26  
In this dread world is scorching Phlegeton;  
Hot without flame, burning the vexed sense;  
There hateful Styx and sad Cocytus run,  
And silent Acheron. All drink from hence,  
From this damned spirit receiven influence,  
That in our world or poison do outspue,  
Or have an ugly shape and foul presence:  
That deadly poison and that direful hue  
From this Nocturnal spirit these uggly creatur●● 〈◊〉   

27  
This is the seat of God's eternal ire,  
When unmixed vengeance he doth fully pour  
Upon foul souls fit for consuming fire:  
Fierce storms and tempests strongly doth he show  
Upon their heads: His rage doth still devour  
The never dying soul. Here Satanas  
Hath his full swing to torture every hour  
The grisly ghosts of men; when they have pass  
From this mid world to that most direful dismal place.   

28  
Did Nature but compile one mighty sphere  
Of this dark Stygian spirit, and close collect  
Its scattered being, that it might appear  
Aloft in the wide heaven, it would project  
Dark powerful beams, that solar life ycheckt  
With these dull choking rays, all things would die.  
Infernal poison the earth would infect,  
Incessant showers of pitchy shafts let fly  
Against the Sun with darkness would involve the sky.   

29  
Nor is my Muse wox mad, that thus gives life  
To Night or Darkness, sigh all things do live.  
But Night is nothing (strait I'll end that strife)  
Doth nought impressions to the sense derive?  
If without prejudice you'll deign to dive  
Into the matter, as much realty  
To darkness as to coldness you will give.  
Certes both night and coldness active be  
Both strike the sense, they both have real entity.   

30  
Again. 'tis plain that that nocturall spirit  
Sends forth black eben-beams and mirksome rays,  
Because her darkness as the Sun his light  
More clearly doth reflect on solid place,  
As when a wall, a shade empighten has  
Upon it, sure that shade fare darker is  
Then is the air that lies in the mid space.  
What is the reason? but that rays emisse  
From central Night the walls reflection multiplies.   

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 aereal:  
So 'tis with shadows that amid do lie  
In the slight air; there scarce we them descry,  
But when they fall upon the wall or ground,  
They gain a perfect sensibility.  
Scarce ought in outgone light is to be found  
But this Nocturnal rays with like endowments crowned.   

32  
But why doth my half-wearied mind pursue  
Dim skulking darkness, 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 darkness rayed  
From nether Hell, and silently did steal  
On th' enemies of God, as Scripture doth reveal.   

33  
The womb of Night then fully flowered out:  
For that all-swaying endless Majesty  
Which penetrateth those wide worlds throughout,  
This thin spread darkness that dispersed doth lie  
Summoned by his dread voice, and strong decree.  
Much therefore of that spirit close unite  
Into one place did strike the troubled eye  
With horrid blackness, and the hand did smite  
With a clam pitchy ray shot from that central Night.   

34  
This central Night or Universal spirit  
Of woe, of want, of baleful bitterness,  
Of hatred, envy, wrath, and fell despite,  
Of lust, of care, wasting disquietness,  
Of war, contention, and bloodthirstiness,  
Of zeal, of vengeance, of suspicion  
Of hover horror, and sad pensiveness,  
This Stygian stream through all the world doth run,  
And many wicked souls unto itself hath won.   

35  
Lo! here's the portion of the Hypocrite,  
That serveth God but in an outward show.  
But his dread doom must pass upon his spirit,  
Where it propends there surely must he go.  
Due vengeance neither sleepeth nor is slow.  
Hell will suck in by a strong sympathy  
What's like unto itself: So down they flow,  
Devouring anguish and anxiety  
Do vex their souls, in piteous pains, alas! they lie.   

36  
Thus with live Hell be they concorporate,  
United close with that self-gnawing spirit:  
And this I wots will breed no sleeping state.  
Who here descends finds one long restless Night.  
May this the dreaming Psychopannychite  
Awake, and make him seriously prepare  
And purge his heart, lest this infernal might  
Suck in his soul before he be well ware.  
Kill but the seeds of sin than are you past this fear.   

37  
Thus have I proved by the souls union  
With heaven and hell, that she will be awake  
When she from this mid Nature is gone.  
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 lived like plant or grazing sheep,  
Who of nought else but sloth and growth doth taken keep;   

38  
Whose drooping fancy never flowered out,  
Who relished nought but this gross body's food,  
Who never entertained an active thought,  
But like down-looking beasts was only moved  
To feed themselves, whither this drowsy mood  
So drench the lowering soul and inly steep  
That she lies senseless drowned in Lethe flood;  
Who will let dive into this mystery deep:  
Into such narrow subtleties I list not creep.   

39  
But well I wot that wicked cruelty,  
Hate, envy, malice, and ambition,  
Bloodsucking zeal, and lawless tyranny,  
In that Nocturnal spirit 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 cruel he'll no mercy show.   

40  
Where's Nimrod now, and dreadful Hannibal?  
Where's that ambitious pert Pellean lad,  
Whose pride swelled bigger than this earthly ball?  
Where's cruel Nero, with the rest that had  
Command, and vexed the world with usage bad?  
They're all sunk down into this nether hell;  
Who erst upon the Nations stoutly strad  
Are now the Devil's footstool. His dread spell  
Those vassals doth command, though they with fury swell.   

41  
Consuming anguish, styptic bitterness,  
Doth now so strangle their imperious will,  
That in perpetual disquietness  
They roll and rave, and roar and rage's their fill,  
Like a mad bull that the sly hunter's skill  
Hath caught in a strong net. But more they strive  
The more they kindle that tormenting ill.  
Wo's me! in what great misery they live!  
Yet wot I not what may these wretched thralls relieve.   

42  
The safest way for us that still survive  
Is this, even our own lust to mortify;  
So Gods own Will will certainly revive.  
Thus shall we gain a perfect liberty,  
And everlasting life. But if so be  
We seek ourselves with ardent hot desire,  
From that Infornall Night we are not free;  
But living Hell will kindle a fierce fire.  
And with uncessant pains our vexed soul will tyre.   

43  
Then the wild phanfie from her horrid womb  
Will senden forth foul shapes. O dreadful 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 herself ill wounded, sorely stung.  
Old fulsome Hags with scabs and skurf bedight,  
Foul tarry spittle tumbling with their tongue  
On their raw leather lips, these near will to her clung,   

44  
And lovingly salute against her will,  
Closely embrace, and make her mad with woe:  
She'd lever thousand times they did her kill,  
Then force her such vile baseness 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 darn hollow pit knows not herself to save.   

45  
After a while, tossed on the Ocean main  
A boundless sea she finds of misery;  
The fiery snorts of the Leviathan  
(That makes the boiling waves before him fly)  
She hears, she sees his blazing morn-bright eye:  
If here she scape, deep gulfs and threatening rocks  
Her frighted self do straightway terrify;  
Steel-coloured clouds with rattling thunder knocks,  
With these she is amazed, and thousand such like mocks.   

46  
All which afflict her even like perfect sense:  
For waxed mad with her sore searching pain  
She cannot easily find the difference,  
But toils and tears and tugs, but all in vain;  
Herself from her own self she cannot strain.  
Nocturnal life hath now let open th' Idee  
Of innate darkness, from this fulsome vein  
The soul is filled with all deformity.  
But Night doth stir her up to this dread energy.   

47  
But here some man more curious than wise  
Perhaps will ask, where Night or Hell may be:  
For he by his own self cannot devise,  
Sith cheerful light doth fill the open sky.  
And what's the earth to the souls subtlety?  
Such men I'd carry to some standing pool,  
Down to the water bid them bend their eye,  
They then shall see the earth possessed and full  
Of heaven, dight with the sun or stars that there do roll.   

48  
Or to an hill where's some deep hollow Cave  
Dreadful for darkness; let them take a glass,  
When to the pitchy hole they turned have  
Their instrument, that darkness 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 darkness safely rays even in the sunny sky.   

49  
But further yet the mind to satisfy  
That various apprehensions bearen down  
And to hold up with like variety  
Of well framed phantasms, lest she sink and drown  
Laden with heavy thoughts sprung from the ground  
And miry clods of this accursed earth  
Whose dull suffusions make her often sown,  
O'ercome with cold, till nimble Reason bear'th  
Unto her timely aid and on her feet her rear'th:   

50  
I will adjoin to those three former ways  
To weet, of the Souls self-activity  
Of Union with Hell, and Gods high rays  
A fourth contrivement, which all souls doth tie  
To their winged Chariots, wherein swift they fly.  
The fiery and airy Vehicles they height  
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.     

The Preface to the Reader.  
ALthough the opinion of the Praeexistency of the Soul be made so probable and passable in the Canto itself, that none can sleight and contemn it, that do not ordinarily approve themselves men by Derision more than by Reason; yet so heavy prejudice lying upon us both from Natural diffidence in so high Points, and from our common Education, I thought it fit, for seeuring myself, from suspicion of overmuch lightness, to premize thus much: That that which I have taken the pains and boldness to present to the free judgement of others, hath been already judged of old, very sound and orthodox, by the wisest and most learned of preceding Ages.  
Which R. Menasseh Ben-Israel, doth abundantly attest in his 15. Problem. De Creatione; Avouching that it is the common Opinion of all the Hebrews, and that it was never called into controversy, but approved of, by the common consent and suffrage of all wise men.  
And himself doth by several places out of the Old Testament (as pat for his purpose, I think, as any can be brought against it) endeavour to make it good; but might I confess, have been more fitly furnished, could his Religion have reached into the New. For Philip. 2. v. 6, 7, 8. John 9 v. 1, 2, 3. John 17. v. 45. Mark 8. v. 27, 28. all those places do seem so naturally to favour this Probability, that if it had pleased the Church to have concluded it for a standing Truth; He that would not have been fully convinced upon the evidence of these passages of Scripture, would undoubtedly, have been held a man of a very timorous & sceptical constitution, if not something worse.  
Nor is the feebleness and miserable ineptness of Infancy any greater damp to the belief of this Preexistency than the dotage and debility of old Age, to the hope of the Souls future subsistency after death,  
Nor, if we would fetch an argument from Theology, is God's Justice, and the divine Nemesis less set out, by supposing that the Souls of men, through their own revolting from God before they came into the body, have thus in several measures engaged themselves in the sad, dangerous, and almost fatal entanglements of this Corporeal World; than it is, by conceiving that they must needs survive the Body, that the judgement of the Almighty may pass upon them, for what they have committed in the flesh.  
Nor last, is it harder to fancy, how these Preaexistent Souls insinuate into seed, Embryos, or Infants, then how Created one's are insinuated; nor yet so hard, to determine of their condition if they depart in Infancy, as of the condition of these.  
But mistake me not, Reader; I do not contend (in thus arguing) that this opinion of the Praeexistency of the Soul, is true, but that it is not such a self-condemned Falsity, but that I might without justly incurring the censure of any Vainness or Levity, deem it worthy the canvas and discussion of sober and considerate men.  
Yours H.M.   

The Praeexistency of the SOUL.  
The Argument:  

Of the Soul's Praeexistency  
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 high spirit which did enrich thy brains  
With choice conceits, 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 Praeexistency  
Of humane souls, and live once o'er again  
By recollection and quick memory  
All what is passed 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 than man!  
Aread thou sacred Soul of Plotin dear  
Tell what we mortals are, tell what of old we were.   

3  
A spark or ray of the Divinity  
Clouded in earthy fogs, clad in clay,  
A precious drop sunk from Eternity,  
Spilt on the ground, or rather slunk away.  
For than we fell when we 'gan first t'assay  
By stealth, of our own selves something to been,  
Uncentring ourselves from our great stay.  
Which fond we new liberty did ween  
And from that prank right jolly wights ourselves 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 Aeon, then from Plyche free,  
We after fell into low fantasy,  
And after that into corporeal 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 groping after our own Centres near  
And proper substance we grew dark, contract,  
Swallowed 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 savage 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 ourselves a whit from hence below,  
Ne strive our Parentage again to know;  
Ne dream we once of any other stock,  
Since fostered upon Rhea's knees we grow,  
In Satyr's arms with many a mow and mock  
Oft danced, and hairy Pan our cradle oft hath rocked.   

7  
But Pan nor Rhea be our Parentage  
We been the Offspring of allseeing Jove  
Though now, whether through our own miscarriage  
Or secret force of fate, that all doth move  
We be cast low, for why? the sportful love  
Of our great Maker (like as mother's dear  
In pleasance from them do their children shove  
That back again they may recoil 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 Deity  
And the created world, that thereupon  
We may with a free resignation  
Give up ourselves to him deserves us best.  
That love is none that's by coaction.  
Hence he our souls from his own self released  
And left us free to follow what the most us pleased.   

9  
And for this purpose did enrich our choice  
By framing of the outward Universe.  
The framing of this world a meet devise  
Whereby God's wisdom through all may pierce,  
From height 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 bathe well drenched and sound purged.   

10  
Thus nothing's lost of God's fecundity.  
But stretching out himself in all degrees  
His wisdom, goodness and due equity  
Are rightly ranked, in all the soul them sees.  
O holy lamps of God O sacred eyes  
Filled with love and wonder every where!  
Ye wand'ring tapers to whom God descries  
His secret paths, great Psyche's darlings dear!  
Behold her works, but see your hearts close not too near.   

11  
But they so soon as vital Orbs were made  
That rolled round about each starry fire  
Forthwith pursue, and strive them to invade;  
Like evening flies that busily conspire  
Following a Jade that travail long doth tyre,  
To seize his nodding head and suck his sweat.  
But they sucked in into the vital mire  
First died and then again revived by heat  
Did people all the Orbs by this audacious feat.   

12  
But infinite Myriads undipt as yet  
Did still attend each vital moving sphere  
And wait their turns for generation fit  
In airy bodies wafted here and there,  
As sight and sympathy away did bear.  
These corporate with blood, but the first flight  
Of fallen souls, ymeint with slimy gear  
Rose from their earth, breaking their films slight:  
As Stories say, Nile living shapes sends forth to sight.   

13  
Here their third chariot cleped terrestrial  
Great Psyche's brood did enter; for before  
They road more light; first in celestial  
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 Angel's 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 Carcase could discover plain  
From seven-hilled Rome with speedy piercing fight  
What they in Egypt did as Stories writ.  
This is that nimble quick vivacious Orb  
All ear, all eye, with rays round shining bright;  
Sphere of pure sense which no perpessions curb  
Nor uncouth shapen Spectres ever can disturb.   

15  
Next this is that light Vehicle of air,  
Where likewise all sense is in each part pight.  
This is more gross subject to grief and fear  
And most what soiled with bodily delight;  
Sometimes with vengeance, envy, anger, spite.  
This Orb is ever passive in sensation.  
But the third waggon of the soul that height  
The terrene Vehicle, beside this passion  
Hath organised sense, distinct by limitation.   

16  
These last be but the souls live sepulchers  
Where least of all she acts, but afterward  
Rose from this tomb, she free and lively fares  
And upward goes if she be not debarred  
By Adrastias law nor strength impaired  
By too long bondage, in this Cave below.  
The purged souls ascent nought may retard;  
But earthly mindedness may each foreslow  
Their flight, then near the ground in airy weeds they go;   

17  
Awaked to life more ample than before,  
If they their fortune good could then pursue.  
But sigh unwillingly they were ytore  
From their dear carcases their fate they rue,  
And terrene thoughts their troubled minds embue:  
So that in languishment they linger near.  
Their wont homes and oft themselves they show;  
Sometimes on purpose, sometimes unaware  
That waked by hasty call they straightway disappear.   

18  
For men that wont to wander in their sleep  
By the fixed light of inward fantasy,  
Though a short fit of death fast bounden keep  
Their outward sense and all their Organs tie;  
Yet forth they far steered right steadily  
By that internal guide: even so the ghosts  
Of men deceased bedewed with the sky  
And nights cold influence, in sleep yelosed  
Awake within, and walk in their forewonted coast.   

19  
In shape they walk much like to what they bore  
Upon the earth: For that light Orb of air  
Which they enact must yielden evermore  
To fancies beck, so when the souls appear  
To their own selves alive as once they were,  
So clothed and conversant in such a place,  
The inward eyes of fancy thither steer  
Their gliding vehicle, that bears the face  
Of him that lived, that men may read what ●ight it was.   

20  
And often asked what would they, they descry  
Some secret wealth, or hidden injury.  
That first they broach that overold doth lie  
Within their minds: but vanish suddenly  
Disturbed by bold man's 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 deadliness our souls shall seize,  
That neither sense nor fancies fountains spring,  
But ever close in dull unactive ease.  
For though that Death our spirits doth release  
From this distinguished 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 Wain  
In which we ride when that of earth is gone,  
Unless 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 feign:  
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.   

23  
But first lay out the treasures of the Air  
That immense womb from whence all body's spring.  
And then the force of Fantasy declare.  
Of Witches wonnes a while then mayst 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, joint light do bear;   

24  
Show fitly how the preaexistent 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 than we what things transacted be  
Upon the Earth; and when they list, may show  
Themselves to friend or foe, their fantasy  
Moulding their airy Orb to gross consistency.   

25  
For sooth to say, all things of Air consist  
And easily back again return to air.  
Witness the carcases of man and beast  
Which waist though teeth of Wolves them never tear,  
Nor Crow nor Vulture do their flesh empare,  
Yet all is waste and gone, no relics seen  
Of former shape, saving the bones bare,  
And the bare bones by Time and Art, I ween,  
First into liquor melt to air ychanged been.   

26  
Besides experience doth maken plain  
How clouds be but the crudling of the air.  
Take a round glass let it nought but air contain,  
Close it with Hermes seal, then cover it over  
With cinders warm, only the top discover,  
The gentle fire hard at the bottom pight  
Thins the low air, which got above doth hover  
Like a white fume embodying in the height  
●ith cooler parts, then turns to drops all crystal bright.   

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 blustering keen  
'Gainst a steep rock, which straight themselves did teem  
Upon the Earth and wet the verdant Plain,  
Dissolved by the sight of Phoebus' sheen.  
But sometimes clouds afford, not only rain  
But blood, stones, milk, corn, frogs, fire, earth and all contain.   

28  
Wherefore all bodies be of air composed  
Great Natures all-complying Mercury,  
Unto ten thousand shapes and forms disposed:  
Like nimble quicksilver that doth agree  
With gold with brass or with what ere it be  
Amalgamate, but brought unto the fire  
Into an airy fume it all doth fly,  
Though you before might turn to earth and mire  
What into ancient air so quickly doth retire.   

29  
Wherefore the soul possessed of matter meet  
If she hath power to operate thereon  
Can each transform this Vehicle to sight,  
Dight with due colour, figuration.  
Can speak, can walk, and then dispear anon  
Spreading herself in the dispersed air.  
Then if she please recall again what's gone.  
Those th' uncouth mysteries of fancy are  
Then thunder fare more strong: more quick than lightning fa●   

30  
Some heave toward this strange activity  
We may observe even in this mortal state.  
Here health and sickness of the fantasy  
Often proceed, which working minds create,  
And pox and pestilence do malleate  
Their thoughts still beating on those objects ill,  
Which doth the mastered blood contaminate,  
And with foul poisonous impressions fill  
And last the precious life with deadly dolour kill.   

31  
And if't be true that learned Clerks do say  
His fantasy 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 differed, their eager appetite  
So sharply edges the quick fantasy  
That it the Signature doth carve and write  
Of what she longed for, on the Infant's body,  
Imprinting it so plain that all the world may see.   

32  
Those streaked rods placed by that Syrian swain  
Before the sheep when they received the ram,  
(Whence the best part of Laban's flock became  
All spotted o'er, whereby his shepherd won  
The greater wages,) show what fancy can.  
And boys o'er night when they went to their rest  
By dreams grown up to th' stature of a man—  
And bony shapes in men's sad hearts expressed  
Dear image of their love, and wrought by love's unrest:   

33  
Things fare more wonderful than Cippus horn  
Who in the field with so much earnestness  
Viewing the fight of bulls risen in the Morn  
With forked front: for though the fight did cease  
Amongst th' enraged herds, yet ne'er the less  
His working fancy did the war revive.  
Which on the blood did make so strong impress  
In dewy sleep that humours did arrive  
His knobby head and a fair pair of horns contrive:   

34  
All these declare the force of fantasy  
Though working here upon this stubborn clay.  
But th' airy Vehicle yields more easily  
Unto her beck more nimbly doth obey.  
Which truth the joint confessions bewray  
Of damned Hags and Masters of bold skill  
Whose hellish mysteries fully to display  
With pitchy darkness would the Heavens fill  
The earth would groan, trees sigh, and horror all over spill.   

35  
But he that out of darkness 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 open to lay,  
And show her empire on her airy sphere  
By what of sprights and spectres Stories say.  
For sprights and spectres that by night appear  
Be or all one with souls or of a nature near.   

36  
Up than renowned Wizard, Hermit sage!  
That twice ten years didst in the desert won,  
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 of thy Thrax, who has thee won,  
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 named from Air  
The first a loft, yet fare beneath the Moon  
The other in this lower region far.  
The third Terrestrial, the fourth Watery are,  
The fift be Subterranean, the last  
And worst, Light-hating ghosts more cruel fare  
Then Bear or Wolf with hunger hard oppressed  
But doltish yet and dull like an unwieldy beast.   

38  
If this sort once possess the arteries  
Of forlorn man: Madness and stupor seize  
His salvaged heart, and death dwells in his eyes.  
Ne is there remedy for this sad disease.  
For that unworthy guest so senseless is  
And deaf, no Exorcist can make him hear,  
But would in vain with Magic words chastise.  
Others the thundering threats of Tartar fear  
And the dread names of Angels that this office bear.   

39  
For they been all subject to passion.  
Some been so gross they hunger after food,  
And send out seed of which worms spring anon,  
And love to liggen warm in living blood,  
Whence they into the veins do often crowd  
Of beasts as well as men, wherein they bathe  
Themselves, and sponge-like suck that vital flood,  
As they done also in their airy 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 phansies more inert  
And therefore usually in one shape endure.  
But those of air 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 start,  
Like leaping Leopard he'll thee invade  
Then made a man again he'll comfort thee afraid.   

41  
Then strait more quick than thought or cast of eye  
A snarling Dog, or bristled Boar he'll be;  
Anon a jugge of milk if thou be dry,  
So easily's turned that aire-consistency  
Through inward sport and power of fantasy.  
For all things virtually are contained in air.  
And like the sun, that fiery spirit free  
Th' internal soul, at once the seed doth rear  
Waken and ripe at once as if full aged they were.   

42  
Chameleon like thus they their colour change  
And size contract, and then dilate again:  
Like the soft earthworm hurt by heedless chance  
Shrinks in herself to shun or ease her pain.  
Nor done they only thus themselves constrain  
Into less bulk, but if with courage bold  
And flaming brand thou strike these shades in twain,  
A sudden smart they feel that cannot hold,  
Close quick as cloven air. So sang that Vizard old.   

43  
And truth he said what ever he was told,  
As even this present Age may verify,  
If any lists its stories to unfold  
Of Hags of Hobgobling of Incubi,  
Abhorred dugs by devils sucken dry,  
Of leaping lamps and of fierce flying stones  
Of living wool, and such like witchery  
Or proved by sight or self confessions  
Which things much credence gain to past traditions.   

44  
Wherefore with boldness we will now relate  
Some few in brief, as of th' Astorgan lad,  
Whose peevish mother in fell ire and hate  
Quite drunk with passion, through quick choler 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 than bird can fly,  
Strait to the destined place arrived are  
Mongst craggy rocks, and bushy Mountains high,  
Where up and down they drag the sorry boy;  
His tender skin and gory flesh they tear  
Till he 'gan on his Maker call and cry.  
Which forced the villains home again him bear,  
Where he the story told, restored by Parent's care.   

46  
The walking Skeleton in Bolonia  
Laden with rattling chains, that showed his grave  
To th' watchful 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 pass the fair Cerdinian maid  
Whose love a jolly swain did kindly crave,  
And oft with mutual solace with her stayed;  
Yet was no jolly swain but a deceitful shade.   

47  
More harmless mirth may that mad spirit commend  
Who in an honest widow's house did won  
At Salamanca, who whole showers would send  
Of stones that swifter than a whirlwind come  
And yet where ere they hit no hurt is done.  
But cursed cruel be those wicked Hags  
Whom poisonous spite, envy and hate have won  
TO abhorred sorcery, whose writhled bags  
Fould fiends oft suck and nestle in their loathsome rags.   

48  
Such as the Devil woes in homely form  
Of swarthy man, or some black shaggy Cur,  
Or vermin base, and in sad case forlorn  
Them malcontent to evil motions stir,  
Proffer their service adding a quick spur  
To meditated vengeance, and fell teen,  
Whose hellish voice they hear without demur,  
Abjure God and his Son, who did redeem  
The world, give up themselves to Satan and foul sin.   

49  
Thus ' bodied into that Stygian crew  
Of damned wights made fast by their own blood  
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, fare from or house or town,  
And kiss with drivelling lips in frantcik mood  
His sacred breech. Catch that catch may anon  
Each Fiend 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 Venery  
And coarsest Lust, the other near doth lie  
And is yclept Vengeance, Malice, Hate,  
Or restless Envy that would all destroy.  
But both but from one seed do germinate  
Height uncurbed Will, or strong Desire inordinate.   

51  
Wherefore I needs must humbly here adore  
Him whose chaste soul enwombd in Virgin chaste,  
As chaste a body amongst mortals wore,  
Who never woman knew, ne once did taste  
Of Hymen's pleasures while this life did last.  
Ah! my dear Lord! dread Sovereign of souls  
Who with thy life and lore so warmed hast  
My wounded heart, that when thy story's told,  
Sweet Love, methinks, in's silver wings me all infolds.   

52  
How do I hang upon thy sacred lips  
More sweet than Manna or the honeydew!  
Thy speech, like rosy drops doth cool my wits  
And calm my fierce affections untrue,  
And win my heart unto obeisance due.  
Blessed O thrice blessed be that holy hill  
Whereon thou didst instruct thy faithful crew  
In ways of peace, of patience and good will  
Forbidding base self-love, revenge and speeches ill.   

53  
Meek Lamb of God the world's both scourge and scorn!  
How done th' infernal fiends thy face envy!  
Thou light, they darkness, they Night, thou the Morn!  
Mild chariot of God's lovely Majesty!  
Exalted Throne of the Divinity!  
As thou with thine makest through the yielding air  
How do thy frighted foes before thee fly!  
And grin and gnash their teeth for spite and fear  
To see such awful 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 sinful dust.  
See with what hellish Comrades you combine.  
Als see whose lovely friendship you decline.  
Even his whose love to you more strong than death  
Did death abide, foul shame and evil tine.  
But if sweet love your hearts may move uneath  
Think how one fatal flame, shall burn all underneath.   

55  
Pan's pipe shall then be mute, and Satyrs heel  
Shall cease to dance ybrent in scorching fire;  
For pleasure then each earthly spirit 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 doom.  
Then thou and thy dear Saints ascending higher  
Shalt fly the fate▪ and quit this stinking room  
With smouldry smoke, fierce fire, and loathsome stench o'errun.   

56  
Go now you cursed Hags, salute your Goat  
Whether with drivelling 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, thundering this precept dread,  
Revenge, revenge, or I shall on you send  
Due vengeance: Thus dismissed 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 mortals move  
In airy Chariots but stupid lie  
Locked up in sloth and senseless Lethargy.  
Certes our soul's as well proportionate  
To this aerial weed as spirits free:  
For neither can our souls incorporate  
With naked Earth, the Air must ever mediate.   

58  
Which that bold Art which Necromancy height  
Doth know too well, and therefore doth prepare  
A vaporous vehicle for th' intended spirit,  
With reek of oil, meal, milk, and such like gear,  
Wine, water, honey; Thus souls fitted are  
A grosser Carcase for to reassume.  
And though Thessalian Hags their pains do spare  
Sometimes they enter without Magic fume;  
Witness ye Cretick wives, who felt their fruitless spume.   

59  
And therefore to prevent such hellish lust  
They did by laws Municipal provide  
That he that dared to rise out of his dust  
And thus infest his wife, a stake should gride  
His stubborn heart and's body bourn beside.  
Hereto belongs that story of the spirit  
Of fell Asuitus noted far and wide,  
And of his faithful comrade Asmund height;  
Twixt whom this law was made, as Danish Records write:   

60  
Which of them two the other did survive  
Must be entombed 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 faithful Asmund, be not lost for meat:  
Wherefore he was well stored his life to save  
And lived sometime in that infernal seat  
Till Errick King of Sweads the door did open break.   

61  
For well he weened there was some treasure hid  
Which might enrich himself, or's Army pay.  
But when he had broke  the brazen lid  
Nought but a sorry wight they finden may,  
Whom out of darkness 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 show,  
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 dread,  
At me let fly) Asuit this wound me gave,  
But well I quit myself, took off his head  
With this same blade, his heart nailed to the Cave:  
Thus I myself by force did from the monster save.   

63  
The soul of Naboth lies to Ahab told,  
As done the learned Hebrew Doctors writ,  
His foe in mischief thereby to enfold.  
Go up to Ramoth Gilead and fight,  
Go up and prosper, said the lying spirit  
The angry ghost of Naboth whom he slew  
Unjustly, and possessed his ancient right.  
Hence his revengeful soul with speech untrue  
Sat on his Prophet's lips, and did with lies embue.   

64  
Ne may I pass that story sad of Saul  
And samuel's ghost, whom he in great distress  
Consulted, was foretold his final fall  
By that old man, whom Endors sorceress  
Awaked from pleasant vision and sweet ease,  
Straightening a while his wont liberty  
By clammy air more close and thick compress,  
Then 'gan the mantled Sage saul's destiny  
To read, and thine with his, dear Jonathan! to tie.   

65  
That lovely lass Pausanias did kill  
Through ill surmise she meant him treachery  
How did her angry spirit haunt him still  
That he could not where rest, nor quiet .  
Her wronged ghost was ever in his eye.  
And he that in his anger slew his wife,  
And was exempt by Law from penalty,  
Poor sorry man he led a weary life  
Each night the Shrew him beat with buffs 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 learnt Arabian Leach.  
He of a late deceased Physician  
Upon his bed by dream or vision  
Received a sovereign salve for his sore eye,  
And just Simonides compassion  
Unto the dead that did unburied   
On washed shore, him saved from jaws of destiny.   

67  
For he had perished in th' unruly waves,  
And sudden storm, but lo! the thankful spirit  
Of the interred by timely counsel saves,  
Warning him of the danger he would meet  
In his intended voyage,  
Simonides desists by is counsel 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 Arctic Climes, an Isle that Thule height  
Famous sor snowy monts, whose hoary head's  
Sure sign of cold, tyet from their fiery feet  
They strike out burning stones with thunder's dread,  
And all the Land with smoke, and ashes spread:  
Here wand'ring Ghosts themselves have often shown,  
As if it were the region of the dead,  
And men departed met with whom '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 Martial boys.  
The Greek, the Persian, nightly here destroys  
In hot assault, embroiled in a long war.  
Four hundred years did last these dreadful toys,  
As doth by Attic 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 Cal●gula,  
Nor Julius' stern Ghost, who will, with ease  
May for himself of old or new purvey.  
Thousand such stories in men's mouths do stray.  
But sigh it much perplexeth slower minds  
To think our souls unhurt can pass away  
From their dear corpse so close thereto confined,  
From this unwieldy thought let's now their wits unbind.   

71  
For if that spirits can possess our veins  
And arteries (as usual stories tell)  
Use all our Organs act our nerves and brains  
And by our tongue can future things foretell,  
And safely yet keep close in this warm cell  
For many years and not themselves impair  
Nor lose ymeint with the blood where they dwell,  
But come out clever when they conjured are  
And nimbly pass 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 joined  
Then through it to feel, to see, to hear  
And to impart the passions of the mind?  
All which done by th' usurping spirit we find.  
As witness may that maid in Saxony,  
Who meanly born of rude unlearned kind,  
Not taught to read, yet Greek and Latin she  
Can roundly speak and in those tongues did prophesy.   

73  
Timotheus sister down in childbed laid  
Distur'b, all- frantic through deadly pain  
Tearing the clothes, which much her friends dismayed,  
Mumbling strange words as confused as her brain  
At last was proved to speak Armenian.  
For an old man that was by chance in town  
And from his native soil Armenia came  
The woman having heard of his renown  
Sent to this aged Sire to this sick wight to come.   

74  
Lo! now has entered 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.   

75  
Then 'gan he sternly speak and heave his hon  
And feigned himself enraged with hasty ire  
As ready for to strike with flaming brand,  
But she for fear shrunk back and did retire  
Into her bed and gently did respire,  
Muttering few easy words in sleepy wise.  
So now whom erst tumultuous thoughts did tyre  
Composed to rest doth sweetly close her eyes,  
Then waked, what her befell, in sober mood descries.   

76  
Now, Thrax! thy Story add of Alytas  
Who got his friend into a Mountain high  
Where he with him the loansome night did pass  
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 say  
Well known 'mongst country folk, our spirits fly,  
From twixt our lips, and thither back again,  
Sometimes like Doves, sometime like to a Bee,  
And sometime in their body's shape they be;  
But all this while their carcase lies asleep  
Drown in dull rest son of mortality;  
At last these shapes returned do slily creep  
Into their mouth, than the dead clouds away they wipe.   

79  
Nor been these stories all but Country fictions.  
For such like things even learned Clerks do write,  
Of brazen sleep and bodi'sderelictions.  
That Proconnesian Sage that Atheus height  
Did oft himself of this dull body quit,  
His soul then wand'ring in the easy air.  
But as to smoking lamp but lately light  
The flame catched by the reek descends from fare,  
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 cursed foes the fell Cantharidae  
Assault his house when he was far from home,  
Burn down to ashes his forsaken clay.  
So may his wand'ring 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 corpse halter, do themselves withhold  
From bodily assisting their night game.  
Wherefore their carcases at home retain.  
But with their souls 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 kiss the Devil's breech and taste his deadly cheer.   

82  
A many stories to this purpose might  
Be brought of men that in this Ecstacy  
So senseless  that coals laid to their feet  
Nor nips nor whips can make them open 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 nigh,  
Professing that their souls unbodied were  
And roamed about the earth in Countries here and there.   

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 corpse that no live thing  
Do tread or touched, so safely may their spirit  
Spend three whole days in airy wandering.  
A feat that's often done through Magic might,  
By the Norvegian Hags as learned Authors write.   

84  
But now well wearied with our too long stay  
In these Cimmerian fogs and hateful mists  
Of Ghosts of Goblins and dread sorcery,  
From nicer allegations we'll desist.  
Enough is said to prove that souls dismissed  
From these gross bodies may be clothed in air  
Escape free (although they did not praeexist,)  
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 praeexist  
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, men's patiences to prove.   

86  
But if men's souls be individuous  
How can they ought from their own substance shed?  
In generation there's nought flows from us  
Saving gross sperm yspent in Nuptial bed  
Drained from all parts throughout the body spread,  
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.   

87  
Wherefore who thinks from souls new souls to bring  
The same let press the Sun beams in his fist  
And squeeze out drops of light, or strongly wring  
The Rainbow, till it die his hands, well pressed.  
Or with uncessant industry persist  
Th' intentional species to mash and bray  
In marble mortar, till he has expressed  
A sovereign eyesalve to discern a Fay.  
As easily as the first all these effect you may.   

88  
Ne may quaint similes 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 sulphurous gear.   

89  
No substance new that act doth then produce  
Only the oily atoms it doth excite  
And wake into a flame, but no such use  
There is of humane sperm. For our free spirit  
Is not the kindled seed, but substance quite  
Distinct therefrom. If not, than bodies may  
So changed be by nature and stiff fight  
Of hungry stomaches, that what erst was clay  
Then herbs, in time itself in sense may well display.   

90  
For then our soul can nothing be but blood  
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 through our thin eyes  
And view the Close wherein the Cow did feed  
Whence they were milked, gross Piecrust will grow wife,  
And pickled Cucumbers sans doubt Philosophise.   

91  
This all will follow if the soul be nought  
But the live body. For men's bodies feed  
Of such gross meat. and if more fine be brought,  
Suppose Snipes heads, Larks heels for Ladies meet  
The broth of Barley, or that oily Sweet  
Of th' unctuous Grape, yet all men must confess  
These be as little capable of wit  
And sense, nor can be so transformed, I wisse.  
Therefore no soul of man from seed traducted is.   

92  
Ne been they by th' high God than first create  
When in this earthly mansion they appear.  
For why should he so soon contaminate  
So unspotted beauties as men's spirits are  
Flinging them naked into dunghills here?  
Soil them with guilt and foul contagion?  
When as in his own hand they spotless were  
Till by an uncouth strange infusion  
He plunged them in the deep of Malediction.   

93  
Besides unworthily he doth surmise  
Of God's pure being and bright Majesty  
Who unto such base offices him ties,  
That He must wait on lawless Venery  
Not only by that large Causality  
Of general influence (for Creation  
More special concourse all men deem to be)  
But on set purpose He must come anon,  
And ratify the act which oft men wish undone.   

94  
Which is a rash and shameless bad conceit,  
So might they name the brat Adeodatus,  
What ever they in lawless love beget.  
Again, what's still far more prodigious  
When men are stung with fury poisonous  
And burn with flames of lust toward brute beasts,  
And overcome into conjunction rush,  
He then from that foul act is not released,  
Creates a soul misplacing the unhappy guest.   

95  
Wherefore man's soul's not by Creation.  
Nor is it generate as I proved before.  
Wherefore let it be by emanation  
(If fully it did not praeexist of yore)  
By flowing forth from that eternal store  
Of Lives and souls yclept the World of life,  
Which was, and shall endure for evermore.  
Hence done all bodies vital fire derive  
And matter never lost catch life and still revive.   

96  
And what has once sprout out doth never cease  
If it enjoy itself, a spray to be  
Distinct and actual, though if God please  
He can command it into th' ancient tree.  
This immense Orb of waste vitality  
With all its Lives and Souls is every where,  
And does, where matter right prepared doth lie,  
Impart a soul, as done the sun beams clear  
Insinuate themselves, where filth doth not debar.   

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' full  
Of several souls thick set, what may the furthest pull?   

98  
What may engage them to descend so low  
Removed fare from the steam of earthly mire?  
My wits been here too scant and faith too slow.  
Ne longer lists my wearied thoughts to tyre.  
Let bolder spirits to such height aspire.  
But well I wot, if there admitted were  
A praeexistency of souls entire,  
And due Returns in courses circular  
This course all difficulties with ease away would bear.   

99  
For then suppose they wore an airy sphere  
Which choice or Nemesis sucked lower down,  
Thus without doubt they'll leave their carcase clear;  
Like dispossessed spirit when death doth come  
And by rude exorcism bids quit the room.  
Ne let these intricacies perplex our mind  
That we forget that ere we saw the sun  
Before this life. For who can call to mind  
Where first he here saw sun or felt the gentle wind.   

100  
Besides what wonder is it, when fierce disease  
Can so empair the strongest memory,  
That so full change should make our spirits lose  
What 'fore they had impressed in fantasy.  
Nor doth it follow thence that when we die  
We nought retain of what passed in these days.  
For Birth is Death, Death Life and Liberty.  
The soul's not thence contract but there displays  
Her loosened self, doth higher all her powers raise.   

101  
Like to a light fast locked in lantern dark  
Whereby, by night our wary steps we guide  
In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark,  
Some weaker rays through the black top do glide,  
And flusher streams perhaps from horny side.  
But when 've passed the peril of the way  
Arrived at home, and laid that case aside,  
The naked light how clearly doth it ray  
And spread its joyful beams as bright as Summer's day.   

102  
Even so the soul in this contracted state  
Consigned to these straight instruments of sense  
More dull and narrowly doth operate.  
At this hole hears, the sight must ray from thence,  
Here tastes, there smells; But when she's gone from hence,  
Like naked lamp she is one shining sphere.  
And round about has perfect cognoscence  
What ere in her Horizon doth appear.  
She is one Orb of sense, all eye, all airy ear.   

103  
Now have I well established the fourth way  
The souls of men from stupid sleep to save,  
First Light, next Night, the third the soul's Self-ray  
Fourth the souls Chariot we named have  
Whether moist air or fire all sparkling brave  
Or temper mixed. Now how these four agree,  
And how the soul herself may dip and lave  
In each by turns; how no redundancy  
there's in them, might we tell, nor scant deficiency.   

104  
But cease my restless Muse be not too free,  
Thy chiefest end thou hast accomplished  
Long since, shaked of the Psychopannychie  
And roused the soul from her dull drowsiehed.  
So nothing now in death is to be dread  
Of him that wakes to truth and righteousness.  
The corpse lies here, the soul aloft is fled  
Unto the fount of perfect happiness.  
Full freedom joy and peace she lively doth possess.    

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 Apollo's answer concerning Plotinus his Soul departed this life.  
By H. M. Master of Arts, and Fellow of Christ's College in Cambridge.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
CAMBRIDGE Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the University. 1647.   

The Argument of ANTIMONOPSYCHIA OR, Confutation of the Unity of SOULS.  

The all-devouring Unity  
Of Souls There disprove;  
Show how they bear their memory  
With them when they remove.   

1  
WHo yields himself to learning and the Muse,  
Is like a man that leaves the steady shore,  
And skims the Sea. He nought then can refuse  
What ever is designed by Neptune's power,  
Is fiercely drove in every stormy stoure,  
Slave to the water and the whistling wind:  
Even so am I, that whilom meant recover  
The wished land, but now against my mind  
Am driven fiercely back, and so new work do find.   

3  
What though the Rational soul immortal be,  
And safely doth exist this body gone,  
And lies broad wake in her existency  
Itall 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 guess that ere upon  
This earth they trod, even this seems to abate  
Their happiness. They'll deem themselves then first create.   

3  
Wherefore to ease us of this double doubt,  
With mighty force great Phoebus 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 glass,  
With surly countenance, it did much displease,  
That any should so sourly him outface;  
Yet whom he saw his dogged self it was:  
Tho he with angry fist struck his own shade.  
Thus he the harmless mirior shattered has  
To many shivers; the same shapes invade  
Each piece, so numbers he of surly vizards made.   

5  
These shapes appeared from the division  
Of the broken glass: so rasher fancies deem  
That Rational souls (whom they suppose but one)  
By the divided matter many seem:  
Bodies disjoind broke glasses they esteem:  
Which if they did into one subflance flow,  
One single soul in that one glass would shine,  
If that one substance also were ygo,  
One only soul is left, the rest were but a show.   

6  
Well is their mind by this similitude  
Explaind. But now let's sift the verity  
Of this opinion, and with reason rude  
Rub, crush, toss, rifle this fine fantasy,  
As light and thin as cobwebs that do fly  
In the blue air, caused by th' Autumnal sun,  
That boils the dew that on the earth doth lie.  
May seem this whitish rag than is the scum,  
Unless that wiser men make't the field-spiders loom.   

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 height Aven-Roe)  
How comesed to pass that she's so seldom known  
In her own self? In few she thinks herself but one.   

8  
Seems not this Soul or Intellect very dull,  
That in so few she can herself 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 herself, if so that she's  
But one in all? right reason surely drove her  
Thus to condemn this lonesome Unity  
Of soul: which reasons her own operations be.   

9  
Thoughts good and bad that Universal mind  
Must take upon itself; 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' universal 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 subtle falsities that nimbly fly  
About the world, that soul them all hath brought;  
Then upon better thoughts with penalty  
Doth sore afflict herself, doth laugh and cry  
At the same time. Here Aristophanes  
Doth maken sport with some spruce Comedy;  
There with some Tragic strain sad Sophocles  
Strikes the Spectators hearts, makes many weeping eyes.   

11  
Such grief this soul must in herself 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 high,  
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 only species entire.  
For what should make it two? The Idee of fire,  
That is but one, the subject is but one,  
One only soul that all men doth inspire.  
Let one man quench that form he thought upon,  
That form is now extinct and utterly gone;   

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 falsehood show.  
Can contraries the same subject imbew?  
Yes; black and white, heat, cold may both possess  
The mind at once; but they a nature new  
Do there obtain, they're not gross qualities,  
But subtle sprights that mutually themselves no'te press.   

14  
But contradiction, can that have place  
In any soul? Plato affirms Idees;  
But Aristotle with his pugnacious race  
As idle figments stiffly 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?   

15  
Which stiffly is maintained in that same song  
Which is yclept Psychathanasie,  
And safely well confirmed 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 displayed.  
Now if there be but one centrality  
Of th' Universal 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 Philosopher's dispute;  
Herself disputes in all that jangling,  
In reasoning fiercely doth herself confute,  
And contradictions confidently conclude:  
That is so monstrous that no man can think  
To have least show of truth. So this pursuit  
I well might now leave off: what need I swink  
To prove what's clearly true, and force out needless ink.   

17  
Again, she would the same thing will and nill  
At the same time. Besides, all men would have  
The selfsame knowledge, art, experience, skill;  
The frugal parent might his money save,  
The Pedagogue his pains: If he engrave  
His Grammar precepts but in one boy's mind,  
O● decent manners: He doth thus embrave  
With single labour all the youth you'll find  
Under the hollow Heavens, they'll be alike inclined.   

18  
And every man is skilled in every trade,  
And every silent thought that up doth spring  
In one man's breast, 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 auditors make a ring;  
Though every one keep himself close at home,  
The silent Preachers thoughts through all the world will roam,   

19  
Find each man out, and in a moment hit  
With unavoided force: Or sooth to said  
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 sprung so uncouth falsity.   

20  
Now all the arguments that I have brought  
For to disprove the souls strange solitude,  
That there is not one only soul, well might  
Be urged (and will with equal strength conclude)  
To prove that God his creature hath endued  
With a self-centrall essence, which from his  
Doth issue forth, with proper rays embewed,  
And that not all the very Godhead is:  
For that would strait 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 intellectual  
(And in that order humane souls will fall)  
Were God himself, they would be alike wise,  
Know one another's thoughts imaginall,  
Which no man doth: such falsehoods would arise  
With many more, which an idiot might well despise.   

22  
Nor will men's souls that now be different  
Be God himself hereafter, and all one:  
For thus they were quite lost; their life ylent  
And subtle 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, than they alone  
Did make themselves, and every rolling star:  
For God alone made these, and God himself they are.   

23  
Before the Sun and all the host of heaven,  
The earth, the sea, and man's deep central spirit;  
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, than was in that eternal Silency.   

24  
Or will you say, that God himself delights  
To do and undo? But how can this stand  
With selfsufficiency? There's nought that might  
Add to His happiness (if I understand  
His nature right.) But He with open hand  
Doth easily feed the Creature that he made  
As easily. Wherefore if the truth be scanned  
This Goodness would that nought should be decayed;  
His mind is all should live; no life he would should fade.   

25  
But if the final 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 enact, inform,  
And quicken humane souls at the last day;  
And though the Devil roar, and rage, and storm,  
Yet Death's dread power shall be done away,  
Nor living Night on men her poisonous beams shall ray.   

26  
He hasten it that makes that glorious day!  
For certainly it is no fearful thing  
But unto pride, and love of this base clay:  
It's 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 cleansed from all their sin.  
Long was the world involved in cloudy Night,  
But at the last will shine the perfect Christian light.   

27  
Thus the souls numerous plurality  
I've proved, and showed 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 rowed  
As yet. Part of my voyage is to come,  
Which is to prove that the souls new abode  
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 spirit,  
Impressions of like nature then doth fill  
Her lively mind, whether with sad affright  
Disturbed, which she long feared; or in hoped-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 vital acts: sensation  
The soul some fitten hint doth promptly lend  
To find out plantall life; sense is retained  
In subtler manner in the fantasy;  
Als reason fantasies doth well perpend:  
Then must the souls highest capacity  
Contain all under life. Thus is their Memory.   

31  
This faculty is very intimate  
And near the Centre, very large and free,  
Extends itself to whatsoever that  
The soul peracts. There is no subtlety  
Of Intellect, of Will, nor Fantasy.  
No Sense, nor uncouth strange impression  
From damned Night, or the blessed Deity,  
But of all these she hath retention,  
And at their fresh approach their former shapes can own.   

32  
This memory 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  
Ourselves to sleep, we should not know at morn  
That e'er 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 sigh it is of such necessity,  
And is the bundle of the souls duration,  
The watchman of the soul, lest she should fly  
Or steal from her own self, a sure fixation  
And central depth it hath, and free dilation,  
That it takes notice of each energy  
Of Fancy, Sense, or any Cogitation.  
Wherefore this virtue no dependency  
Hath of this body, must be safe when it doth die.   

34  
But if dispersed life's collection,  
Which is our memory, safely survive  
(Which well it may, sigh 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.   

35  
But can she here forget our radiant Sun?  
Of which its maker is the bright Idee,  
This is His shadow; or what she hath done  
Now she's rewarded with the Deity?  
Suppose it: Yet her hid Centralitie  
So sprightly's quickened with near Union  
With God, that now lifes wished liberty  
Is so increased, that infinitely sh' has fun  
Herself, her deep'st desire unspeakably hath won.   

36  
And deep desire is the deepest act,  
The most profound and central energy,  
The very selfness of the soul, which backed  
With piercing might, she breaks out, forth doth fly  
From dark contracting death, and doth descry  
Herself unto herself; so thus unfold  
That actual life she straightways saith, is I.  
Thus while she in the body was enfold,  
Of this low life, as of herself oft tales she told.   

37  
In dangerous sickness 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 ne'er can  
Avoid it, but must feel the selfsame pain,  
The same decay, if hereto she her mind  
Do bend. When stupid cold her corpse oreran,  
She felt that cold; but when death quite doth bind  
The sense, than she herself doth dead and senseless find.   

38  
Or else at least just at the entrance  
Of death she feels that sly privation,  
How now it spreads over all: so living sense  
Perceives how sleep creeps on, till quite o'ercome  
With drowsiness, 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.   

39  
So though the soul, the time she doth advert  
The body's passions takes herself to die;  
Yet death now finished, she can well convert  
Herself to other thoughts. And if the eye  
Of her adversion were fast fixed on high,  
In midst of death 'twere no more fear or pain,  
Then 'twas unto Elias to let fly  
His useless mantle to that Hebrew Swain,  
While he road up to heaven in a bright fiery wain.   

40  
Thus have I stoutly rescued the soul  
From central death or pure mortality,  
And from the listlesse floods of Lethe dull,  
And from the swallow of dread Unity.  
And from an all-consuming Deity.  
What now remains, but since we are so sure  
Of endless life, that to true piety  
We bend our minds, and make our conscience pure,  
Lest living Night in bitter darkness us immure.   
FINIS.   

THE ORACLE OR, A Paraphrastical 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 immortal 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 joint noise,  
With strong impulse, and full harmonious sound,  
Speak out his excellent worth. Advance your voice,  
As once you did for great Aeacides,  
Rapt with an heavenly rage, in decent dance,  
Moved at the measures of Meonides.  
Go to, you holy Choir, let's all at once  
Begin, and to the end hold up the song,  
Into one heavenly harmony conspire;  
I Phoebus 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 loosed, broke from Necessity.  
From body's storms, and frothy working sands  
Of this low restless life now setten free,  
Thy feet do safely stand upon a shore,  
Which foaming waves beat not in swelling rage,  
Nor angry seas do threat with fell uproar;  
Well hast thou swommen out, and left that stage  
Of wicked Actors, that tumultuous rout  
Of ignorant men. Now thy pure steps thou stayest  
In that high path, where God's light shines about,  
And perfect Right its beauteous beams displays.  
How oft, when bitter wave of troubled flesh,  
And whirl-pool-turning of the lower spirit,  
Thou stoutly strov'st with, Heaven did thee refresh,  
Held out a mark to guide thy wand'ring flight!  
While thou in tumbling seas didst strongly toil  
To reach the steady Land, struckst with thy arms  
The deasing surges, that with rage do boil;  
Steered by that sign thou shunn'st those common harms.  
How oft, when rasher cast of thy souls eye  
Had thee misguided into crooked ways,  
Wast thou directed by the Deity?  
They held out to thee their bright lamping rays:  
Dispersed the misty darkness, safely set  
Thy feeble feet in the right path again.  
Nor easy sleep so closely ere beset  
Thy eyelids, nor did dimness ere so slain  
Thy radiant sight, but thou such things didst see  
Even in that tumult, that few can arrive  
Of all are named from Philosophy  
To that high pitch, or to such secrets dive.  
But sigh 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 suavity,  
Full of pure pleasure, and fresh flowering cheer;  
Ambrosian streams sprung from the Deity  
Do frankly flow, and soft love-kindling winds  
Do strike with a delicious sympathy  
Those tender spirits, and fill up their minds  
With satisfying joy. The purity  
Of holy fire their heart doth then invade,  
And sweet Persuasion, meek Tranquillity,  
The gentle-breathing Air, the Heavens nought sad,  
Do maken up this great felicity.  
Here Rhadamanthus, and just Aeacus,  
Here Minos wonnes, with those that lived of yore  
I'th' golden age; here Plato vigorous  
In holy virtue, and fair Pythagore.  
These been the goodly Offspring of Great Jove,  
And liven here, and who so filled the Choir  
And sweet assembly of immortal Love,  
Purging their spirits with refining fire;  
These with the happy Angels live in bliss,  
Full fraught with joy, and lasting pure delight,  
In friendly feasts, and life-outfetching kiss.  
But, ah! dear Plotin, what smart did thy spirit  
Endure, before thou reach'st this high degree  
Of happiness? what agonies, what pains  
Thou underwent'st to set thy soul so free  
From base life? She now in heaven remains  
Mongst the pure Angels. O thrice-happy wight!  
That now art got into the Land of Life,  
Fast placed in view of that Eternal Light,  
And sittest secure from the foul body's strife.  
But now, you comely virgins, make an end,  
Break off this music, 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, BY HENRY MORE: Master of Arts, and Fellow of CHRIST'S COLLEGE in CAMBRIDGE.  
CAMBRIDGE, Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the University. 1647.   

Cupid's 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 equal share.  
Mel. Not so; Cleanthes, for if bade it be  
Myself 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 myself I quit,  
When with that lordly lad by chance I strive.  
Cl. Of friendship Mela! let's that story hear.  
Mel. Sat down Cleanthes then, and lend thine ear.   

Upon a day as best did please my mind  
Walking abroad amidst the verdant field  
Scattering my careful thoughts i'th' wanton wind  
The pleasure of my path so fare had tilled  
My feeble feet that without timely rest  
Uneath it were to reach my wont nest.   

In secret shade fare moved from mortals sight  
In lowly dale my wand'ring limbs I laid  
On the cool grass where Nature's pregnant wit  
A goodly Bower of thickest trees had made.  
Amongst the leaves the cheerful Birds did far  
And sweetly caroled to the echoing Air.   

Hard at my feet ran down a crystal 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 grassy flore divided into twain.   

The place a while did feed my foolish eye  
As being new, and eke mine idle ear  
Did listen oft to that wild harmony  
And oft my curious fancy would compare  
How well agreed the Brooks low muttering Base,  
With the birds trebles parched on higher place.   

But senses objects soon do glut the soul,  
Or rather weary with their emptiness;  
So I, all heedless how the waters roll  
And mindless of the mirth the birds express,  
Into myself begin softly to retire  
After hid heavenly pleasures to inquire.   

While I this enterprise do entertain;  
Lo! on the other side in thickest bushes  
A mighty noise! with that a naked swain  
With blue and purple wings straight rudely rushes  
He leaps down light upon the flowery 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 twain  
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 aimed to hit my heart.  
But ever as he shot his arrows still  
In their mid course dropped down into the rill.   

Of wondrous virtues that in waters been  
Is needless to rehearse, all books do ring  
Of those strange rarities. But ne'er was seen  
Such virtue as resided in this spring.  
The novelty did make me much admire  
But stirred the hasty youth to rageful ire.   

As heed less fowls that take their perilous flight  
Over that bane of birds, Avern● 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 lustful Love (this was that love I ween)  
Was wholly changed to consuming ire.  
And eath it was, sigh they're so near a kin  
They be both born of one rebellious fire.  
But he suppressed his wrath and by and by  
For feathered darts, he winged words let fly.   

Vain man! said he, and would thou wer'st not vain  
That hidest thyself in solitary shade  
And spil'st thy precious youth in sad disdain  
Hating this life's delight! Hath God thee made  
Part of this world, and wilt not thou partake  
Of this world's pleasure for its maker's sake?   

Unthankful wretch! God's gifts thus to reject  
And maken nought of Nature's 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 Destiny,  
Or Stygian vow, or thrice accursed charm  
Should in this place free passage thus deny  
Unto my shafts as messengers of harm!)  
Had I but once transfixed thy froward breast,  
How wouldst thou then— I stayed not for the rest;   

But thus half angry to the boy replied:  
How wouldst thou then my soul of sense bereave!  
I blinded, thee more blind should choose my guide!  
How wouldst thou then my muddied mind deceive  
With fading shows, that in my error vile,  
Base lust, I love should term; vice, virtue stile.   

How should my wicked rhymes than idolise  
Thy wretched power, and with impious wit  
Impute thy base born passions to the skies,  
And my souls sickness count an heavenly fit,  
My weakness strength, my wisdom to be caught,  
My bane my bliss, mine ease to be o'rewraught.   

How often through my fond feigning mind  
And frantic fancy, in my Mistress eye  
Should I a thousand fluttering Cupids find  
Bathing their busis wings? How oft espy  
Under the shadow of her eyebrows fair  
Ten thousand Graces sit all naked bare?   

Thus haunted should I be with such feat fiends,  
A pretty madness were my portion due.  
Foolish myself I would not hear my friends.  
Should deem the true for false, the false for true.  
My way all dark more slippery than ice  
My attendants, anger, pride, and jealousies.   

Unthankful then to God I should neglect  
All the whole world for one poor sorry wight,  
Whose pestilent eye into my heart project  
Would burn like poisonous Comet in my spirit.  
Ay me! how dismal then would prove that day  
Whose only light sprang from so fatal ray.   

Who seeks for pleasure in this mortal life  
By diving deep into the body base  
Shall lose true pleasure: But who gainly strive  
Their sinking soul above this bulk to place  
Enlarged delight they certainly shall find,  
Unbounded joys to fill their boundless mind.   

When I myself 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 equal to Allseeing Jove.  
My mighty wings high stretched then clapping light  
I brush the stars and make them shine more bright.   

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 eternal Night low-pressed lies.   

Thus lose I not by leaving small delight  
But gain more joy, while I myself suspend  
From this and that; for then with all unite  
I all enjoy, and love that love commends.  
That all is more than loves the partial soul  
Whose petty love th' impartial fates control.   

Ah son! said he, (and laughed very loud)  
That trickst thy tongue with uncouth strange disguise,  
Extolling highly that with speeches proud  
To mortal men that humane state denies,  
And rashly blaming what thou never knew;  
Let men experienced speak, if they'll speak true.   

Had I once lanced thy froward flinty heart  
And cruddled blood had thawn with living fire  
And pricked thy drowsy spirit with gentle smart  
How wouldst thou wake to kindle sweet desire!  
Thy soul filled up with overflowing pleasures  
Would due thy lips with honey dtopping measures.   

Then would thou carol 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 Mistress fair,  
Whom thou might setten out with goodly skill  
Her peerless beauty and her virtues rare,  
That all would wonder at thy graceful quill.  
And lastly in us both thyself shouldst raise  
And crown thy temples with immortal bays.   

But now thy riddles all men do neglect,  
Thy rugged lines of all do lie forlorn.  
Unwelcome rhymes that rudely do detect  
The Readers ignorance. Men holden scorn  
To be so often non-plused or to spell,  
And on one stanze 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 usual 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 rub nor wrinkle would thy verses spoil.  
Thy rhymes should run as glib and smooth as oil.   

If that be all; said I, thy reasons slight  
Can never move my well established mind.  
Full well I wot always the present spirit,  
Or life that doth possess the soul, doth blind,  
Shutting the windows 'gainst broad open day  
Lest fairer sights its ugliness bewray.   

The soul than loves that disposition best  
Because no better comes unto her view.  
The drunkard drunkenness, the sluggard rest,  
Th' Ambitious honour and obeisance due.  
So all the rest do love their vices base  
'Cause virtues beauty comes not into place.   

And loser love 'gainst Chastity divine  
Would shut the door that he might sit alone.  
Then wholly should my mind to him incline,  
And waxed straight, (since larger love was gone)  
That paltry spirit of low contracting lust  
Would fit my soul as if it were made for it just.   

Then should I with my fellow bird or brute  
So strangely metamorphized, either neigh  
Or bellow loud: or if it may better suit  
Chirp out my joy parched upon higher spray.  
My passions fond with impudence rehearse,  
Immortalize my madness in a verse.   

This is the sum of thy deceiving boast  
That I vain ludenesse highly should admire,  
When I the sense of better things have lost  
And changed my heavenly heat for hellish fire.  
Passion is blind: but virtues piercing eye  
Approaching danger can from fare espy.   

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 wisdom it accords  
To sell my living sense for liveless words.   

My thought's the fittest measure of my tongue,  
Wherefore I'll use what's most significant,  
And rather than my inward meaning wrong  
Or my full-shining notion trimly scant,  
I'll conjure up old words out of their grave,  
Or call fresh foreign 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.  
Unusual words oft used give less offence;  
Nor will the old contexture dim or mar,  
For often used they're next to old, threadbare.   

And if the old seem in too rusty hue,  
Then frequent rubbing makes them shine like gold,  
And glister all with colour gaily new.  
Wherefore to use them both we will be bold.  
Thus lists me fond with fond folk to toy,  
And answer fools with equal foolery.   

The meaner mind works with more nicety  
As Spiders wont to wove their idle web,  
But braver spirits do all things gallantly  
Of dat failings nought at all affred:  
So Natures careless pencil dipped in light  
With sprinkled stars hath spattered the Night,   

And if my notions clear though rudely thrown  
And loosely scattered in my poesy,  
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 needlework 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 envy pine,  
Or burn with rage or melt out at their eyen.   

Thrice happy he whose name is writ above,  
And doth good though gaining infamy;  
Requites evil turns with hearty love,  
And recks not what befalls him outwardly:  
Whose worth is in himself, and only bliss  
In his pure conscience that doth nought amiss.   

Who placeth pleasure in his purged soul  
And virtuous life his treasure doth esteem;  
Who can his passion's master and control,  
And that true lordly manliness doth deem,  
Who from this world himself hath clearly quit,  
Counts nought his own but what lives in his spirit.   

So when his spirit from this vain world shall flit  
It bears all with it whatsoever was dear  
Unto itself, passing in easy fit,  
As kindly ripened corn comes out of th'ear.  
Thus mindless of what idle men will say  
He takes his own and stilly goes his way.   

But the Retinue of proud Lucifer,  
Those blustering Poets that fly after fame  
And deck themselves like the bright Morningstar,  
Alas! it is but all a crackling flame.  
For death will strip them of that glorious plume,  
That airy bliss will vanish into fume.   

For can their careful ghosts from Limbo Lake  
Return, or listen from the bowed sky  
To hear how well their learned lines do take?  
Or if they could; is Heavens felicity  
So small as by man's praise to be increased,  
Hell's pain no greater than hence to be eased?   

Therefore once dead in vain shall I transmit  
My shadow to gazing Posterity;  
Cast fare behind me I shall never see't,  
On Heaven's fair Sun having fast fixed mine eye.  
Nor while I live, heed I what man doth praise  
Or underprize mine unaffected lays.   

What moves thee then, said he, to take the pains  
And spenden time if thou contemnest the fruit?  
Sweet fruit of fame, that fills the Poet's 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 bend  
As of thy Muse to maken Merchandise?  
(And well I wot this is no strange intent.)  
The hopeful glimpse of gold from chattering Pies,  
From Daws and Crows, and Parrots oft hath wrung  
An unexpected Pegaseian song.   

Foul shame on him, quoth I, that shameful thought  
Doth entertain within his dunghill breast,  
Both God and Nature hath my spirits wrought  
To better temper and of old hath blest  
My lofty soul with more divine aspires,  
Then to be touched with such vile low desires.   

I hate and highly scorn that kestrel kind  
Of bastard scholars that subordinate  
The precious choice enduements 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 herb 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,  
Drowned, choked or slocken by her cruel nurse.   

True virtue to her self's'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,   

Dewed with the drops of Heaven shall flourish long;  
As long as day and night do share the sky,  
And though that day and night should fail yet strong,  
And steady, fixed on Eternity  
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 than 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.   

But earthly minds whose sight's sealed up with mud  
Discern not this flesh-clouded Deity,  
Ne do acknowledge any other good  
Then waht their mole-warp hands can feel and try  
By groping touch; (thus worth of them unseen)  
Of nothing worthy that true worth they ween.   

Wherefore the prudent Lawgivers of old  
Even in all Nations, with right sage foresight  
Discovering from fare how clums and cold  
The vulgar wight would be to yield what's right  
To virtuous learning, did by law design  
Great wealth and honour to that worth divine?   

But nought's by law to Poesy due said he,  
Ne doth the solemn Statesman's head take care  
Of those that such impertinent pieces be  
Of commonweals. Thoved better than to spare  
Thy useless vein. Or tell else, what may move  
Thy busy Muse such fruitless pains to prove.   

No pains but pleasure to do th' dictates dear  
Of inward living nature. What doth move  
The Nightingale to sing so sweet and clear  
The Thrush, or Lark that mounting high above  
Chants her shrill notes to heedless ears of corn  
Heavily hanging in the dewy Morn.   

When Life can speak, it cannot well withhold  
T' express its own impressions and hid life.  
Or joy or grief that smothered lie untold  
Do vex the heart and wring with restless strife,  
Then are my labours no true pains but ease  
My souls unrest they gently do appease.   

Besides, that is not fruitless that no gains  
Brings to myself. 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 satisfied  
Said I: to which the scoffing boy replied.   

Great hope indeed thy rhymes should men enlight;  
That be with clouds and darkness all overcast,  
Harsh style and harder sense void of delight  
The Readers wearied eye in vain do waste.  
And when men win thy meaning with much pain,  
Thy uncouth sense they coldly entertain.   

For wotst thou not that all the world is dead  
Unto that Genius that moves in thy vein  
Of poetry! But like by like is fed.  
Sing of my Trophies in triumphant strain,  
Then correspondent life, thy powerful verse  
Shall strongly strike and with quick passion pierce.   

The tender fry of lads and lasses young  
With thirsty ear thee compassing about,  
Thy Nectar-dropping Muse, thy sugared 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 heartblood flaming up into her face,  
Grave matrons will wax wanton and betray  
Their unresolv'dnesse in their wont grace;  
Young boys 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 easily moved with thy sweet persuasions,  
Thy pipe would follow with full merry cheer.  
While thou thy lively voice didst loud advance  
Their tickled blood for joy would inly dance.   

But now, alas! poor solitary man!  
In lonesome desert thou dost wander wide  
To seek and serve thy disappearing Pan,  
Whom no man living in the world hath eyed:  
For Pan, is dead but I am still alive,  
And live in men who honour to me give:   

They honour also those that honour me  
With sacred songs. But thou now singest to trees  
To rocks to Hills, to Caves that senseless be  
And mindless quite of thy hid mysteries,  
In the void air thy idle voice is spread,  
Thy Muse is music to the deaf or dead.   

Now out alas! said I, and wele-away  
The tale thou tellest I confess too true.  
Fond man so doteth on this living clay  
His carcase dear, and doth its joys pursue,  
That of his precious soul he takes no keep  
Heaven's love and reasons light lie fast asleep.   

This body's 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 man's industry  
To wexen some body and gotten grace  
To's outward presence; though true majesty  
Crownded with that heavenly light and lively rays  
Of holy wisdom and Seraphic love,  
From his deformed soul he fare remove.   

'Slight knowledge and less virtue serves his turn  
For this design. If he hath trod the ring  
Of peddling arts; in usual packhorse form  
Keeping the road; O! then 't' a learned thing.  
If any chanced to write or speak what he  
Conceives not, it were a foul discourtesy.   

To cleanse the soul from sin, and still diffide  
Whether our reason's eye be clear enough  
To intromit true light, that fain would glide  
Into purged hearts, this way's too harsh and rough:  
Therefore the clearest truths may well seem dark  
When slothful men have eyes so dim and stark.   

These be our times. But if my minds presage  
Bear any moment, they can ne'er last long,  
A three branched Flame will soon sweep clean the stage  
Of this old dirty dross and all wax young.  
My words into this frozen air I throw  
Will then grow vocal at that general thaw.   

Nay, now thou'rt perfect mad, said he, with scorn,  
And full of foul derision quit the place.  
The sky did rattle with his wings ytorn  
Like to rend 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 outstretched shadows of the trees  
Pointed me homeward, and with one consent  
Foretold the day's descent. So strait 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.   

Fides Fluctuans.  
O Deus aeterno lucis qui absconditus Orb  
Humanos fugis aspectus! da cernere verum,  
Da magnum spectare diem non mobilis Aevi.  
Da contemplari nullius in infera noctis  
Lapsurum . Spissas caliginis umbras  
Adventu dispelle tuo. Pernicibus alis,  
Ocyus advolitans, animam tu siste solutam  
Mobilitate sua; rapidae quam cursus aquai  
Deturbat secum atque in caeco gurgite conduit.  
Sed tamen ex fluxu hoc rerum miseroque tumultu  
En! vultus attollo meos; tu porrige dextram,  
Exime ut excelso figam vestigia saxon.  
O Deus! O Centrum rerum! te percita motu  
Arcano circumvolitant cuncta atque requirunt  
Nequicquam, quoniam aeterna te contegis umbra.  
Attamen insano exerces mea pectora amore,  
Et suspirantem volupe est tibi ludere mentem  
Ignibus occultis. Non talibus aestuat Aetna,  
Intima cùm accensas eructet flamma favillas  
Pleniùs, & lato spargat sua viscera campo.  
Omnia solicita mecum quae ment revolvi  
Somnia sunt? stultéque animi satagentis inane  
Figmentum? spes nostra perit radicitùs omnis?  
Expectata diu vacuas vita exit in auras?  
Hei mihi! quam immensae involvor caligine noctis!  
Subsido, pereo, repeto jam materiaï  
Infensas tenebras & ahenae vincula mortis.  
Quae me intemperies agitat! Rescindito coelos  
Sum Deûm, tantósque animi componito fluctus.   

Resolution.  
WHere's now the objects of thy fears:  
Needless sighs and fruitless tears?  
They be all gone like idle dream  
Suggested from the body's steam.  
O Cave of horror black as pitch!  
Dark Den of Spectres that bewitch  
The weakened fancy sore affright  
With the grim shades of grisly Night.  
What's Plague and Prison? Loss of friends?  
War, Dearth and Death that all things ends?  
Mere Bug-bears for the childish mind  
Pure Panic terrors of the blind.  
Collect thy soul into one sphere  
Of light and 'bove the earth it rear.  
Those wild scattered thoughts that erst  
Lay loosely in the World dispersed  
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 Goodness doth enfold  
All things in loving tender arms:  
That deemed mischiefs are no harms  
But sovereign salves; and skilful cures  
Of greater woes the world endures;  
That man's stout soul may win a state  
Far raised above the reach of fate.  
Then wilt thou say, God rules the World,  
Though mountain over mountain hurled  
Be pitched amid the foaming Main  
Which busy winds to wrath constrain.  
His fall doth make the billows start  
And backward skip from every part.  
Quite sunk, then over his senseless side  
The waves in triumph proudly ride.  
Though inward tempests fiercely rock  
The tottering Earth, that with the shock  
High spires and heavy rocks fall down  
With their own weight drove into ground;  
Though pitchy blasts from Hell upborn  
Stop the outgoings of the Morn,  
And Nature play her fiery games  
In this forced Night, with fulgurant flames,  
Baring by fits for more affright  
The pale dead visages, ghastly sight  
Of men astonished at the stoure  
Of Heavens great rage, the rattling showers  
Of hail, the hoarse bellowing of thunder  
Their own loud shrieks 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 hear or see  
Threats but these parts that mortal be.  
Nought can the honest heart dismay  
Unless the love of living clay  
And long acquaintance with the light  
Of this Outworld and what to sighed  
Those two officious beams discover  
Of forms that round about us hover.  
Power, Wisdom, Goodness sure did fra  
This Universe and still guide the same.  
But thoughts from passions sprung, deceit  
Vain mortals. No man can contrive  
A better course than what's been run  
Since the first circuit of the Sun.  
He that beholds all from on high  
Knows better what to do then I.  
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 straight shalt see God doth no ill.  
The world He fills with the bright rays  
Of his free goodness. He displays  
Himself throughout. Like common air  
That spirit of life through all doth fare  
Sucked in by them as vital breath  
That willingly embrace not death.  
But those that with that living Law  
Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw;  
Mistrust of God's 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 endless tract.  
Commit me at my next remove  
To icy Hyperborean Jove.  
Confine me to the Arctic Pole  
Where the numbed heavens do slowly roll:  
To lands, where cold raw heavy 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 vital spirits in;  
Which leave the body thus ill bestead  
In this i'll 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 celestial fires  
By deep-fetchd sighs and pure devotion.  
Thus waxed hot with holy motion,  
A● once I'll break forth in a flame;  
Above this world and worthless fame  
I'll take my flight, careless that men  
Know not, how, where I die or when.  
Yea! though the Soul should mortal prove  
So be God's life but in me move  
To my last breath: I'm satisfied  
A lonesome mortal God t' have died.   

Devotion.  
GOod God when thou thy inward grace dost shower  
Into my breast,  
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 spirit  
With ease my cumbrous enemy control.   

If thou once turn away thy face and hid  
Thy cheerful look,  
My feeble flesh may not abide  
That dreadful stound,  
I cannot brook  
Thy absence. My heart with care and grief than gride  
Doth fail,  
Doth quail,  
My life steals from me, at that hidden wound.   

My phansies then a burden to my mind,  
Mine anxious thought  
Betrays my reason, makes me blind:  
Near dangers dread  
Make me distraught.  
Surprised with fear, my senses all I find.  
In hell  
I dwell  
Oppressed with horror, pain and sorrow sad.   

My former Resolutions all are fled,  
Slipped over my tongue,  
My Faith, my Hope, and Joy, are dead.  
Assist my heart  
Rather than my song  
My God my Saviour! when I'm ill bestead  
Stand by,  
And I  
Shall bear with courage, undeserved smart.   

Aphroditus.  
Synes. hymn. 2. & 3. Macrob. Saturnal. lib. 3. cap. 8.  
Sum Pater! rerum fixa inconcussáque sedes!  
Omnia qui fulcis mundo non fictus Adonis.  
Fundamen coelorum! immobile Sustentamen  
Telluris! magnûmque quies secura Deorum!  
Omniparens Amor! In dias tu luminis oras  
Omnia producis vastus quae continet orbis.  
Innumera tu prole tua terrasque feraces,  
Aerá que immensum comples camposque natantes.  
Saeclorum Pater es, Mater pia, sedula Nutrix.  
Te circum quoniam ludunt humana propago,  
Quos nisi tu sistis, nutricis more, patenti  
In gremio, & circumjectis tutare lacertis,  
Protinus heu! pereunt, priscas repetendo tenebras,  
Submersosque suo claudit Styx lurida, fundo.  
Lurida Styx, summi quam oderunt tangere Olympi  
Incolae, inextinctum spirantes semper amorem;  
Hujus enim horrendas nemo quisquam petet umbras  
Fluminis, accensus lucenti pectora ab igni.  
Nos tamen intereà charis dum amplecteris ulnis  
Materno sistisque genu, te cernere contrà  
Vix cupimus, blandosve tuos advertere vultus.  
Sed veluti lactens infantulus ubera matris  
Quaeritat, & cunctas complet vagitibus aedeis  
Ni sedet & mollem sibi nudam veste mamillam  
Exhibet: Haec igitur properat, saevumque tyrannum  
Demulcet dictis, atque oscula dulcia figit.  
Ille autem non dicta moratur, nec pia matris  
Oscula, non hilares oculos vultumque serenum  
Attendit, pulchros neque, amantum rete, capillos.  
Nulla mora est, quò caeca fames vocat, instat, in uber  
Involat, & niveum sitienti fauce liquorem  
Haurit, & alterno jactans sua cruscula motu  
Maternum refricat gremium, dulcedine sensûs  
Exultans, tenerum succo feriente palatum.  
Sic nos, magna Parens! quorum provectior aetas,  
Sic tua sic avidis premimus sacra ubera labris,  
Sed formam vultumve tuum quis conspicit? Omneis  
Caecus amor quò tractat & expectata voluptas  
Auferimur, plenoque unà devolvimur alveo.  
Verùm ego si possim! neque enim deprendere possum  
Divinam speciem; nimio tua pignora lusu  
Namque soles lassare & gratam avertere formam.  
At cùm conatu longo defessus ocellos  
Adduco & facilis vineit mea tempora somnus;  
Tu tamen intereà vigilas & membra sopore  
Dulci extensa vides & amico lumine mulces.  
Haec, Venus alma! animus, nebulas, noctemque malignam  
Somniat obfusus, neque enim poti' cernere quicquam est;  
Sed furit & caeco rerum perculsus amore  
Evomit insanum turbato pectore carmen.    

Out of the anthology a Distich.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  

In English thus:  
WHen the strong Fates with Gigantean force,  
Bear thee in iron arms without remorse  
Bear and be born. But if with peevish struggle  
Thou writhe and wrest thy corpse, thou dost but double  
Thy present pain, and spend thy restless spirit,  
Nor thou more heavy art, nor they more light.   

Or thus:  
If Chance thee change, be changed and change thou it  
To better, by thy well complying wit.  
If thou repine, thou dost but pain and grieve  
Thyself, and Chance will change thee without leeve.   

RIght well I wots, my rhymes seem rudely dressed  
In the nice judgement of thy shallow mind  
That mark'st expressions more than what's expressed,  
Busily billing the rough outward rind,  
But reaching not the pith. Such surface skill's  
Unmeet to measure the profounder quill.   

Yea I alas! myself too often feel  
Thy indispos'dnesse; when my weakened soul  
Unsteadfast, into this Outworld doth reel,  
And lies immerse in my low vital mould.  
For than my mind, from th' inward spirit estranged,  
My Muse into an uncouth hue hath changed.   

A rude confused heap of ashes dead  
My verses seem, when that celestial flame  
That sacred spirit of life's extinguished  
In my cold breast. Then gi'en I rashly blame  
My rugged lines: This word is obsolete;  
That boldly coined, a third too oft doth beat   

Mine humourous ears. Thus fond curious  
Is the faint Reader, that doth want that fire  
And inward vigour heavenly furious  
That made my enraged spirit in strong desire  
Break through such tender cobweb niceties,  
That oft entangle these blind buzzing flies.   

Possessed with living sense I inly rave,  
Careless how outward words do from me flow,  
So be the image of my mind they have  
Truly expressed, and do my visage show;  
As doth each river decked with Phoebus' beams  
Fairly reflect the viewer of his streams.   

Who can discern the Moon's asperity  
From of this earth, or could this earth's discover  
If from the earth he raised were on high  
Among the stars and in the sky did hover?  
The Hills and Valleys would together flow  
And the rough Earth, one smooth-faced Round would show.   

Nor can the lofty soul snatched into Heaven  
Busied above in th' Intellectual world  
At such a distance see my lines uneven,  
At such a distance was my spirit hurled,  
And to my trembling quill thence did indite,  
What he from thence must read, who would read right.   

Fair Fields and rich Enclosures, shady Woods,  
Large populous Towns, with strong and stately Towers,  
Long crawling Rivers, far distended Floods,  
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 grovelling mind and moping purblind eye,  
That to move up unmeet, this to see fare,  
The worth or weakness 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.   

Necessitas Triumphata. Seu, Humanam voluntatem ad unum necessariò non determinari.  
O Dea! quae clavum manibus cuneúmque superbis  
Gestas, & stricta liquidi compagine plumbi  
Cuncta premis, duramque soles imponere legem,  
Usque adeone tuo indulges, saevissima rerum!  
Imperio, astringas trist● tibi ut omnia nodo?  
Terra tua est & quos sub verno tempore flores  
Proruit, & quicquid tenebrosa in viscera conduit.  
Amnes quò tu cunque vocas salsaeque lacunae  
Pergunt, & lati palantia sydera mundi.  
Aer sub ditione tua est, nimbique ruentes,  
Quaeque boant rauco metuenda tonitrua caelo.  
Et nimis angustum si forte haec omnia regnum  
Infernas moderare umbras, sedesque silentûm,  
Horrificosque suis ructantem è faucibus aestus  
Tartaron. His addas brutum genus omne animantûm  
Innumeras pecorum species atque Altivolantûm.  
Mancipium Natura tuum est; sen tristior illa  
Quam Nox ima premit caeca in caligine, sive  
Quam matutinis radiis fovet Aetherius Sol.  
Omnibus his dare jura potes, durasque catenas  
Nectere, & ad rigidum nodis mordentibus Unum  
Stringere. At hac stupida non torpent caetera lege.  
Liberum enim est genus humanum, veluti innuba virgo  
Quae nondum ullius thalamis addicta mariti est.  
Multi hanc ergo viri precibus blandisque loquelis  
Facundos quos fecit amor noctisque cupido  
Solicitant. Nostras alios ita manibus imis  
E mediis alios, alios è sedibus altis  
Impugnasse procos animas sentimus, & ipsum  
Delcendisse Jovem casto in praecordia lusu, ut  
Virtutem inspiret sanctumque accendat amorem.  
Scilicet haec fiunt quoniam mens libera nostra est  
Legibus aeterni fati Uniusque severi.  
Quod si animae motus solido Dea ferrea clavo  
Praefixos jam olim, determinet; illius omnes  
Fictitii assensus, libertas nil nisi inane  
Commentum: quod qui est ausus fabricare, necesse est  
Aestuet implicitus nodis quos consuit ipse,  
Et Ch●ysippeum sudet volvendo cylindrum.   

Exorcismus.  
WHat's this that in my breast thus grieves and greanes  
Rives my close-straitned heart, distends my sides  
with deep fetched sighs, while th' other in fell pride  
Resists and chokes? O hear the dreadful moans  
Of thy dear son, if so him cleep I may.  
If there be any sense 'twixt Heaven and Earth,  
If any mutual 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 breast,  
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 revengeful teen  
On his fast holding Enemy.  
Hath Nature only sympathy?   

What? may I deem you self-exulting sprights  
Locked up in your own selves, whose inward life  
Is self-contenting joy, withouten strife  
Of doing good and helping woeful weights.  
Then were you empty cars 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 darkness! The black jaws of Hell  
Shall issue forth their dead, that direful cell  
Of miscreant Lives that strive still to enthrall,  
Shall let him go at last, and he o'er all  
Shall triumph. Then the gladsome Progeny  
Of the bright Morning star shining on high,  
Shall fill the Round etherial  
With sound of voices musical.   

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 glistering Main  
Of flowing light and darknesses cursed spring  
I've moved with sacred words: (the extreme worlds  
In holy rage assaulted with my spell)  
I'll at the middle Movable as well  
As those, and powerful magic 'gainst it hurl.  
You waving airs! and you more boisterous winds!  
Dark Zaphons' sons, who with your swelling blasts  
Thrust out the ribs of heaven, and that orepast  
Leave Nature languid to her wont confined,  
Suppress your spirit 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 steady hand.   

And you heaven-threatning rocks, whose tops be crowned  
With wreaths of woolly clouds, fall into dust.  
And thou, O Ida kill! thy glory must  
Consume, and thou lie equal with the ground.  
O'er quick-eyed Ida! thou which seest the Sun  
Before day spring? those Eastern spattered lights  
And broad spread shinings purpling the gay Night,  
And that swoln-glowing ball; they'll all be gone.  
You summer sneezings 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, cursed Voraginet!  
The wind of God shall rend thee into nought  
And thou shalt vanish into empty air,  
Nor shall thy rending out leave any scar.  
Thy place shall not be found though sought  
So perish shall all humane thought.    

Deliquium.  

VIres deficiunt abitque vita.  
Virtutem revoca, O Deus! fugacem.  
O sol justitiae, atque origo vitae!  
Vitae, qua reficis tuos alumnos,  
Inspira, obsecro, spiritum suavem  
Venice languidulis, meósque ocellos  
Lucis vivica novo vigore,  
Perculsum saliat nouóque amore  
Pectus, compositas agat choreas  
Laetum cor, cupidis premátque in ulnis  
Quae tu cunque facis, Pater Deorum!  
Immensíque opifex perite mundi!  
Cuncta exosculer ambitu benigno &  
Injectis teneam fovens lacertis.  
Nam jucunda cluent, cluent amena  
Ni nubes animum gravent acerbum  
Atque urat dolour intimus medullam.  
Ergo magnanimam piámque mentem  
Sedatam, facilémque, callidámque  
Concedas quae hominum sciat ferátque  
Mores omnimodos bonos malósque.  
Nec cor concutiant superbiarum  
Fluctus turgidulum; furor dolórque  
Vitae ne obsideant vias misell ae  
Soffocéntque suis feris catenis.  
Mentem praebe humilem at simul serenam,  
Mentem praebe hilarem at simul severam,  
Te circum choreas leves agentem,  
Pulsantem citharam at tibi canentem.   

IT was the time when all things quiet lay  
In silent rest; and Night her rusty Car  
Drawn with black teem had drove above half way.  
Her kerbed steeds foaming out lavering tar  
And finely trampling the soft misty air  
With proner course toward the West did far.   

I with the rest of weak mortality  
For natures due relief lay stretched on bed.  
My weary body lay outstretched, not I  
For I, alas! from that dead corpse had fled.  
Had left that slough, as erst I doffed my clothes,  
For kindly rest that very Evening-close.   

Free as in open Heaven more swift than thought  
In endless spaces up and down I fly,  
Not carried on wings, or as well taught  
To row with mine own arms in liquid sky:  
As oft men do in their deceiving sleep  
Hover over Waters, Woods, and Valleys sleep:   

But born on the actual efflux of my will  
Without resistance thither easily glide  
Wither my busy mind did breathe until,  
All-suddenly an uncouth sight I spied,  
Which meanly as I may I will propound  
To wiser men to weigh with judgement sound.   

Behold a mighty Orb right well compiled  
And kned together of opacous mould.  
That neither curse of God nor man defiled,  
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,  
No● wrongful deeming work dame Nature's bane.  
Who misconceives, conceives but his own ill,  
Brings forth a falsehood, shows his want of skill.   

This globe in all things punctually did seem  
Like to our earth saving in magnitude:  
For it of so great vastness 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 fare distance from this sphere was pight  
(More than the journey of ten thousand year  
An hundred times told over, that swiftest flight  
Of bird should meet, that distance did appear)  
There was there pight a massy Orb of light  
Equal with this dark Orb in bigness right.   

Half therefore just of this dark Orb was dight  
With goodly glistre and fair golden rays,  
And ever half was hid in horrid Night.  
A duskish Cylindre through infinite space  
It did project, which still unmoved stayed,  
Strange sight it was to see so endless shade.   

Th' Diametre of that Nocturnal Roll  
Was the right Axis of this opake sphere.  
On which eternally it round did roll.  
In Equinoctial posture it did appear,  
So as when Libra weighs out in just weight  
An equal share to men of Day and Night.   

Thus turning round by turns all came in view  
What ever did that massy Ball adorn.  
Hills, Valleys, Woods, themselves did plainly show,  
Towns, Towers, and holy Spires to Heaven born,  
Long winding Rivers, and broad foaming Seas.  
Fair Crystal 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 grass were seen,  
Swine, Oxen, Horses, Carriages, Sheep-cotes,  
What ere the Country or the walled town  
Can show with us, the like things there were shown.   

And look what ever that Half-sphear of light  
Did bear upon it (the Ball turning round)  
The same into the Hemisphere of Night  
Were carried. And look what things were found  
In that dark Hemisphere, were brought anon  
To th' Hemisphere the light did shine upon.   

For soothe to say, they both make up one Ball.  
The self same parts now dipped in deepest Night  
Anon recovered from their former fall  
Do shine all glorious decked with gladsome light.  
And oft PANGAION as it turned, I red  
In mighty characters deciphered.   

Th' Inhabitants of this big swollen sphere  
Were of two kinds, well answering unto  
The divers nature of each Hemisphere.  
One foul, deformed, and ghastly sad in show,  
The other fair and full of lively mirth,  
These two possessed this Universal Earth.   

They both had wings: The foul much like a Bat  
Or forged Fiend and of a pitchy hue,  
And oval eyes like to a blinking Cat.  
The fair had silver wings all-glistering new  
With golden feathers set, shaped like a Doves  
Or lovely Swans, that in Meander moves.   

In other parts most like to spotless man  
Made out in comely due proportion.  
Both with their wings uncessantly did fan  
The agile air, but never light upon  
The moving Orb, but in suspense they hovered.  
Therefore Light these, eternal 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 Sphere with all its ornaments.  
Nor yet that sphere them both alike contents.   

For they on the dim side with fell uproar  
Do hideously howl and Nature blame  
For her ill works. Enraged 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 scornful eye.   

Instead of hymns they bold invectives make  
Against the Maker of that Universe.  
My quivering quill, and palfied hand do quake  
Now I recall to mind the wicked verse  
Which those bad men had framed in fell despite,  
And foul detraction to the God of light.   

And while with hollow howl they did chant  
That hellish Ode. Ravens more black than pitch  
And fatal Owls, Dragons, and what so wont  
To do or token mischief; every such  
Came flying round about t' increase the sound,  
Such sound as would with madness man confound.   

When they had made an end of this ill ditty,  
As execrable thing they would for sake  
This work of God, and out of dear self-pitty  
Fly from the creatures, and themselves betake  
To higher region: but their labout's vain  
Fly never so high, Night doth them still contain.   

For the projection of that endless Roll  
Cast to unmeasured infinity,  
Wearies to death their ill-deceived soul:  
For nought but darkness and obscurity  
They finden out by their high tedious flight,  
But now I'd turned me to the land of Light.   

There might I see with lovely pleasant look  
And mild aspect, the people all things view,  
In terpreting right what ever seemed crook.  
Crooked for crooked is right; and evil hue  
For evil shaped mind, that fear may breed.  
Good oft doth spring from evil-seeming seed.   

Viewing the works of God they ever smiled  
As seeing some resemblance of that face  
That they so dearly loved, that undefiled  
And spotless beauty, that sweet awful Grace  
Where Love and Majesty do always sit  
And with eternal joy the viewer greet.   

Ravished with heavenly mirth and pure delight  
They sing a sacred song with cheerful voice.  
It kindles holy pleasure within my spirit  
As oft I think on that Angelic noise.  
The living Spring of bliss they loudly praise  
Bless all His creatures in their pious lays.   

And while the creatures goodness they descry  
From their fair glimpse 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 varnished all appear.   

This is the mystery of that mighty Ball  
With different sides. That side where grisly Night  
Doth sit bold men Melampronaea call,  
The other side Lampropronaea height,  
Logos that Orb of light, but Foolishness  
(To speak plane English) the Roll doth express.   

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 scatter of high knowledge glean.  
But where, or heavy passions cloud the eyes,  
Or prejudice, there's nothing can make wise.   

QUae vis nunc agitat meas medullas?  
Et cor, molliculo ferire motu  
Ceptat? percutiunt novi furores  
Mentem, concipio novos amores.  
Ah! nunc me fluidos abire in igneis  
Totum sentio. Flamma mollis artue  
Dulcis, vivida, permeavit omneis,  
Jucundúmque ciet calore sensum  
Toto corpore spiritúque toto.  
Bellam hic laude suam efferat Fabullam  
Formosam ille suam canat Corinnam.  
Me leni Monocardia urit igni  
Et sacrum instituit suum poetam.  
Pulchra O Simplicitas! beata virgo!  
Tu vincis radios nitore Phoebe's,  
Tu stellas superas decore cunctas.  
Nam quis pectora? quis sinus apertos?  
Candorísve tui potest tueri  
Thesauros niveos eburneósve?  
Quin Luna imbrifera tepentis Austri  
Nube obscurior, atque sydus omne  
Sit nigrum magis ac imago noctis  
Et Hyles tenebris, nives ebúrque.  
Quod si orbes hilares amabilésque  
Lucentésque tuor faces, amorum  
Blandas illecebras, ruit statim Sol  
Et lati species perit Diei  
Submersa in tenebris Meridianis.  
O princeps Charitum! Dea O Dearum!  
Coeli splendour! & unica O voluptas  
Humani generis! catena nodis  
Auratis, homines ligans Deósque!  
Te circumvolitant leves Olympi  
Alati juvenes, tuósque gressus  
Sustentant manibus suis tenellos,  
Et firmant tua crura mollicella,  
Dulcis cura Deûm Venúsque coeli!  
O fons laetitiae piíque lusus!  
O ter pulchra puella! blanda virgo!  
Nostris molliter insidens medullis  
Coelestémque animo fovens amorem  
In coetu superûm locas Deorum.   

SIng aloud His praise rehearse  
Who hath made the Universe.  
He the boundless Heavens has spread  
All the vital orbs has kned;  
He that on Olympus' high  
Tends his flocks with watchful eye,  
And this eye has multiplied  
Midst each flock for to reside.  
Thus as round about they stray  
Toucheth each with out-strecthed ray,  
Nimble they hold on their way,  
Shaping out their Night and Day.  
Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring,  
Their inclined Axes bring.  
Never slack they; none respires,  
Dancing round their central fires.  
In due order as they move  
Echoes sweet be gently drove  
Through Heavens vast Hollowness,  
Which unto all corners press:  
Music that the heart of Jove  
Moves to joy and sportful love;  
Fills the listening sailors ears  
Riding on the wand'ring Spheres.  
Neither Speech nor Language is  
Where their voice is not transmisse.  
God is good, is Wise, is Strong,  
Witness all the creature-throng,  
Is confessed by every Tongue.  
All things back from whence they sprung,  
As the thankful Rivers pay  
What they borrowed of the Sea.  
Now myself I do resign,  
Take me whole I all am thine.  
Save me, God from Self-desire,  
Death's pit, dark Hell's 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 Wisdoms sons!  
Freed from vain Religions.  
Lo! from fare I you salute,  
Sweetly warbling on my Lute.  
Indie, Egypt, Arabia,  
Asia, Greece, and Tartary,  
Carmel-tracts, and Lebanon  
With the Mountains of the Moon,  
From whence muddy Nile doth run  
Or where ever else you won;  
Breathing in one vital air,  
One we are though distant fare.  
Rise at once let's sacrifice  
Odours sweet perfume the skies.  
See how Heavenly lightning fires  
Hearts inflamed with high aspires!  
All the substance of our souls  
Up in clouds of Incense rolls.  
Leave we nothing to ourselves  
Save a voice, what need we else!  
Or an hand to wear and tyre  
On the thankful Lute or Lyre.  
Sing aloud His praise rehearse  
Who hath made the Universe.   

Charity and Humility.  
Fare have I clambered in my mind  
But nought so great as love I find:  
Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might  
Are nought compared to that good spirit.  
Life of delight and soul of bliss!  
Sure source of lasting happiness!  
Higher than Heaven! lower than hell!  
What is thy tent? where mayst thou dwell?  
My mansion height humility,  
Heaven's vastest capability.  
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 straight breast,  
Enlarge it downward, that sure rest  
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 Lethe's lonesome ditch I'm hurled.  
Nor might nor sight doth aught me move,  
Nor do I care to be above.  
O feeble rays of mental 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.  
Can I demolish with mine eye  
Strong towers, stop the fleet stars in sky,  
Bring down to earth the pale-faced Moon,  
Or turn black midnight to bright Noon:  
Though all things were put in my hand,  
As parched as dry as th' Libyan sand  
Would be my life if Charity  
Were wanting. But Humility  
Is more than my poor soul durst crave  
That lies entombed in lowly grave.  
But if it were lawful up to send  
My voice to Heaven, this should it rend.  
Lord thrust me deeper into dust  
That thou mayst raise me with the just.    

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 arrayed!  
Sweet Offspring of the Solymeian Maid!  
thou would I sing, and thy renowned Acts:  
For thou didst rid the boundless flowery tracts  
Of thy dear Father's Garden from the spoils  
Of the false Serpent, and his treacherous toils:  
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-faced Death doth feed  
Forced under his stiff Rod, and churlish Reed.  
Straight at thy sight how did that surly Sire  
Old Orcus' quake, and greedy Dog retire  
From's usual watch! whiles thou from slavish chain  
Whole swarms of souls, to freedom dost regain.  
Than 'ginst thou with thy immortal Choir to praise  
Thy Father, and his strength to Heaven to raise.  
Ascending thus with joy, as thou dost far  
Through the thin Sky, the Legions of the Air  
Accursed Fiends, do tremble at thy sight,  
And starry Troops wax pale at thy pure light.  
But Ather master of quaint Harmonies  
With smiling look on's Music doth devise,  
Tunes his seven-corded Harp, more trimly strung;  
Then strikes up loudly thy Triumphal song.  
Lucifer laughs bright Nuncio of the Day,  
And golden Hesperus, to hear him play.  
The Moon gins a dance, great Queen of Night,  
Her hollow horns filled up with flusher light.  
Titan his streaming locks along doth strew  
Under thy sacred feet more soft to go,  
Doth homage to thee as to God's dear Son,  
And to the Spring whence his own light doth run.  
Then thou, dread Victor! thy quick wings didst shake  
And suddenly ascend'st above the back  
Of the blue Sky. In th' Intellectual spheres  
Dispreadst thyself: Where the still Fount appears  
Of inexhausted Good, and silent Heaven  
Smiles without wrinkle, ever constant, even.  
Unwearied Time this mansion cannot seize  
Nor Hyles worm, importunate Disease.  
Here Aeon won that cannot wexen old,  
Though of his years the numbers no'te be told.  
Youthful and aged at once here doth he live,  
And to the Gods, unmoved duration give.   

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
FINIS.   

Notes upon Psychozoia.  

Canto 1. Stanz. 1.  Vers. 6. Psyche I'll sing etc. 
THe fittest station to take a right view of the Song of the Soul, is Psyche, or the soul of the Universe. For whatsoever is handled in Psychozoia, and the three other parts of this song hath a meet relation to Psyche as the subject of the whole Poem. For the whole Poem is spent either in her Parentage, Marriage, Clothing or Offspring.  
The three first are dispatched in the first Canto of Psychozoia, the last in the two latter Cantos and three following parts of the Poem. For in the second Canto the manner of the production of Souls is set out till the 24 Stanza. Then all the residue of that and the whole Canto following in the description of their habitation. But their habitation being the Land of life, that is, the several states of the Soul in good and evil, for this cause chief, as also in part, for the description in the first Canto of that life derived from Ahad and Aeon to Psyche, and that which flows from her 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to the lowest skirts of the Universe, do I call this first part of the Song of the Soul, Psychozoia.  Vers. 7. O life of time and all Alterity! 
For what is time but the perseverance of the motion of the soul of the world, while she by her restless power brings forth these things in succession, that Eternity hath at once altogether. For such is the nature of Aeon or Eternity, viz. A life exhibiting all things at once, and in one. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, but distance of life makes time, and the prorogation of life continueth time, the preterition of life is the preterition of time, but Psyche is the fountain of this evolved life, whence she is also the very life of time.  And all Alterity. 
It may be thus shadowed out. The seed of a plant hath all the whole tree, branches, leaves, and fruit at once, in one point after a manner closed up, but potentially. Eternity hath all the world in an indivisible indistant way at once, and that actually.  
Psyche or the Soul of the world, when she gins this world, begets a grosser kind of Alterity, and dispersed diversity 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. etc. as the seminal form spreads out itself, and the body it inacts into distant branches from the quiet and silent seed, making that actual in time and succession which could not be here below in bodies at once. See Plotin Ennead. 3. lib. 7. cap. 10. where the nature of time is more fully described.  Vers. 8. The life of lives. 
Viz. God himself, 

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Of minds thou art the Mind.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 The Soul of souls.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 And Nature of each nature's kind.   Synes. Hymn. 4.  STANZ. 5. Vers. 9 That same that Atove height. 
The deepest Centre of all things, and first root of all beings; the Platonists call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is, the Good, and the One. See Plot. Ennead. 1. lib. 7. cap, 1. Mercur. Trismeg. Serm. Univers. ad Aesculap. This is the simple and naked essence of God, utterly devoid of division and plurality, and therefore not to be known by reason or Intellect, but 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as the Oracle speaks, by the flower, or the summity of the Intellect. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 as Mich. Psellus expounds it, by the unitive power of the Intellect, or by a certain simple and tactuall Energy of the soul when it is roused into act.  
For so is the expression of Plotinus, Ennead. 6. l. 9 c. 7. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 For he is present to him that can touch him, but to him that cannot, he is not present: and in the 9 Cap. describing more lively the state of our union with Atove, or the eminent absolute Good, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. And there lieth our happiness, saith he, and to be removed from hence, is but to partake less of being. Here is the rest of the soul, set out of the reach of all evils, ascended into a place devoid of all danger and mischief. Here she becomes intellectual, Here she is impassable, Here she truly lives indeed. But this life that we live disjoined from God is but a shadow, and umbratil imitation of that. But that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, intellectual energy, an energy that begets God's 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in that still and silent tactuall conjunction with this Universal Good. It begets beauty, it begets righteousness, it begets valour; for these doth the soul bring forth, being once impregned of God, and filled as it were with his sacred seed. And in the 10. Chap. describing further this Union, he saith, that God and the soul doth as it were 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, join centres, and centres do wholly swallow up one another, so that this union is even more than touch.  
This tactuall conjunction of the soul with God surely in the Christian phrase is no more than divine love, as S, John speaks. God is love, and he that is in love is in God and God in him. And Plotinus doth plainly acknowledge it, when as he saith, Every soul is a Venus and hath her Cupid born with her, an heavenly Cupid with an heavenly Venus, till she be defiled with earthly love, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, made common and as it were become an Harlot: but that the soul in the purity of her own nature, loves God and desireth to be joined with him, as a beautiful virgin to a beautiful man, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, for so I think the text is to be read, and not 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. See the whole ninth book of the sixth Ennead. For the nature of Atove or Ahad and the manner of the conjunction of the soul with him is there exquisitely set out.  STANZA. 6, 7. Now can I not, etc. 
It being acknowledged both in the purest Philosophy and in Christianity, that the root of all things is goodness itself, the most genuine consequence of this is, That his providence being measured by himself, goodness itself is the measure thereof: so that all Melancholic and dismal dreams of idly affrighted men, may well vanish in the clearness of this light and truth; as also the envious, malicious, and bloody minded man may here consider, how far he hath wandered from the will of God, and the root of his own being.  STANZA 8. This Ahad of himself the Aeon fair, etc. 
This Aeon is all things essentially and truly as Ahad or Atove above all things. It is the very intellectual world, Eternal life, united ever with the father that brought him forth. The 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of God, his understanding, or explicit inward comprehension of all things ab aeterno, infinite and every where, differing only from his fountain in this, that he is one simple Unity, this one ever-actuall omniformity, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. as the Oracle speaks, being the very Essence or Idea of all things, at once, not successively or in part. See Plotin. Ennead. 3. lib. 7. where he doth acknowledge Aeon and On all one: at the fourth Chapter.  STANZ. 9 This is the ancient Eidos' omniform Fount of all beauty, etc. 
The description of Aeon, which is the first form also or pulchritude, is largely set out: Ennead. 5. lib. 8. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, where the condition of that Eternal life is thus delineated. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 etc. that is, It is an easy life they live there, for truth is their mother, nurse, substance, and nourishment, and they see all things (not in which generation is but essence) and themselves in others. For all's pellucid, nothing dark or impervious, but every one to every one is perspicuous, and all to every one as light to light. For every one hath in him all things, and again sees all things in others. So that all things are every where, and all is all, and every thing all, and the splendour infinite. For every thing there is great, sigh what is little must be also great: the Sun there is all the stars, and again every star the Sun, and all things: but every thing is more eminently some one thing, and yet all things fairly shine in every thing, etc. See Plotin. Ennead. 5. lib. 8. cap. 4.  STANZ. 13. Far otherwise it fares in Aeons' realms. 
This is in reference to Narcissus story Stanz. 12. that sets out the hazard of loving earthly beauty, and of the desire of conjunction with it: but there is no such danger in Aeon land, for the objects there are perfective and not destructive, better than the soul, not base: and chief Abinoam or Ahad which is as it were the Sun of that world, which Aeon doth always behold steady and unmoved, and with him all they that arrive thither. Aeons' self is also an unspeakable plenitude of life, and it is an unexpresseable perfection of the mind to be joined with him, so that there is plainly no danger or hurt to desire earnestly the enjoyment of these divine forms, though union with corporeal features may deface the soul.  STANZ, 14. For Aeon land which men Idea call Is nought but life, etc. 
So Plotin. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. that is.  
The nature of Intellect and On is the true and first world, not distant from itself, not weak by division or dispersion, nothing defective. But all of it is life, and all intellect living in one and at once understanding. A part exhibits the whole, and the whole is friendly to itself, not separated one part from another, nor become another alone; and estranged from others. Whence one part is not injurious to another nor contrary. Wherefore every where being one and perfect every where, it stands unmoved and admits no alteration. See Ennead 3. lib. 2. cap. 1,  STANZ. 5. That Virgin wife of Aeon Vranore. 
Vranore or Psyche the wife of Aeon, the daughter of Ahad. For indeed all things come from him, but 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; First 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or Ahad, that is a simple unity: then Aeon, that's 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 an actual unmoveable Omniformity: Lastly, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that's Vranore, or Psyche, viz, capable of that stable Omniformity, that Fullness of life even all things, and of him that is above all things: but it is not of her Essence to be all things actually and steadily. See Plotin. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Ennead. 5. lib. 1. cap, 8. But nothing can be more plain than what he hath written, Ennead. 5. lib. 6. cap. 4. where speaking of Ahad, Aeon, and Psyche 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (saith he) 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. that is, And we may resemble the first, viz. Ahad, to lux or light, the next to the Sun; the third viz. Psyche, to the Moon, borrowing her light of the Sun. For Psyche hath but an adventitious Intellect, which doth as it were colour her, made Intellectual. But Intellect or Aeon, hath in himself proper Intellectual life, not being that light only, but that which is in his essence illuminated by Ahad: but that which imparts this light, viz. Ahad, is light alone, and nothing else beside, exhibiting a power to him to be what he is.  STANZ. 4. 5. Because the fire Of Aethers essence,— etc. 
That the Intellect in man is clothed with the soul, the soul with fire or spirit; and that through that instrument it governs and order this gross body, is the Opinion of Trismeg. in his Clavis; and the like instrument he ascribes to the Maker of the whole World 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The Maker of the Heavens useth fire to his work. But I conceive indeed that the pure Heavens or Aether, which is from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to burn, is nothing else but attenuate fire 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a subtle fiery liquor or liquid fire; as I have else where intimated.  Vers. 6.7. And inward unseen golden hue doth dight, And life of Sense, etc. 
I cannot better declare this matter then the Philosopher hath already, Ennead. 5. lib. 1. cap. 2.  
Let any particular soul saith he, quietly by herself conceive the whole Universe devoid of life, form, and motion; let the Earth be still and stupid, the Sea, the Air, and the Heaven: anon an universal soul flow into this torpent mass, inwardly infused, penetrating throughout, and illuminating all, as the beams of the Sun doth some Cloud 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, making a golden show by their gild light. Such is the entrance of Psyche into the body of the Universe, kindling and exciting the dead mist, the utmost projection of her own life into an Aethereal vivacity, and working in this, by her plasmaticall Spirits or Archei, all the whole world into order and shape, fitting this sacred Animals for perfect sense, establishing that in being, which before was next to nothing, Vers. 8. Aether's the vehicle of touch, smell, sight: Of taste, etc.  
This is true in the Microcosm as well as in the Macrocosm above described, viz. that the more subtle, fiery and attenuate spirits in man's body, are the medium whereby the soul is joined to and doth work in the body.  STANZ. 16.— May reach that vast profundity. 
Synesius also calleth it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the paternal depth Hymn. 2.  STANZ. 18. Now rise my Muse, etc. 
From this STANZ. to the 33. is contained a description of the visible World.  Vers. 2. Th' outward vest. 
To make all this visible World the garment of Psyche is no forced or new fancy; sigh the Sibyl hath apparelled God therewith, Sibyl. Orac. lib. 1.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
That is, 
I am JEHOVAH, well my words perpend,  
Clad with the frory Sea, all mantled over  
With the blue Heavens, shod with the Earth I wend,  
The Stars around me dance, th' Air doth me cover.   
Moses also (if we will believe Philo the Jew) made Aaron's garment a symbol of the visible World, and it agrees well with this of the Sibylls. For first upon the top, on his Mitre was the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 JEHOVAH; The shoulder-pieces might represent the Heavens; The two Precious-stones there, the two Hemispheres; The twelve names engraven, the twelve signs of the Zodiac; The blue Robe, the Air; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or the flowery work at the hem of the garment, the earth; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Pomegranates (with an allusion to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 fluo) the water; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Bells, the harmony, that is, the mixture of earth and water for generation. But as for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 there is nothing answereth to it in the Hebrew Text, and why should 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 be Emblems of the water, and not rather of the whole Globe of the Earth and Water, it being a round fruit, and representing the seminal fullness of the Earth, by its scissure in the side, full of kernels or seeds? Peradventure had Philo been as well instructed in Pythagorisme, as in Platonisme, and had missed the Septuagints 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, he would hit of another harmony, than the mixture of Water and Earth doth make: I mean the noise of those Balls mentioned STANZ. 30. And so the order of having every Bell joined with a Pomegranet, would have signified the many and numerous Globes at the several depths of the World, with their concomitant sounds in their motion, or at the least proportionable velocities, and consequently Pythagoras' harmony would have been ratified from Aaron's robe: but I hold not this Argument apodictical. Phil. de vita Mosis.  Vers. 7. The many Plicatures. 
Every particular body is esteemed but a knot or close folding of that one entire Out-garment of Psyche.  STANZ. 19 vers. the 9 The garment round. etc. 
It is too too probable the world is round if it be not infinite, the reasons be obvious; but to conclude it finite or infinite is but guess, man's imagination being unable to represent Infinity to Reason to judge on.  STANZ. 30.31. But yet one thing I saw, &c At the low hem, etc. 
A glance at Copernicus' opinion, as at theirs also that make the fixed stars so many Suns, and all the Planets to be inhabited: for by their inhabitants they will be deemed the lowest part of this visible world, be it Saturn, Mars, Jupiter, or what Planet soever else discovered, or, as yet not discovered; wherefore according to this conceit, it is said,  At the low hem of this large garment-gay. 
That is, at the places that seem low, and these are all inhabited Planets supposing there be any inhabited.  STANZ. 33.34. Did tie them twain, etc. 
Aeon and Psyche here become one, not as though they were one and the same essence, but nearer after that kind of manner that the body and soul become one man. For Aeon is the Entelechia of Psyche, as I may say, but closer unite then any form or soul to any body, and never to be separate. Because the universal soul of the world finds all things in Aeon, and knows also exactly inferior things. For her animadversion is not fixed or determined to one, as man's soul is, but free, every where at once, above and below, so that she cannot possibly leave off this state, but is one, ever firmly united with Aeon.  STANZ. 36. To thee each knee, etc. 
A Christian mystery wrapped up in a Platonical covering, the reduction of the world to conformity with the Eternal Intellect, and the soul of the world. For these move still, to this very day, to win men to be governed by them, and not by their own perverse and dark will. Or rather to speak in the Christian Idiom, the Son of God, and the Holy Ghost do thus stir men up, and invite them to true and lively obedience to the eternal will of God, and to forsake their own selves, and their blind way, and to walk all in one everlasting way of light and saving health.  STANZ. 39 Ahad these three in one, etc. 
Here we see Ahad, Aeon. and Psyche all one, which is to be understood not of Essence, but Person (as I may so speak) and that they move and act upon the creature, as one man.  STANZ. 41. We Physis name. 
Physis is nothing else but the vegetable World, the Universal comprehension of Spermaticall life dispersed throughout. This seminal World is neither the very Intellect itself, though it be stored with all forms, nor any kind of pure soul, though depending of both, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, A kind of life eradiating and resulting both from Intellect and Psyche.  
This enters and raiseth up into life and beauty, the whole corporeal world, order the lowest projection of life, viz. the real ●uspis of the Cone infinitely multiplied, awaking that immense mist of Atoms into several energies, into fiery, watery and earthly; and placing her Magic attractive points, sucks hither and hither to every centre a due proportion, and rightly disposed number of those Cuspidal particles, knedding them into Suns, Moons, Earth's, &c. and then with a more curious artifice, the particular Archei frame out in every one such inhabitants and ornaments, as the divine Understanding hath thought fit. For Physis (as I said) is not the divine Understanding itself, but is as if you should conceive, an Artificers imagination separate from the Artificer, and left alone to work by itself without animadversion. Hence Physis or Nature is sometimes puzzled and bungells in ill disposed matter, because its power is not absolute and omnipotent. See Plot. Eunead. 3. lib. 2.  STANZ. ●9. In midst of this fine web doth Haphe sit. 
Every sense to be a kind of touch, was the opinion of the ancient Philosophers, as you may see in Theophrastus' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Every sense in Psyche is plainly and perfectly Touch, or more than Touch rather, I mean, a nearer union. But this present Stanza respects more properly the nature of sense in particular Animals (so fare had my pen started aside) where Touch is the centre as it were from whence the soul discerns in the circumference all manner of Forms and Motions, 
She is the centre from whence all the light  
Dispreads, and goodly glorious forms do flit  
Hither and thither.   
Thus: for there is first a tactuall conjunction as it were of the representative rays of every thing, with our sensorium before we know the things themselves, which rays we really feeling, perceive those things at distance by this communication. For these rays always convey the distance or place, as well as the colour. Hence do we discern figure, viz. the ray of every Atom of the object representing the site of its Atom. For figure is nothing else but the order or disposition of those Atoms. Thus have we all figures, colours, and shapes in a whole Horizon conveyed to our sight by a central Touch of those rays of the objects round about us.  STANZ. 49. But Haphes' Mother height all-spread community. 
As is plain in the communication of rays. For I cannot think that union simply with this sensible world, of itself can make us know things at distance, though Plotinus seem inclinable to that Opinion. See Psychathan, lib. 3. Cant. 1.  STANZ. 55. All Sense doth in proportion consist. 
Somethings are so light that the weight is indiscernible to some, as the Fly that sat upon the Bull's horns and apologized for herself, as having wearied him, as it is in the Arabian fable, some smells too weak to strike the nostrils of others, and some objects too obscure to be seen of the eyes of othersome. But Arachne is proportioned to all whatsoever is any way sensible to any; because Psyche doth enact this All or Universe as a particular Soul doth the body.  Vers. 9 All life of Sense is in great Haphe's lift. 
It must needs be so. For no living soul is sensible of aught in this outworld, but by being joined in a living manner to it. Therefore Psyche being joined to it all, must needs perceive all forms and motions in it, that are presented to any particular soul. For these representations be made in some particular body, which is but a part of the whole, a knot as it were of Psyche's outward stole, but the universal body of the World, is one undivided piece, wherefore nor Owl, nor Bat, nor Cat, nor any thing else can possibly see, but Psyche seethe ipso facto, for 'tis part of her body that hath those representations in it; wherefore man is transfixed through and through by the rays of the divine Light, besides that more incomprehensible way of omnisciency in God.  STANZ. 5.6. Sense and Consent, etc. 
As Psyche sees all natural things, so she doth allow of them. For contrariety of Spirits is only betwixt particulars, and ugliness, and ill-favourednesse are but such to some kinds, nor is poison poison to all, else would the Spider be her own death, and all venomous monsters would save man the labour of encounter.  STANZ. 57 Rich Semele display, 
Till we come to Psyche's self, motion and mutability have place; But in Aeon and Ahad is steady and unalterable rest, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And there hath Psyche the one eye placed as well as the other below, beholding all things, and that which is above all things, as also the shadows and projections of all things without distraction, at once, as easily as our eyes discern many colours at once in one thing.  STANZ. 59 The mother of each Semele. 
How she is the mother of them, see the second Canto of this book at the 23. Stanz.  Vers. 3. But she grasps all. 
The Mundane spirit (of which every body hath its part) enacted by Psyche, if any particular soul exert any imaginative act, needs must for a time at least be coloured as it were or stained with that impression; so that Psyche must needs perceive it, sigh it affects her own spirit. See Psychath. lib. 3. Cant. 2. Stanz. 46.47. Besides this, every particular soul as all things else depending so intimately on Psyche as being effluxes from her, it is inconceivable that the least motions of the mind, or stillest thought should escape her.  
But if any man be puzzled how the fantasy of a man's soul should make an impression upon any part of the universal spirit of the world, and Semele should not, let him consider, that the imaginative operations of Psyche are more high, more hover and suspense from immersion into the grosser spirits of this body, which is little or nothing conscious of what's done so fare above, and so not receiving the impress of so high acts, it ordinarily happens (even in the exaltation of our own fancy) that memory fails. And besides this, as the vigour of sense debilitates or quite extinguisheth the ordinary imaginations of the soul, so doth her ordinary imaginations, or sense, or both, hinder the animadversion of the impresses of Semele. But particular imaginations and the vigour of sense weakened or extinct in sleep, or near death, the energies of the soul of the world are then more perceptible, probably, even in the very spirit of our body, as well as in the naked soul: hence come prophetic dreams and true predictions before death.  
But to go back to the apprehensions of Psyche. Every sensible object and every sensitive and imaginative act appear before her, and whatsoever is in her sight, is also in the sight of Aeon. Because the union betwixt Aeon and Psyche is much more near than between Psyche and the Mundane spirit. And whatsoever is represented in Aeon is also clearly in the view of Ahad; by reason of the unexpresseable close unity of these two; so that Ahad knows every individual thing and motion, as clearly, nay more clearly than any mortal eye can view any one thing, let it look never so steadily on it.  
Thus the thoughts of all men's minds and motions of heart arise up into the sight and presence of the all-comprehending Divinity, as necessarily and naturally as reek or fume of frankincense rolls up into the open air. For the spirit of the Lord fills all the world, and that which containeth all things hath knowledge of the voice, yea of the outward shape, gestures, and thoughts too. Wisd. 1, 7.  
Nor is Eternity changed or obscured by the projection of these low shadows. For infinite animad version can discern all things unmixtly and undisturbedly, not at all losing itself, though gaining nothing by the sight of inferior things. Nor can I assent to that passage in Plotin taken in one sense, nor is it (I think) necessary to take it in that sense, the words are these, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. that is, But that such a kind of inclining himself to himself, being as it were his energy and abode in himself, makes him to be what he is, the contrary supposed doth argue. For if he should incline to that which is without him, he would lose that being which he is. But this is to be considered, that God being infinitely infinite, without stooping or inclining, can produce all things, and view always his work, keeping his own seat that is himself: for so saith the Philosopher in another place, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. that is, That Intellect or On, or the Intellectual world is the first energy of God, is the first substance from him, he abiding in himself. See Plotin. Ennead. 6. lib. 8. cap. 16. also Ennead. 1. lib. 8. c. 2.  
But now to take a short view of what I have run through in my notes on this Canto. Ahad, Aeon, Psyche, the Platonic Triad, is rather the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 then 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Divinity rather than the Deity. For God is but one indivisible unmovable self-born Unity, and his first born creature is Wisdom, Intellect, Aeon, On, or Autocalon, or in a word, the Intellectual world, whose measure himself is, that is simple and perfect Goodness. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. that is. For he is without need, self-sufficient, wanting nothing, the measure and term of all things, yielding out of himself Intellect or On, and Psyche.  
And speaking of Intellect, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. That intellect is taken up about him, employed in a kind of vital operation about him, living in him.  
But of Psyche 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. But Psyche something removed and without, danceth about the Intellect, busily beholding it, and looking into it, seethe God through it. So that Ahad is the vital perfection of Aeon or Intellect, and Aeon and Ahad the happiness of Psyche and her vital accomplishment. Ennead. 1. lib. 8. And both Aeon and Psyche, and all things else are from Ahad, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is with abatement, and farthest off from the fountain the weaker and darker, as is more fully set forth in the next Canto. Stanz. 7, 8. etc.  
And that the world is enacted by Psyche, and so is (which Trismegist and Plato are not nice to grant) one entire Animal, and that therefore nothing can scape the knowledge of that universal soul, no more than any sensation, imagination, or motion of man can be hid from the soul of man, if she be at leisure to observe it. That Psyche is at leisure being uncapable of distraction, as whose animadversion is infinite, entirely omnipresent, and every where at once.  
And now I have taken the pains so accurately to describe the Deity, me thinks, I have made myself obnoxious to almost a just censure of too much boldness and curiosity.  
But give me leave to answer, that I have not taken upon me so much to set out the absolute nature of God, as those Notions that Plato's School have framed of Him, Which I hold neither myself nor any man else engaged to embrace for Oracles, though they were true, till such time as they appear to him to be so. But how ever, I think all men are to interpret both Plato and all men else at the best, and rather mark what of undoubted truth they aim at, than quarrel and entangle themselves in disputes about the manner of expressing that which no man can reach unto. As for example, I had rather fill my mind with that unquestionable truth exhibited in their Triad, viz. that God is as fully Goodness, Wisdom, and powerful Love, as if there were three such distinct Hypostases in the Deity, and then that he is as surely one with himself as if there were but one only Hypostasis, then to perplex my mind with troublesome questions of Three and One, and One and three, etc.  
For the mind of man being so unable to conceive any thing of the naked being of God, those more gross and figurate representations of Him, so be they be suitable to & expressive of His unquestionable Attributes, are not only passable but convenient for created understandings, to lead them on in the contemplation of God in easy Love and Triumph. Whereas by endeavouring more Magisterially and determinately to comprehend and conclude that which is so unconcludible and incomprehensible to the understanding of man, we work ourselves into anxiety and subtle distemper and dry up the more precious outflowing of the Divinity in our souls, by this hellish thirst and importunate desire of dealing with the very naked essence of God. But let every modest Philosopher but read that Inscription in Isis' Temple, a notable monument of the great wisdom of the Ancients: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and then pronounce whether there be not room enough in the Deity for every man to speak diversely one from another, in the representation thereof, and yet no man nor all men together to set out accurately and adequately the nature of God.   

Notes upon Psychozoia.  
Canto 2.  STANZ. 6. It's he that made us. 
YEt not excluding Ahad. See what's written upon the 23. Stanza of this Canto.  STANZ. 9 The last extreme, the farthest of from light 
Plotinus Ennead. 4. lib. 3. cap. 9 describes the production of the corporeal world after this manner, Psyche cannot issue out into any external vivificative act, unless you suppose a body, for that's her place properly, and naturally. Wherefore if she will have place for any vital act, she must produce herself a body. So she keeping steadily her own station, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or rather, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, like a plentiful flame shining out in the extreme margins of the fire begot a fuliginous darkness; which she seeing straightway actuated with life and form, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, so that darkness becoming a variously adorned edifice is not disjoined from its builder, but dependeth thence as being the genuine and true energy of the soul of the World. This I conceive is the sense of the Philosopher, whose conceit I have improved and made use of, as here in this Canto for many Stanzas together, so also else where in Psychathanasia.  Vers. 2. Hyles cell. 
What I understand by Hyle, see the Interp. Gèn. It's lower than this shadow that Plotinus speaketh of, and which maketh the body of the World. For I conceive the body of the World to be nothing else but the real Cuspis of the Cone even infinitely multiplied and reiterated. Hyle to be nothing else but potentiality: that to be an actual Centrality, though as low as next to nothing. But what inconvenience is in Tasis, or the corporeal sensible nature, to spring from Hyle, or the scant capacity, or incompossibility of the creature.  STANZ. 10. Dependence of this All hence doth appear. (to the 17. Stanz. 
The production of the World being by way of energy, or emanation, hath drawn strange expressions from some of the Ancients, as Trismeg. cap. 11. Mens ad Mercur. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. that is, For God being the sole Artificer, is always in his work, being indeed that which he maketh. According to this tenor is that also in Orpheus.  

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
That is,  

jov' first, jov' last, dread Thunderer on high,  
jov' head, jov' navel. Out of Jove all's made.  
jov' the depth of the Earth, and starry Sky.  
Jove is a man, jov' an immortal Maid.  
Jove is the breath of all, Jove's restless fire,  
jov' the Sea's root, Jove is both Sun and Moon,  
jov' King, jov' Prince of all and awful Sire:  
For having all hid in himself, anon  
He from his sacred heart them out doth bring  
To cheerful light, working each wondrous thing.   Aristot. De Mundo. cap. 7. 
And this Hyperbolical expression of the close dependence that all things have on God, is not mis-beseeming Poetry. But Trismeg. is as punctual in this excess as the Poet, Ad Tat. cap. 5. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Hence is the strange opinion of God being all, and that there is nothing but God. But it is not at all strange that all things are the mere energy of God, and do as purely depend on him, as the Sunbeams of the Sun. So that so fare forth as we may say the body, lux & lumen of the Sun, all put together is the Sun; so fare at least we may be bold to say that God is all things, and that there is nothing but God. And that all this may not seem to be said for nothing, the apprehension of what hath been writ on this 1. verse of the 10. Stanz. will also clear well the 6. 7. and 8. verses of the 15. Stanz. where the whole Universe is exhibited to the mind as one vital Orb, whose centre is God himself, or Ahad.  Vers. the 9 In every Atom-ball. 
That is, Ahad and Aeon are in every Cuspiall particle of the world.  STANZ. 12. Why  not, etc. 
By differential profundity is understood the different kinds of things descending 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or abatement from the first cause of all things. But by latitude is understood the multitude of each kind in Individuo, which whether they be not infinite in spiritual beings where there is no 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or justling for elbow-room I know not, unless you will say there will be then more infinites than one. But those are numbers, and not one. I but those numbers put together are equal to that One. But yet that One may be infinitely better than all: For who will not say that Space or Vacuum is infinitely worse, than any real thing, and yet its extension is infinite, as Lucretius stoutly proves in his first Book, De●natura rerum.  STANZ. 15. Throughly possessed of life's community. 
That the World or Universe is endued with life, though it be denied of some, who prove themselves men more by their risibility, then by their reason, yet very worthy and sober Philosophers have asserted it. As M. Anton. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, lib. 10. where he calls this Universe, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a complete Animal, good, just, and beautiful. And Trismeg. cap. 12. de Commun. Intellectu. ad Tat. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. This Universe a great Deity (which I conceive he speaks in reference to Psyche, upon whom such divine excellency is derived) and the image of a greater, united also to him, and keeping the will and ordinances of his Father, is one entire fullness of life. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For there neither was, nor is, nor shall be any thing in the World devoid of life. And Plotin. Ennead. 4. lib. 3. cap. 10. shows how Psyche by her vital power, full of form and vigour, shapes, and adorns, and actuates the World, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as the seminal forms or Archei form and shape out particular Animals, as so many little Worlds.  Vers. 9 And all the Vests be Seats, etc. i.e. Degrees. STANZ. 16. That particular creature throng: 
In contradistinction to the Universal creature Aeon, Psyche, Physis, Tasis, the centre as it were, and more firm essence of the particular creatures. For I must call these universal Orders of life, creatures too, as well as those, and only one God, from whence is both the sensible and Intellectual All, and every particular in them both, or from them both.  STANZ. 23. Each life a several ray is from that Sphere, Arachne, Semel, etc. 
Not as if there were so many souls joined together, and made one soul, but there is a participation of the virtue at least of all the life that is in the universal Orb of life, at the Creation of Man's soul, of which this place is meant, whence man may well be termed a Microcosm, or Compendium of the whole World.  STANZ. 24. Great Psychany. 
The abode of the body is this Earth, but the habitation of the soul her own energy, which is exceeding vast, at least in some. Every man hath a proper World, or particular Horizon to himself, enlarged or contracted according to the capacity of his mind. But even Sense can reach the stars; what then can exalted fancy do, or boundless Intellect? But if stars be all inhabited, which Writers not way contemptible do assert, how vast their habitation is, is obvious to any fancy. Beside some inhabit God himself, who is unspeakably infinite.  STANZ. 25. Two mighty Kingdoms etc. 
Let Psychanie be as big or little as it will, Autaesthesia, and Theoprepia be the main parts of it, and exhaust the whole. Let souls be in the body or out of the body, or where they will, if they be but alive, they are alive to God, or themselves, and so are either Theoprepians, or Autaesthesians.  Vers. 4. Autaesthesie divided into twain. 
Now they that are alive unto themselves, are either wholly alive unto themselves, or the life of God hath also taken hold upon them; they that are wholly alive to themselves, their abode is named Adamah, which signifieth the corrupt natural life, the old Adam, or Beirah, because this Adam is but a brute, compared to that which Plotinus calleth the true Man, whose form, and shape, and life, is wisdom, and righteousness: That which is above, is, saith he, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. but that low life in the body is but a Leonine, or rather a mixture of all brutish lives together, and is the seat or sink of wickedness. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as Trismegist. speaks. For vice is congenit or connatural to beasts. See Plotin. Ennead. 1. cap. 1. whence it is manifest why we call one thing by these two names of Adamah, and Beirah.  
The other part of Autaesthesia is Dizoia, their condition is as this present Stanza declares, mongrel, betwixt Man and Beast. Light and Darkness, God and the Devil, Jacob and Esau struggle in them.  STANZ. 26. Great Michael ruleth, etc. 
Theoprepia, is a condition of the soul, whereby she doth that which would become God himself to do in the like cases, whether in the body, or out of the body. Michael ruleth here, that is, the Image or likeness of God, the true Man, the Lord from Heaven. For the true man indeed, viz. the second Adam, is nothing else but the Image of the God of Heaven. This is He of whom the soul will say when He cometh to abide in her, and when He is known of her 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 who is like unto God, for either beauty, or power? who so comely or strong as He?  Vers. 5. His name is Daemon. 
Daemon the Prince of Autaesthesie, i. e. of self-sensednesse, it is the very image of the Devil, or the Devil himself, or worse if aught can be worse: it is a life dictating selfseeking, and bottoming a man's self upon himself, a will divided from the will of God, and centred in its self.  Vers. 7. From his dividing force, etc. 
All divisions both betwixt God and Man, and Man and Man, are from this selfseeking life.  STANZ. 28. Autophilus the one yoleeped is. 
Autophilus, is the souls more subtle and close embracements of herself in spiritual arrogancy, as Philosomatus, the love of her body; wherefore the one ruleth most in Dizoia, the other in Beirah.  Vers. 8. Born of the slime of Autaesthesia. 
Daemon, that is, the author of division of man from God, born of self-sensednesse. See Plotin. Ennead. 5. lib. 1. cap. 1. where he saith, the first cause of evil to the soul was, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that they would be their own or of themselves. So delighted with this liberty, they were more and more estranged, till at last like children taken away young from their parents, they in process of time grew ignorant both of themselves and of their parents.  SANZ. 29. Duessa first invented Magic lore. 
Duessa is the natural life of the body, or the natural spirit, that, whereby we are liable to Magic assaults, which are but the sympathies and antipathies of nature, such as are in the spirit of the world, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The true Magic (saith he) is nothing else but the concord and discord in the Universe, and he, viz. the the world is the first Magician and Enchanter, others do but learn of him by imitation: wherefore they that are established in a principle above the world, and are strong in God, which are the true and perfect Israel, are exempt from the danger of this Enchantment. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For neither astral spirit nor Angel can prevail against one ray of the Deity; as Aesculapius writes to King Ammon. Plotinus soul was come to that high and noble temper, that he did not only keep off Magical assaults from himself, but retorted them upon his enemy Olympius, which Olympius himself, who practised against him, did confess to be from the exalted power of his soul, Porphyr. de Vita Plot.  STANZ. 30. Ten times ten times ten. 
The number of ten among the ancients called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is an emblem of perfection: for it comprehends all numbers,, sigh we are fain to come back again to one, two, etc. when we are passed it. So that ten may go for perfection of parts in the holy life: but the raising of it into a cube by multiplication, perfection of degrees in a solid, and unshaken manner.  STANZ. 33, Amoritish ground. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Philo interprets 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and it is indeed from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 dixit, the Land of talkers.  STANZ. 34. Psittacusa land, id est, the land of talkers or Parrots. See Don Psittaco, Intepret. Gen. STANZ. 35. there's no Society, etc. 
This Stanza briefly sets out the Beironites condition as concerning their Society and friendship, the bond whereof and exercise, is either feasting and tippling; or a complacency in the well-favourednesse of this mortal body, or some astral concordance or hidden harmony of spirits, which also often knits in wedlock those that are fare enough from beauty.  Vers. 2. But beastlike grazing, etc. 
Aristotle defines very well and like a Philosopher the genuine society that should be among men, viz. in the communication of reason and discourse. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For that in men is right society, and not as in beasts, to graze in the same pasture. Moral. Nicom. lib. 9 cap. 8.  
How unlike to these Beironites was the divine communialty of Pythagoras followers (as jamblicus describes it, de vita Pythag. lib. 1. cap. 33.) not only supplying friendly one another in the necessities of life, but mutually cherishing in one another the divine life of the soul, and maintaining an inviolable concord in the best things: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For they often admonished one another not to dissipate the Deity in them: Wherefore their friendship wholly in words and works seemed to aim at a kind of commixtion and union with God, and communion with the divine Intellect and Soul.  STANZ. 136. The swelling hateful toad. 
This Stanza sets out the nature of each Beironite singly considered by himself, which is referable to some bird or beast, who are sometime lightly shadowed out even in their very countenances.  STANZ. 137. None in Beiron virtuously do live. 
True virtue I make account is founded in true knowledge of God, in obedience and self-denial, without which, those seeming virtuous dispositions, are but mockvirtues, no other than are found in some measure among the brutes.  Vers. 9 If outward form you pierce, 
For as Cicero from Plato, saith, Mens cujusque is est quisque, The soul is the man, not the outward shape. If she live therefore but the life of a Brute, if her vital operation, her vigorous will, and complacency be that which a Beast likes, I cannot see that she is any more than a living Brute, or a dead Man, or a Beast clad in man's . See the 48. Stanza of this Canto.  
STANZ. 138, 139. From the 34. Stanz. to the 138. are the Religion, Polity, Friendship, or familiar Society and single natures of the Beironites set out. Here now gins the discovery of the way of escape from this brutish condition, which is by obedience. Now obedience consists in these two, self-denial Autaparnes, and Patience Hypomone. Obedience discovers to us the door of passage out of this pure brutality, viz. Humility. For it is self-conceit and high presumption that we are all well, and wise already, that keeps us in this base condition.  STANZ. 144. The young man's speech caused sad perplexity, etc. 
That a man in confuso, or in general, is more easily drawn to entertain obedience, but when it is more punctually discovered to him in self-denial and patience, it is nothing so welcome.  
STANZ. 146. For understanding of this Stanza, see Autaparnes in the Interpr. Gen. as also in the 64, 65, 66, 67. Stanz. of the third Canto of this book.  STANZ. 147. Into Atuvus life doth melt. 
Ice, so long as it is, is a thing distinct, suppose, from the Ocean, but once melt by the warmth of the Sun it becomes one with the rest of the sea, so that no man can say, at least, not perceive it is different from the sea. This state of union with God Plotinus (as all things else) describes excellently well. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Wherefore then the mind neither sees, nor seeing discerns, nor fancies too, but as it were become another, not herself nor her own, is there, and becoming His is one with Him, as it were joining centre with centre. Ennead. 6. lib. 9 cap. 10. And that this may not seem a Chimoera, I will annex what the noble Philosopher writes of his own experience, Ennead. 4. lib. 8. cap. 1. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. I often awaking out of the body into myself, and being without all things but within myself, do then behold an admirable beauty, and become confident of my better condition, having then so excellent a life, and being made one with the Deity: in which I being placed do set myself above all other Intellectual beings. But after this my station and rest in God, descending out of Intellect into reason, I am perplexed to think both how I now descend, and how at first my soul entered this body, she being such as she appeared to be by herself, although being in the body. Such an union as this that Plotinus professeth himself to have been acquainted with, though it be the thing chief aimed at in this Stanza, yet I do not confine my Theoprepia to it; nor think I the soul of man disjoined from God, that is not in that sort united to him. But if a man have lost his self-will, and self-love, being wholly dead to himself, and alive to God, though that life exert itself in successive acts, if a man I say, be but affected as God himself, if he were in the flesh would be affected, he is also truly and really in Theoprepia.   

Cant. 3.  STANZA. 1. Shafts which Vriel, vers. 5. & vers. 7. No other help we had for Gabriel. 
URiel, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ignis Dei, Angelus Meridionalis, He that rules in the power of the Meridian Sun. Quatuor Angeli praesidentes cardinibus Coeli, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Vrieb. For Gabriel in this place bears only a natural notion, elsewhere it is the strength of the Lord revealed in the soul. But as for those terms it was rather chance then choice that cast me upon them; being nothing solicitous whether there be any such Precedents or no. I conceive they be some old rabbinical inventions or traditions, by the gross mistake in them.  
For when as they assign to Michael the East, and the West to Raphael, they seem never to have dreamt of any East or West but what belonged to their own Horizon, when as, where ever East is, West is also to some Inhabitants, so that both these Angels will have the same province, Cornel. Agrip. de Occult. Philos. lib. 2. cap. 7.  STANZ. 3, 4, 5. 
The first estate of man, when he gins to make conscience of the law of God, which I call Diana, which is the Moon, as not affording life and vigour though some small light. Small I deem it in comparison of the daystar, the Sun of righteousness himself. This estate is set out in these 4. Stanzas.  STANZA. 6, 7, 8, 9 
The penitent, perplexed, and passionate estate of one that hath the true sight and sense of his sin, and corruption, but is not rid of them.  STANZ. 10, Me thought the Sun itself, etc. 
The condition of him whose spirits indeed are unpurged, though the fire hath got hold on them, and burns, and glows, as in fowl rubbish. This estate is set out by the appearance of the sun from Ida hill, the description whereof follows in the next Stanz.  STANZ. 11. But Phoebus' form, etc. 
A sad image of bitter zeal and praecipitant wrath against all those that are not in the same sad condition with ourselves, that is, that are either better or worse in life, and different in opinion.  Vers. 8. Small things they will prise, etc. 
Such men scarce got into the spirit of Elias; yet esteem their temper above the meekness of Christ's own spirit, because they never yet had experience of it.  STANZ. 18. All sects besides his own doth execrate. 
This was the disease of the Gnostics in Plotinus time, who contemned all beside their own sect, to whom the incomparable Philosopher, gravely and more like a Christian, than those that call themselves by that name, writes to this sense, That if they were so much better than all the world, they ought to be so much the more mild and modest, and not so full of ferocity and rudeness, and to think that there may be room with God for others also. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And not in placing themselves only next to God, to sore as it were in a dream, to fly in their sleep.  STANZ. 35. Whom with cruel spear. 
The difficulty here is how the eternal Son of God may suffer, he being everlasting and immortal life itself, and not contradict what was written, Canto. 1. Stanz. 9, 14, 35, 36, 37. For to the impassable eternal being is the inheritance of the world there promised, but here to that which is passable and mortal. I answer, that the eternal and immortal son of God is to take possession of the world, by that which after a manner is mortal and extinguishable, which is the energy of himself, exerted upon the souls of men, or a kind of life diffused in man's heart and soul, whereby God doth enact us, and is our 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as the soul is the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of the body and governs and guides it. And if Aeon as he is the son of Ahad or Atove (to speak Platonically) that is, the simple and free good, or in brief as he is the son of God, who is the simple good without all selfnesse or straightness, even pure and perfect Light itself (for this Aeon contains in him also the whole creature and is the essence or Idea of all things) I say if he as he is the son of God be in us by his imparted life, he than takes possession of the world, and God by him. But he hath not yet enquickened men generally with this Deiform life, but it hath lain dead to them or they to it, that influx being rather suspended then absolutely destroyed, but as the soul to its body, or any part of her body that is numb and dead. But when that life shall flow into them, as the vital rays of the soul into this mortal body, He shall then as truly govern, rule, and possess the world as any soul doth her body.  
And that there is an eternal son of God, immortal impassable, and not only in the souls of men, but that fills the whole universe, the Evangelist I think will confirm. For he ascribes the creation of all things to him, yea and calls him God, which makes me wonder that the Turks have so high an esteem of this Gospel of S. John, unless they will interpret, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 according to the same tenor that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is to be interpreted, neither place then signifying, unity or identity, but union only and conjunction.  
But to prove the thing in hand (John the 1. vers. 10.) He was in the world and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.  
By world must be understood either the whole universe, or men inhabiting it, and they either the godly or the wicked.  
If the Universe, he is then the eternal principle whereby God made the whole creation. If the godly only (as he may be said in some more special manner to be their maker) how came they not to know him, when he was in them and alive in them; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. If the wicked only, he made them not wicked, so that if he made them at all, he made their natural being, soul, and body, and if them why not all the world? whence a man may reasonably conclude, that the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, that is the Word is eternal and immortal, and invulnerable. And if any Authority will now be worth looking after (S. John's testimony being so plain) Philo the Jew speaks out to this purpose, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. p. 3. It is manifest that the Archetypal seal, which we call the intellectual world, is the very word of God, the archetypal Paradigme, the Idea of Ideas, or Form of Forms. And in, his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 He plainly ascribes the government of the Universe, Heavens, Stars, Earth, Elements, and all the creatures in them, to that which he terms 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. that is, the upright word of God, his firstborn son. Which is pure Platonisme, and may for aught I know go for right Christianisme, so long as the first chapter of S. John for Gospel.  Vers. 2, 3. True crucified Son Of the true God. 
For the life that is in him and should flow into us, is hindered in its vital operation. But if any man make it a light matter that God himself or the Word himself is not hurt, let him consider that he that can find of his heart to destroy the deleble image of God, would, if it lay in his power, destroy God himself, so that the crime is as high and as much to be lamented.  STANZ. 38. Earth grovelling Aptery 
From Beirons wall to Pantheothen dwell the Apterites, that is, such as have souls without wings, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as the Platonic phrase is, souls that have their feathers moult off of them, and so are fain to flag among the dirty desires of the world, though sometime full of sorrow and vexation for their gross vices, but yet in a kind of Hypocritical humility, acknowledging that to be their destined condition, and that it is worse than that condition, to believe that a man by the help of God may get out of it.  STANZ. 44, 45, 46. Height Pteroessa 
The land betwiut Pantheothen and the valley of Ain, is Pteroessa, because the Inhabitants have wings whereby they raise themselves above the mire and dirt of the corrupt body. One of the wings is Faith in the power of God against the forces of the Prince of darkness. The other Love and desire of appearing before God. See the 8. verse of 45. Stanza and the 5, 6, 7. verses of the 46. Stanza.  STANZ. 47. And Gabriel swore, etc. 
Gabriel is the strength of God, which will certainly assist them that walk in the precepts of God with simplicity of heart.  STANZ. 49. But I observed well etc. 
And it is well worth our observation that the main danger of Pteroessa is the making too much haste, or a slubbering speed, promoving ourselves into a greater liberty, or gaping after higher contemplations than we are fitted for, or we can reap profit from, or are rightly capable to conceive.  STANZ. 50. And Autaparnes face. etc. 
See Interpr. Gen.  STANZ. 5● Vers. 9 Back to retreat, etc. 
That is, to reassume that more punctual and vigilant care over our ways in thought, word, and deed, with a kind of austereness of life, crossing our own desires many times even in things indifferent, and to reattempt a perfect mortification of the old man throughout, giving no unseasonable liberty to our deceitful body. For is it not Hypocrisy or partiality to avoid that ourselves, which we often impose upon our young children, whom we oft abridge of things, that are not hurtful of themselves, to break them off their stubborn wills. And believe it; a grown man's body is but a boy or brute, and must be kept under severely by the lash of reason and holy discipline.  STANZ. 57 The Jasper enemy to spirits won. 
This kind of stone the Caspian sea affords, as Dionysius After writes, who ascribes this virtue to it.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
It sends forth Crystal and the Jasper green  
Foe to Empusa's and all spectres seen.  
And this stone is none of the meanest jewels in the Platonic Diadem. Certainly the purging of our natural spirits and raising our soul to her due height of purity, weaning her from the love of this body, and too tender a sympathy with the frail flesh, begets that courage and Majesty of mind in a man, that both inward and outward fiends will tremble at his presence, and fly before him as darkness at lights approach. For the soul hath then ascended her fiery vehicle, and it is noon to her at midnight, be she but awake into herself.  STANZ. 59 But love of man etc. 
Those virtues there recited are refulgently conspicuous in Platonisme, Pythagorisme, and Stoicism. Where's then the defect? But I'll first set out their virtues. Plotinus, Ennead. 1. lib. 2. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, raiseth virtue to her height by these 4. degrees. The first are Virtutes politicae, the second Purgatoriae, the third Animi jam purgati, the fourth and last Paradigmaticae.  
Now for the better understanding of those degrees, we are to take notice of the first and second motions that be in us.  
The first are such as surprise our body or living beast (as I may so call it) by some outward objects represented to sense and natural imagination before reason hath consulted of them, or it may be fancy clearly apprehended them. Such are present frights and pleasant provocations.  
The second consist in the pursuit or declining of these objects represented after the animadversion of our supernal fancy and consultation of reason. Mars. Ficin. upon Plotin.  
Now those virtues that do only amputate, prune, and more handsomely proportionate these second motions in us, are called Political, because a common citizen, or vulgar man ordinarily exerciseth this degree of virtue, perhaps for his credit, profit, or safety-sake.  
But those virtues that do not only prune but quite pluck up those second enormous motions of the mind are called Purgative.  
Thirdly those that do both extirpate the second irregular motions, and also tame the first in some good measure, are the virtues of the soul already purged.  
Fourthly and lastly, those virtues that put away quite and extinguish the first motions, are Paradigmaticall, that is, virtues that make us answer to the Paradigme or Idea of virtues exactly, viz. the Intellect or God.  
These four degrees of virtues make so many degrees of men, if I may call them all men.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉    
Virtues 

Political Man.  
Purgative God-man.  
Animi jam purgati Angel-god.  
Paradigmaticall God.    
And this he doth plainly confess, acknowledging that the motions, or passions of the mind are not sins, if guided, directed and subjected to reason, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. But our endeavour must be not only to be without sin, but to become God, that is, impassable, immaterial, quit of all sympathy with the body, drawn up wholly into the intellect, and plainly devoid of all perturbation. And who would not be thus at ease? who would not crowd himself into this fafe castle for his own security? I can not quite excuse the old man of self-love for that round elegancy 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. It doth not run so well in plain English. It is better thy son be wicked than thou miserable, that is, passionate. Epictet. Enchirid. cap. 16. Yet to speak the truth, Stoicism, Platonisme, and Pythagorisme are gallant lights, and a noble spirit moves in those Philosopher's veins, and so near-Christianisme, if a man will look on them favourably, that one would think they are baptised already not only with water, but the holy Ghost. But I not seeing humility and self-denial and acknowledgement of their own unworthiness of such things as they aimed at, nor mortification, not of the body (for that's sufficiently insisted upon) but of the more spiritual arrogative life of the soul, that subtle ascribing that to ourselves that is Gods, for all is Gods; I say, I not seeing those things so frequently, and of purpose inculcated in their writings, thought, I might fitly make their Philosophy, or rather the life that it doth point at (for that's the subject of this Poem) a Type of that life which is very near to perfection, but as yet imperfect, having still a smack of arrogation, and selfseeking. But believe it, a man shall often meet with frequent Testimonies of their charity and universal love, of meekness and tranquillity of mind, of common care of men, of hearty forgiveness of offences. Temperance, Justice, and contempt of death, are obvious and trivial; also their Prayer to God, and belief that he helps, both in finding out of Truth, and improvement of Virtue. So that I reserve as the true and adequate Character of Christianisme, the most profound and spiritual humility, that any man can have experience of, and a perfect self-deadnesse, which is the begetter indeed of the former. For where selfness is extinguished, all manner of arrogation must of necessity be extinct; and this is the passage through the valley of Ain. So that it must be acknowledged, that though there have been many brave and generous lights risen upon the Earth, yet none so plainly perfect, so purely amiable and lovely, as that sweet life of the Messiah, to whom the possession of the World is promised.  STANZ. 59 Vers. 7, 8, 9 
True fortitude that truest foes doth awe,  
Justice and abstinence from sweetest ill,  
And wisdom like the Sun doth all with light orespill.  
This ravishing beauty and love, is lively set out by Plotinus, lib. 6. cap. 5. Ennead. 1. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And when you behold yourselves beautiful within, How are you affected? How are you moved and ravished? and gathering yourselves from your bodies, desire more nearly and closely to embrace your naked selves? For thus are they affected that are truly amorous, when they either contemplate in themselves, or behold in others that gallantry and greatness of soul, that constant garb of Justice, pure and undefiled Temperance, manly, and awfull-eyed Fortitude, Gravity and Modesty gently moving in all peaceable stillness and steady Tranquillity and a godlike Understanding, watering and varnishing all these Virtues, as it were with golden showers of lustre and light.  STANZ. 63. But Autaparnes wox more wan, and woe, etc. See Autaparn. Interpr. Gen. STANZ. 66. This dale height Ain, etc. 
This valley of Ain is nothing else but self deadness, or rather self-nothingnesse: wherefore the fume rising thence must needs be Anautesthesie, that is self-senslesnesse, no more feeling or relishing a man's self, as concerning himself, then if he were not at all.  STANZ. 67. Here Autaparnes, etc. See Autaparn. Interpr. Gen.   

Notes upon Psychathanasia.  


Lib. 1. Canto 1.  STANZ. 10. Like men new made contrived into a Cave. 
SEE Jamblich, Protrept. cap. 15.  STANZ. 12. Vers. 4. Calling thin shadows, etc. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Merc. Trismeg. 6.  STANZ. 16. This Errors den. 
The condition of the soul in this life is so disadvantageous to her, that the Philosopher in the 3. Chapter of the 8, Book of his 4. Ennead. falleth into these expressions, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. That the body is but a prison and sepulchre to the soul, and this World a Den and Cave.  Vers. 6. As deep as Hyles Hell. 
The Materia prima; such as the schools ordinarily describe. Else where Hyle signifieth mere potentiality.  STANZ. 17. That loves the body, etc. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Jambli●h. Protrept. cap. 3. pag. 80. Also Plat. Phaed.  STANZ. 18. Th' unthankful Stagirite. 
There is notorious testimony of Aristotle's pride, conceitedness, and unthankfulness towards Plato. Aelian. Var. Histor. lib. 3. cap. 19 as also lib. 4. cap. 9 The Title of that Chapter is, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Of Plato's humility, and Aristotle's ingratitude  Vers. 3. Most men prefer 'fore holy Py thagore. 
See Jamblich. De Vita Pythag. where the purity and holiness of his spirit is sufficiently evidenced from the Character of his manners, cap. 2. pag. 30. where it is said that what ever he did or spoke, he did it, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, with inimitable serenity, and sedarenesse of mind, never surprised with anger laughter, zeal, contention, or any other precipitancy or perturbation.  STANZ. 21. Love of the Carcase. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Wherefore the love of Mortality, is the Mother of Ignorance, especially, in divine things, for we cannot cleave to both; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Mercur. Trismeg. 4. pag. 21.  Vers. 9 Here will true wisdom lodge. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. Paemandr. pag. 7.   

Cant. 2.  STANZ. 5. Or like a Lamp, &c, 
See Plotin. ' Ennead. 4. lib. 1. cap. 8. & 12.  STANZ. 24. Withouten body having energy. 
'Tis the opinion of Plotinus. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Ennead. 4. lib. 1.  STANZ. 57 But if't consist of points then a Scalene I'll prove all one with an Isosceles, etc. 
If quantity consists of Indivisibles or Atoms, it will follow that a Scalenum is all one with an Isosceles, etc.  
Before I prove this and the following conclusions, it will be necessary to set down some few Axioms and Definitions:  

Axioms.  
1. That a Line hath but two ends.  
2. That Lines that consist of an equal number of Atoms, are equal.  
3. That it is indifferent where we pitch upon the first Line in a superficies, so that we fill the whole Area, with Lines parallel to what first we choose.  
4. That no Motion goeth on less, than an Atom at a time, or the breadth of a Mathematical Line.   

Definitions.  
1. An Isosceles, is a Triangle having two equal sides.  
2. A Scalenum, is a Triangle having all sides unequal.   

Theorem. 1.  
That a Scalenum, and an Isosceles, be all one.   diagram 
Let ABC be a Scalenum; The same ABC is also an Isosceles. For fill the whole Area ABC with Lines parralel to AC by the 3. Axiom. There is then as many points in BASILIUS as in BC by the 1. Axiom; and therefore by the second, BA is equal to BC. and consequently by the 1. Definition. ABC is an Isosceles.   

Appendices.  
The same reason will prove. 1. That every Triangle is an Isopleuron or equilateral Trirngle. 2. That the Diametre of a Quadrangle is equal to any of its sides. 3. That the Chord of a segment of a Circle, is equal to the Ark, etc.  Vers. 4. That the cross Lines of a Rhomboids, That from their meeting to all corners press, be of one length.  

Theorem. 2.  
That the diagoniall Lines of a Rhombeids be equal.   diagram 
Let ACBD be a Rhomboides, and AB stretched out in infinitum, after the infinite productions of CB and AD. I say, that DC will be equal to AB. For EC is equal to EA, and ED to EBB, by the precedent Theorem. Wherefore DC and AB are equal.  
The same is also as briefly proved by the first or second Appendix of the precedent Theorem.  STANZ. 58. And with her grasping rays, etc.  

Theorem. 3.  
That the Moon sometimes enlightens the whole Earth, and the Sun sometimes enlightens not the Earth at all.  
To prove this, I must set down some received Propositions in Optics and Astronomy.   

Propositions Opticall.  
1. SPhaeriodes luminosum minus si propinquius est opaco, minorem portionem illustrat quam si remotius existat.  
2. Sphaeroides luminosum majus ê propinquo ampliorem partem opaci irradiat quam ê remoto. Aguilon. lib. 5.   

Propositions Astronom.  
1. THe greatest distance of the Full or New Moon, from the Centre of the Earth, is 64. semidiameters of the Earth.  
2. The least distance of the Moon New or Full, from the Centre of the Earth, is 54. semidiameters of the Earth: so that there is five Diameters difference.  
3. The Sun in his Apogee, is distant from the Centre of the Earth 1550 semidiameters of the Earth, but in his Perigee 1446. So there is 52. Diameters difference.   lunar diagram 
But now for the second part of the Theorem. That the Sun sometimes enlightens not the earth at all.  
Let the Sun be in his Perigee A, enlightening the Earth CEHD so fare as FG. Remove him from A to his Apogee B. In his recession to B the Earth CEHD is less and less enlightened by the second optical Proposition, I say, it is not enlightened at all.  
For suppose he had gone back but the length of IC, then had FCG been devoid of light, because that CG hath no more points in it then IC hath, by the first and second Axiom. or third Appendix of the first Theorem. And the light cannot go off less than an Atom a time by the fourth Axiom. Much more destitute therefore is the Earth CHED of light, the Sun being in B, when as the distance AB will measure above fifty times CH (which yet is bigger than IC) by the Consect. of the third proposition Astrnomicall, so that day will hang in the sky many thousand miles off from us, fastigiated into one conical point, and we become utterly destitute of light.   solar diagram 
A man might as well with placing the Sun in B first prove him to enlighten all the Earth at once, and make perfect day.  
As also the Moon if you place her in her Apogee first, that she enlightens not the least particle of the Earth though in her full.  
Lastly, if you place them in K you might prove they do enlighten every part and never a part of the Earth at once, so that a perfect Universal darkness and light would possess the World at the same time, which is little better than a pure contradiction. Thematter is very plain at the first sight.  STANZ. 28. In every place, etc. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Ennead 2. lib. 9 cap. 7.     


Lib. 2. Cant. 1.  STANZ. 10. This is that strange framed statue, etc. 
REad Plotin. Ennead. 6. lib. 4. cap. 14. And cap. 15. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. And a little after he saith, that the corporeal substance being thus prepared, catches life and soul from the Mundus vitae, as Ficinus calls it. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Read the 14. and 15. chap. of that fourth Book.   

Cant. 2.  STANZ. 12. The naked essence of the body's this. See Body Interpr. Gener. STANZ. 26. But like a Centre that around doth shoot, etc. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Ennead. 4. lib. 7. cap. 6.   

Cant. 3.  STANZ. 3, Knowledge of God. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Merc. Trismeg. 9 p. 37.    


Lib. 3. Cant. 1.  STANZ. 14. Three Centres has man's soul, etc. 
PLotinus. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The opinion of the Philosopher is here, methinks, something perplexed. Nor can we easily gather, whether he makes three essences, or only three general faculties. If three essences, why says he 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, one nature in many faculties? If but one essence and three faculties, how comes that supernal faculty to be ever employed in intellectual and divine speculations, and we seldom or never perceive it? See Ennead 2. lib. 9 cap. 2.  STANZ. 22. She sees more clear, etc. 
Sith God moves all things, and all things immediately depend of him, or if you will is all things, it cannot be but he must have the sense of all things in the nearest and most immediate manner: as you may see more at large in Merc. Trismeg. in his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 9 pag. 39.40.   

Cant. 2.  STANZ. 2 By his own plastic point, or else deep Night Drawn on, etc. 
PLotinus mentions also a middle way. That the great soul of this World does at least inchoate, and rudely delineate the fabric of our body at first. The particular soul afterward accomplishes it. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. See Ennead. 6. lib. 7. cap. 7. He seems also in his second Ennead to intimate that our bodies are made by the soul of the World. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. lib. 9 cap. 18.  STANZ. 5. By what the soul in herself feels and tries, etc. 
Plotinus professes himself to have frequent experience of this, Ennead 4. lib. 8. cap. 1.  STANZ. 16. Then like to flowing stream, etc. 
This seems to be the opinion of that learned Knight in his Book of Bodies. But I cannot satisfy myself in some difficulties it is entangled with. How it can be possible that any fiery Atom or thin particle should be capable of so strong an impetus impressed on it, as to carry it so many thousand miles, and not to cease from motion or be extinct. Nor can the particles that follow drive on the former. For there is still the same difficulty that was afore. Besides our sense shall then discover only those particles of light that are in our eye, so that the Sun will seem to have neither distance nor due figure. There's the same reason in colours.  
monsieur des Chartes his gentle 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or renixus of the Aethereal Vortices against the Organ of sight, is far more solid and ingenuous, agreeing exactly with all the properties of light, The contending in this and the following stanzes for the received way of species is but a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. These rays are here used for illustration rather than Proof.  STANZ. 20. Yet nought at all is lost. 
See Merc. Trismeg. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. 8,  STANZ. 21. When that compounded nature is dissolved Each Centre's safe. 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, 11. p. 57   

Canto 3.  STANZA. 12. One steady good centre of Essences. 
See Trismeg. pag. 41, 52, 68, 69. Edit: Turneb.  STANZ, 38. 
Nearer the Earth the slower it must go,  
These Arks be less, but in the Heaven blew  
Those Arks increase, it must not be so slow.  
Thus must it needs return unto its idle Bow.  
Where let B be the earth. A the East. Let an arrow fly in the line BC. let DE be several heights of the air. Let the arrow K keep in BC the same line of the air or earthly magnetic spirit. So that BF, BG, BH etc. are not new lines of the air but of immovable imaginary space. which spaces let be equal one with another. Now let the arrow K moving upward or downard in BC make also toward the East A in a circular motion. I say then it goes faster in E then in D. For the ark DA is divided into parts of the same proportion to the whole D A that the parts of EA to the whole EA. Now EA is far greater than DA, and therefore must the parts of EA be far greater than the parts of DA. And yet in the same time doth the arrow K pass through the portion of EA that it doth of DA. otherwise it would not keep in the line BC which is contrary to our hypothesis, and indeed to ordinary experience. For our eye finds the arrow come down in the same line it went up. Therefore it must needs go faster in EA then DA.  
But this may seem strange and uncouth that the arrow should thus moderate itself in its motion, and proportion its swiftness to the ark it is in. But I conceive it is no more wonderful than that water should figure itself according to the variety of its situations in height and depth.  STANZ. 39 
Nor ought we wonder that it doth conform  
Its motion to the circles of the air  
Sith water in a wooden bucket born,  
Doth fit itself unto each Periphere, etc.  
The truth and sense of this stanze will appear thus. Water is a heavy body, and therefore will get so near the centre as it can. That all the parts may get as near as they can, they must of necessity cast themselves into a spherical figure. For any other figure though it may happily let some parts nearer than they be in a sphere, yet it necessarily bears others further off from the Centre than the furthest would be, were they all cast into a spherical, as plainly appears in the following Scheme.  
Where let DA be a proportion of water casting itself into a rectilinear figure. FG the same proportion casting itself into a spherical. 'Tis plain that though DA be nearer the Centre at the point C and thereabout then FG at B or any where else, yet the highest point in the furface of FG is not so high, or so far removed from the centre I, as any betwixt DK or HA', wherefore all the particles of the proportion of water DA are not brought to the nearest position to the centre I, till they conform with the circle CLM. which we suppose the same proportion of water FG to have done. wherefore the lubricous particles of the water DA, will never cease tumbling, as being placed in an undue height, till the surface thereof be concentrical with I  
This being premised, let E be a vessel of water in several situations of height. The first and highest situation of this vessel let be BAB which is plainly the biggest circle. Let CBC be the next, a less circle than BAB. The tumour at B is bigger then, then at A. let BCB be the third, lesser than any of the former, the tumour at C is then highest of all, and so on still. There will ever be a new conformation of the surface of the water, according to the distance from the Centre of the earth, as is plain from the praemized Theorem.  STANZ. 4●. venus' Orb debars not Mars etc. 
That the Planets get into one another's supposed Orbs, is plain from their greatest & laste distances from the centre of the Earth.  

Mars his least distance 556 Semidiam.  
Venus greatest distance 2598 Semidiam.  
Venus lest distance 399 Semidiam.  
Mercuries greatest distance 2176 Semidiam.   
Now they that make solid Orbs, must of necessity make the Orb of the Planet as high or as low as the Planet itself is at least. Wherefore the lowest distance of an high Planet being much lower than the highest distance of a lower Planet, as appears out of Landsbergius his calculation in his Vranometria, it must needs be that their supposed solid orbs will run one into another. But you'll say it is foul play to appeal to Landsbergius his Calculation, sigh he is a party. But I see no man distrust his conclusions, though they mislike his Hypothesis.  
How ever that this objection may be taken away. The fluidness of the Planetary heavens is acknowledged even by them that are against the motion of the Earth. As by Tycho that famous Astronomer who hath made such a System of the world, even the earth standing still, as may well agree with the conclusions of Landsbergius about the distances of the Planets from the Centre of the earth. For there Mars his least distance must needs be lower than Venus' greatest distance, and Venus lest distance must needs be lower than Mercury's greatest distance. As you may see in the Paradigme. Where it is very plain that Venus sometime is nearer the earth than Mercury, that Mars is sometime nearer the earth than Venus, which cannot be without penetration of dimensions in solid Orbs.  
But what an untoward broken system of the would this of Tycho's is in comparison of that of Copernicus will appear even at first sight, if we do but look upon them both.  
I have set down this scheme of Copernicus because it is useful also for the better understanding of some following passages.  
Copernicus' System of the World as it is described in Galileo, pag. 242.  
It is plain to any man that is not prejudiced that this System of the world is more natural & genuine then that of Tycho's. No enterfaring or cutting of circles as in Tychoes, where the course of the Sun cuts Mars his circuit. No such vast excentricity as there, nor disproportionatednesse of Orbs and motions. But I'll leave these things rather for the beholder to spy out then to spend needless words in an easy matter.  STANZ. 56. 
But that disgracement of Philosophy  
From Flux and Reflux of the Ocean main  
Their monthly and yearly change, etc.  
How the Flux and Reflux of the sea depends on the motion of the earth I shall endeavour to explain as follows.  
About the Centre A, describe the circumference of the Earth's annual course HBC from West to East. In the point B describe the globe of the earth, DEFG running also from West to East in its diurnal course; that is, from G to D, from D to E, and so on till it come to G again. Here we may observe that every part of the earth at several times hath a contrary motion.  
As for example. Those parts at D●tending toward E have a contrary motion to what they have when they come to F and ascend toward G. So the parts twixt GD as they go on toward E, move contrary to the motion they are moved betwixt E F going on toward G. But the parts about D move one way with the annual motion, so that the swiftness of the motion of those parts of the earth is increased, the annual and diurnal motion going in one, and tending Eastward. But the parts about F go Westward toward G, so that much of the annual swiftness is taken of by the diurnal motion in these parts, they going a contrary way to the annual.  
The parts about E and G go not either Westward or Eastward, but are inconsiderable in the annual motion.  
Now, saith Galilaeus, the sea being in his channel as water in a movable vessel the acceleration or retardation of the motion of the Earth will make the sea fluctuate or swill, like water in a shaken vessel, which must needs come to pass twice in every four and twenty hours because of the great swiftness at D and extraordinary slowness at F.  
What the cause is of the daily flux and reflux of the sea according to Galilaeos' mind is now conspicuous. viz. The addition or subduction of the Earth's diurnal motion from the annual, which according to that Authors compute is thrice swifter than the diurnal.  
Now as the daily Flux and Reflux consists in this addition and subduction, so the monthly and yearly changes and variations of this Flux and Reflux consist in the variation or change of proportion in those additions and subductions: they bearing sometime less, sometime greater proportion to the annual motion.  
Finally, this variation of proportions ariseth either from a new swiftness or slowness in the annual motion of the Earth; or else, from the various position of the Axis thereof; it sometimes conspiring more fully with the annual motion than other sometimes. Whenc it comes to pass that the compound motion is not always of the same swiftness or slowness. But we shall better understand this by applying ourselves to a figure. And first of the monthly variation at full and new Moon.  
But here I must profess it seems to me very hard, how the swiftness of the Moon in B, or her slowness in the Ark H D G should engage the Earth in C, in the like slowness and swiftness, there being no such solid and stiff continuation from A to D as there is in a balance of a clock.  
Again supposing this conceit to hold good. How will it answer to the history of the Flux and Reflux of the sea. Which is increased much, as well when the Moon is in B as when she is in D. That the Flux should be greater the Moon being in D is reasonable, because C being then much retarded in the annual motion, the subduction and addition of the diurnal will bear a greater proportion to the annual, and so consequently cause a greater alteration in the Flux and Reflux. But when as the Moon being in B makes the annual motion of C swifter, the subduction and addition of the diurnal will bear a less proportion to the annual, and so the Flux and Reflux shall be rather diminished then increased, which is against experience and the history of the Flux and Reflux of the sea.  
But now in the third place, to find out the reason why at certain points of the years period the Flux and Reflux should be increased. We must observe that this is according to the several positions of the Axis of the Earth, not but that it is always parallel to itself, but in reference to the Ecliptic. For such is its position in the Solstitial points that there the diurnal motion added or subducted bears a greater proportion to the annual then elsewhere. In the Equinoctial points a less. As will appear in the following scheme.  
Let ADCB be the Ecliptic, Let the circles GCFE cut ADCB to right angles. Let the annual motion of the Earth be from C to B, from B to A, etc. the diurnal CAEC and CBEC. The Earth at A in her Solstitial point: at B in her Equinoctial. It is plain at first sight that CAEC complies much more with the motion BAD, than CBE doth with CBA. It is not worth more curious proposal and proof: since the truth thereof is so fare from giving a reason of the yearly alteration in the Flux and Reflux, that it is quite repugnant with the history thereof. For according to this device of Galileo the greatest Flux and Reflux should be in the solstices, But according to the observation of Writers it is in the Aequinoxes.  
But however it was a witty attempt of Galileo, though not altogether so solid. Mounsieur Des Chartes in my judgement is far more successful in his Hypothesis, who renders the causes of all these 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 after the manner following.  
For your more fully understanding of what I am now about to premise, I must refer to you Des Chartes his Principia Philosophiae. Mean while peruse this present Scheme.  
Where CDBE is that great Vortex, in which, and by which the Planets are carried from West to East, according to the order of CDBE. Let A be the Sun, the Centre of this great Vortex, about which all the liquid matter of our Heaven is carried about, as gross water in a whirlepooll; and with it the Planets like corks or straws. Let F be the Planet, we are in, viz. the Earth, which is the Centre of a lesser Vortex HDGI. Let M be the Moon carried about the earth's Vortex in her monthly course. This Vortex of the earth is not perfect spherical, but cometh nearer the figure of an Ellipsis.  
Because as Chartesius giveth you to understand, that part of the Vortex, which is the Circuit KL is more like the matter of the Vortex HDGI, than that matter which is above or below at D and I; and therefore DHIG, giveth out more easily and naturally toward K and L.  
Perhaps this reason may be added: That all the parts of the Vortex CDBE endeavouring through their circular Motion to recede from their Centre A, and thereby to widen one from another; I mean the parts of any one Circle; suppose KL: and yet all the Circles urging one another 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, from A, to CDBE, they will easily give place in their Circles, as in KL, and the rest, but rather press close in the Diametre, as in DI. So that the Diametre of the Vortex of the Earth DIEGO, shall be lesser than its Diametre GH. In so much that when the Moon M, is in D, or I, she will straiten the stream of the V●●tex a great deal more, than when she is in G or H, which will make it run more swiftly, and bear down the Air and Water of the Sea more strongly.  
But now that we may come more nearly to our business in hand, and apply ourselves wholly to the Earth's Vortex, in which the mystery of the Flux and Reflux of the Sea is to be discovered.  
Let therefore this Vortex of the earth be ABCD. The Earth herself EFGH. 1234. the surface of the sea, wherewith for greater perspicuity, let the whole Earth be covered: Let 5678. be the surface of the Air, encompassing the Sea.  
And now let us consider, that if there were no Moon in this Vortex, the point T, which is the Centre of the earth, would be in the point M the Centre of the Vortex; but the Moon being at B, this Centre T must be betwixt M and D: because seeing that the ethereal matter of this Vortex is something swiftlier moved, than the Moon or Earth which it bears along with it, unless the point T, be somewhat more distant from B then D, the Moons being there would hinder the ethereal matter from flowing so freely betwixt B and T, as betwixt T and D. Wherefore the position of the Earth in this Vortex not being determined, but from the equality of force of the sethereall matter that flows about it, it is manifest that she must come somewhat nearer toward D.  
And after the same manner when the Moon is in C, the Centre of the Earth must be betwixt M and A; and thus always will the Earth recede somewhat from the Moon. Furthermore, because that from the Moons being in B, not only that space which is betwixt B & T but also that betwixt T and D is made narrower; hence cometh it to pass that the ethereal matter floweth swiftlier in those places, and therefore presseth harder both upon the surface of the Air, in 6. and 8. as also upon the water's surface in 2. and 4. then if the Moon were not in the Diametre BD. And since the bodies of Air and Water be fluid, and easily yielding to that pressure, they must needs abate more in their height upon the parts of Earth, at FH; then if the Moon were out of the Diametre BD. But contrary wise, they must become higher at G and E, in so much that the surface of Water 1.3. and of Air 5.7. will be there protuberant.  
But now because that part of the Earth, which at this moment is in F (over against B) where the Sea is at the lowest, will after six hours be in G (over against the point C) where it is at the highest, and after other six hours in H over against D, and so on. Or rather, because the Moon herself also in the interim, maketh some little progress from B towards C, as finishing her whole Circle ABCD in the space of a month; that part of the Earth which is now in F over against the body of the Moon, after six hours and about 12. minutes, will have reached the point G in a Diametre of the Vortex ABCD which cuts that Diametre BD in which the Moon than is, to right angles, and then will the water be at highest there, viz. at F. And after other six hours and twelve minutes, F will have reached the point H, where the water will be at lowest ebb, etc. Whence we may clearly understand, that the water of the sea must in the same place ebb and flow every twelve hours and 24. minutes.  
Furthermore it is to be noted that this Vortex ABCD is not exactly round, but that diametre of it in which the Moon is at full and change to be shorter than that which is cut by it to right angles, as is above demonstrated. Whence it follows that the Flux & Reflux of the sea ought to be greater at new and full Moon then in the intermediate seasons.  
We may also note, that whereas the Moon is always in a Plain near to the Plain of the Ecliptic, and the earth is in her diurnal motion, turned according to the Plane of the Aequatour, which Planes intersect one another in the Aequinoxes, but be much distant from one another in the Solstices, that the greatest Flux and Reflux will be about the beginning of Spring and Autumn.  
And these principles of Mons. des Chartes as they are plain and perspicuous in themselves, so are they also exactly agreeable with the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of Nature. So that though I was mistaken with Galileo in the manner, yet in the main I am not mistaken: The cause of the Flux and Reflux of the sea lying in the motion of the earth.  STANZ. 62. That Venus Moon-like, etc. 
This ensuing Diagram will explain all what is said of Venus in this and the following stanze.  
First, that she increaseth and decreaseth like the Moon (it being supposed that she is opake, which is discovered also by the optic glass) is plainly shown in this figure. For in B she is not half lighted, in C she is even in the full.  
Secondly, that when she is farthest of she is in her full, as appeareth by the line AC.  
Thirdly, that she than seemeth less though in her full, because she is so much removed from us, even further than the Sun himself, as appears by the said line AC.  
Fourthly, that she must appear bigger when she lest is enlightened, because she is then so very near us, in respect of that ren●otenesse in her full, as also appears plainly if you compare AB and AC together.  
Lastly, here is set forth how she rounds the Sun in her circuits continually, as also doth Mercurius, which is confirmed by their never being far from the Sun. Hence it is that Venus is the Morning and Evening star. Either to rise not long before the Sun, and so to praenunciate the Day, or to set not long after him and so to lead on the Night.  STANZ. 65. The Medicean four reel about Jove. 
See Copernic. System. at Stanz. 48.  STANZ 67. and 70. 
Planets go back stand still and forward fly  
With unexpected swiftness, etc.  
Before we can well understand the sense of these stanzas we must have a right apprehension of the epicycle, and the station, direction, and retrogradation of Planets, And all these depend one of another.  
Let BDHF be an Epicycle. The order of the signs GCE. The line touching the Eastern side ADE.  
Now the line of the true motion of a Planet is twofold. One is referred to the centre of the Epicycle, the other to the body of the Planet. According to the latter sense are the following descriptions.  
A Planet is direct when the line of true motion goes on with the order of the Signs.  
Retrograde when it goes contrary to the order of the Signs.  
Stationary, when this line seems not to move either backward or forward.  
The line of true motion of the Epicycle which is AC always goes with the order of the Signs. But the line that strikes through the Planet itself goes in the upper part of the Epicycle FBD with the order of the signs, but in the lower part DHF contrary to that order. This is the nature of the Epicycle and of retrogradation and station of Planets. Which superfluous motions or stands, as needless botching Copernicus' his System admits not of; the motion of the Earth so fitly salving all such 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as the following figure will make plain.  
Let the circuit of the earth be AGA about the Sun standing still at the Centre Z. Let AN be a twelfth part of Jupiter's circle that he moves in about the Sun. For Jupiter finisheth his course but in twelve years. Divide the circuit of the earth AGA into twelve equal parts. By that time the earth hath gone through all these, Jupiter will have gone the twelfth part of his own circuit, viz. AN. Divide AN into twelve equal parts, according to the number of parts in the Earth's circuit before described. That while the Earth passeth through one twelfth of her whole circle AGA, Jupiter may also dispatch a twelfth of the ark AN, Let both these twelves be signed with the same letters, ABCDEFGHIKLMN.  
Now place the Earth at the point A. Let it go forward till it come to B. Jupiter hath also gone forward in his circuit and appears in the starry firmament at B, going forward on his way suppose with the order of the signs: Let the Earth proceed to C, then is Jupiter also come to C, and appears yet direct in the highest C. so he doth in D and in E, but in F he appears Stationary betwixt F E. Let the Earth proceed to G. Here Jupiter has skip'd back in appearance as far as from F to G. Let the earth go on to H, in appearance he has gone back as far as from G to H. Let her still move forward till she reach I, there Jupiter becomes Stationary again in IH. Put her on further to K, than he is again direct. So is he in L and M and N which is the entire finishing of the Earth's annual course.  
Thus according to Copernicus his supposition, is the station and repedation of the Planets, at least the three highest, Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars, plainly discovered to be an appearance only; & that the Heavens are not guilty of any such real irregularity of motion. Which coneinnity, nor Ptolemees, nor Tycho's Hypothesis can afford us.  
But lest any mistrust that the same seeming irregularity, will not fall out in Mercury, and Venus, which are betwixt the Sun and our Earth; The following scheme will show how there is a station and repedation in them too, according to this Hypothesis of Copernicus.  
Set the Earth at some certain point of its annual circle, viz. at O. Let ABCDEFGHIKLM divide the circle of Venus or Mercury into equal parts. Mercury and Venus will be in all these sites in respect of the Earth before they can be in conjunction with the Earth again, though the Earth be not fixed in the point O. Now draw a line from the point O into every section, you shall find direction, station, and repedation in these Planets as well as in the other higher Planets. For supposing the order of the Signs to go according to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: place Venus first in A, then let her Proceed to B. She has taken a long journey backward contrary to the series of the Signs, and recoiled from A in the starry firmament to B. Let her go on to C. She has given another skip back into C, but a very little one. In DEFGHIKL she is direct; but then at M she goes backward again, and in ABC, till she come at D again. This for the Retrogradation, and direction. As for the station of this Planet, it is betwixt B and D, and M and K, as the figure plainly discovers. What hath been said of Venus is also appliable to Mercury, as was intimated at first.  STANZ. 71. 
Why Saturn should rove  
With shorter start, give back less than Jove  
Jove less than Mars, Why Venus flincheth out  
More than Mercurius.  
Let ABCDEF be the circles of Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Tellus, Venus, Mercury. Saturn, Jupiter, Mars let them all lie in one line GH. The Earth be at the point I. It is plain that the nearest the Earth flieth of the widest, and so in order. The same happeneth in Venus and Mercury, supposing the Earth at the point K. This matter is very plain even at the first sight.  STANZ. 72. 
Why Saturn Jove and Mars be very nigh  
Unto the Earth, show bigger in our eye  
At eventide, etc.  
Why Saturn Jupiter and Mars, when they rise Acronychall, that is, at the beginning of the night seem bigger and be indeed nearer us, then when they follow the Sun close, and set Acronychall. The reason of this is very evident in Copernicus his Hypothesis, as you may see in this Diagram.  
Mars when he riseth Acronychall is distant from the Earth, but the space of AB. But when he setteth Acronychall he is distant the space of HB. So Jupiter, when he riseth Acronychall, is distant but AC from the Earth, but when he setteth he is distant the space of HC, the like 〈…〉.   

Cant. 4.  STANZ. 13. Is confident of his souls after joys. 
THe condition of the bad and good soul in reference to their estate after death Plotinus has very Philosophically set out as follows. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Ennead. 4. lib. 4. cap. 45.    

Notes upon The Infinity of Worlds.  STANZ. 8. and 66. 

A Circle whose Circumference no where  
Is Circumscribed, etc.  
The Cuspis and the Basis of the Cone.  
Were both at once, etc.   
WHen I speak of God this Mathematical way, (which is no new thing; for the Ancients also have defined Him to be a Circle whose Centre is every where and Circumference no where. And Synesius calls him 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Centre of Centres,) I say when I speak thus of God, I then set out that modification of his Being which answers to quantity in Bodies. But God is so perfect that no one appellation or resemblance can exhaust that Treasure of Attributes in him, He being so fully all things in himself. So that if we will venture to call Him all that He eminently contains, we must be forced upon at least seeming inconsistencies.  
And now we endeavour to set out that which answers in God to Quantity, we fall into disagreeing terms of Centre, and Basis of a Cone. But why we adumbrate the divine Entity by this representation you shall compendiously conceive in the following figure: and see in what respect he is a Centre, and in what the Basis of a Cone, as also what that is we call the Cuspis of the Cone.  
Let KIHK be the whole Orb of beings. The Centre A. Ahad or Atove, BCDEFGH Aeon, Psyche, Semele, Arachne, Physis, Tasis, Hyle. I say that Ahad in respect of those subsequent Effluxes BCD, etc. is fitly termed a Centre, and is as the Sun in respect of the Light and Rainbow. But now all things flowing from him 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 with abatement as is most discernible in the Extremes (for the point A is in every point of the whole Orb KIHK, and so is as large as the whole Orb.  
As for example, The point A is at the point G and every where else as well as at A; but the point G is only at G, or if it be at L it is only then at L, and not at G nor any where else) therefore A though in respect of the Universal orders of Being's which flow from him may be the Centre of a Circle, yet in respect that these orders fall short of his large Ubiquity (some of them at least, all of his perfection and excellency) and the last real efflux is contracted after a manner to a mere mathematical point, for such is the nature of the Orb G, or corporeal substance, as I have intimated. For this reason I say, may A rightly be called the largest Basis of the Cone, whose Diametre is IN, or NL, as the descent of these Degrees and Being's from Ahad or Atove may fitly resemble a conical figure whose Cuspis is G.  
And here I may seasonably appeal unto the apprehensions of men, whether the divine fecundity A flowed out per saltum, and produced only the Orb G, or whether there being a possibility of more excellent intermediate Orbs, (I will not stand upon this number I have assigned) he did not produce BCD, etc. And if he produced G only, whether that Orb G be not either an arbitrarious or natural efflux from A. i.e. dependeth on him as closely and intimately, as a Ray doth on the Sun. And if so, why the nature of Atove should be less fruitful, than the imaginations of men, who can in reason, and distinct notion place several Orbs betwixt A and G. Or why the free will of Atove or Ahad should be less bountiful than the minds of well meaning men, who if it were in their power as it is in the arbitrarious power of Ahad, (it clashing with no other good attribute) would fill up that empty gulf betwixt A and G. Wherefore as fare as free reason and authority of Platonisme will reach, the mystery of the Cone will hold good, though my drift at this time was rather to explain it, then confirm it.  
But if any should be so adventurous as to deny such an Ubiquity as I have described, yet in some sort this adumbration of the Cone, will still hold good. For there will be a latitude and contraction of power, if not of presence. And this will be ground enough for this expression.  
But it is to be noted, that if we forsake this apprehension of the omnipotency of Ahad, God and all things else will prove mere bodies. And then must God, if he can, make himself up in several parcels and pieces. And God administering the affairs of the Earth, will scarce know what God doth in Saturn, or at least many millions of miles distant, which conceit seems to me fare below the light of Nature and improved Reason. But to conceive God not only a body, but a body devoid of life, sense, and understanding, is so dark and melancholic a fancy, that I profess, I think I could with far less pain and reluctancy, suffer my body to be buried alive in the cold Earth, than so stark and stupid conceit to entomb my soul.  STANZ. 85. Besides the Conflux and Congeries Of lesser Lights, a double augmentation Emplies, and 'twixt them both a lessening coarctation. 
The difficulty that their opinion is entangled with that hold the Comets to be nothing but a conflux of lesser stars, is this. That they must then seem first bigger, than lesser; then bigger again, which will evidently appear in the following Scheme.  
Circle I. But afterward this light will be less and less, till they come to the Centre A, where it will be least of all, they coming there closest of all one to another. But then they holding on still in their several Arks, they will pass by one another, and the Comet will grow bigger, and bigger, till they have reached the Circle I again, where the Comet is as big as at the biggest before. But then disjoining themselves more wide one from another, their several Circles so carrying them, they cease to be seen of us.  
This would be the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of a Comet, if it did consist of a conflux of Stars. But sigh there is no such thing observed in Comets it is very probable they arise not from this cause.   

Notes upon The Philosopher's Devotion.  

Nimbly they hold on their way  
Shaping out their Night and Day.  
Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring,  
Their inclined Axes bring.   
TO show how Day and Night. Winter and Summer arise from Copernicus his Hypothesis, will not only explain these verses but exceedingly set out the fitness and genuinenesse of the Hypothesis itself. Which I will therefore do out of Galileo for the satisfaction of the unprejudiced and ingenuous Reader.  
Let the Circle 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 be the Ecliptic, where, by the way, we may take notice that when the Earth is in the sign 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Sun will appear in the opposite sign 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, when in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 etc. And so while the Earth doth really pass through the Signs, the sun seems to pass through the Signs opposite to those the Earth is really passing through; whence this annual motion through the Zodiac has been ascribed unto him.  
Let now the centre of the Earth be placed in the point of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Let the Poles and Axis of the earth be AB, inclining upon the Diametre of Capricorn and Cancer 23 degrees and an half. We must also suppose this inclination immutable; the upper pole A, to be the North pole, the South-pole, B.  
Now imagine the Earth turned round on her Axis in 24 hours from West to East: then will every point in the semicircle ADB describe a parallel Circle. We'll for the present take notice only of that great circle CD, and two other removed from this, 23. gr. and an half, viz. EF. and GN, the one above, the other below, and lastly two other furthermost circles IK and LM equidistant from the Poles AB.  
Furthermore we are to understand that while the Earth moves on, that her Axis keeps not only the same inclination upon the Plane of the Ecliptic, but also one constant direction toward the same part of the Universe or Firmament, remaining always parallel to itself.  
Now this immutability of inclination and steady direction of her Axis presupposed, place the Earth also in the first points of Aries Cancer and Libra, according as you see in the present Scheme.  
We will go through all the four figures, and first that in Capricorn. In which, because the Axis AB declines from a perpendicular, upon the Diametre of Capricorn and Cancer, 23. grad. and an half, towards the Sun O, and the Ark AI, is 23. grad. and an half, (the Sun enlightening an Hemisphere of the Earth divided from the dark Hemisphere by the Circle KL which Galileo calls Terminator lucis) this Terminator lucis KL must divide CD as being a great circle, into equal parts, but all the other as being lesser circles into unequal; because KL passeth not through AB the poles of all these Circles. And the parallel IK with all the parallels described within IK even to the pole A will be wholly in the enlightened part of the Earth, as all the opposite parallels from LM to the pole B, wholly in the dark. Furthermore whereas the Ark AK is equal to the Ark EC, and the Ark A common: these two, KIE and AEC will be equal, and each of them make a quadrant. And because the whole Ark KEL is a Semicircle, the Ark LE will be a quadrant and equal to the other EKE, and therefore the Sun O shall in this posture of the Earth be vertical at Noon to all them that live in the Parallel OF which is the Tropic of Cancer described by the Earth's turning upon her own Axis in that posture. And thus ariseth the height of Summer to all them that dwell on this side of the Tropic of Cancer.  
Also that the differences of the arks grow bigger and bigger by how much nearer and nearer they come to the Poles, till IK be wholly taken in to the enlightened part of the Earth and make day there, of 24 hours long, and contrariwise, the parallel LM be wholly covered in the dark part, and make night of 24. hours long. So that from hence we may see how the true differences of the lowest and shortest days and nights are caused to the Inhabitants of several parallels of the Earth.  
Let's now consider the third figure the centre of the earth placed in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 from whence the sun will appear in the first point of Capricorn. Now it is manifest, being that the inclination and direction of the Earth's Axis AB is utterly the same it was before, it remaining parallel to itself, that the situation of the Earth is the same, saving that that Hemisphere which was before enlightened is now in the dark, and that which was in the dark before, is now in the light, and so the differences of days and nights are quite contrary to what they were. In what parallel was the longest day before is now the shortest, and in what the shortest now the longest, as is plain to fight.  
For now IK is wholly in the dark which before was in the light wholly, and LM in the light that was before in the dark etc. And the Sun is now vertical to the Inhabitants of GN as before it was to them of EF. And as it was the height of Summer before to OF and to all on this side OF: so it is now the depth of winter to them and to all on this side of them. Eor the Sun seems to have descended, or is removed from them, or they from, it by the whole arch FDN that is 47. degrees.  
All which mutation proceeds from the immutable posture of the axis of the Earth, remaining still in the same inclination to the Plane of the Ecliptic and continuing ever parallel to itself. For so it must needs decline as much from the Sun O in the point 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 as it inclined to him in the point 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For as, if the Axis AB were supposed parallel to the Axis of the Plane of the Ecliptic the Sun will be vertical to D and to C. So IA the inclination of the Axis toward the Sun, will make the Sun vertical at E in the point 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and the declination of the said Axis, from the Sun at the point 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 will make the Sun vertical to N.  
But now if we consider the Earth placed in the point 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Sun O will appear in the beginning of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And whereas the Axis of the Earth which in the first figure at 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 stands inclined upon the Diametre of Capricorn and Cancer, and therefore understood to be in a Plane which cutteth the Plane of the Ecliptic along the Diametre of Capricorn and Cancer, being erected perpendicularly to the said Plane of the Ecliptic; This Axis kept still parallel to itself, will also here be in a Plane, erected perpendicular to the Plane of the Ecliptic, and parallel to the forenamed Plane which cut the Plane of the, Ecliptic to right angles along the Diametre of Cancer and Capricorn. And therefore a Line going from the Centre of the Sun to the Centre of the Earth, such as the Line O tending to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Libra, will be perpendicular to the Axis AB. But a Line drawn from the Sun's Centre, to the Centre of the Earth is always perpendicular to the Circle of illumination; therefore shall the Circle of Illumination, or the Terminator Lucis pass through the Poles AB in this Figure, and the Axis AB shall be in the Plane of this Circle. But a great Circle passing through the Poles of the parallels will divide them all into equal parts. Therefore IK, OF, CD, GN, LM, the diurnal Arches be all semicircles, and days and nights be of equal length to all the Inhabitants of the Earth.  
Lastly, seeing that a Line drawn from the Centre of the Sun, to the Centre of the Earth is perpendicular to the Axis AB, to which the greatest of the parallel Circles CD is also perpendicular; this Line thus drawn will necessarily pass along the Plane of the parallel CD, and cut its circumference in the midst of the diurnal Arch of that Circle CD. And therefore the Sun will here be vertical to them that live in the parallel CD.  
And what hath been said of the Earth at this point of Libra 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, will agree exactly to her placed in the point 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. There is no difference, saving that the dark side turned from the Sun is represented in this last posture as the light side in the former. The nocturnal semicircles here, as there the Diurnal. And so we see how Spring and Autumn cometh about as well as how Winter and Summer.  
Finally, whereas the Earth being in the Solstitial points the Polar Circles IK, LM, one of them is in the Light, the other in the dark; but being in the Equinoctial points, the halfs only of the Polar Circles be in the light or dark: 'tis easy to understand how the Earth passing, suppose from Cancer (where the parallel IK is wholly in the dark) to Leo 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, one part of the parallel IK toward the point K gins to enter into the light, and the Circle of Illumination to bear back toward the Pole A, and more inward toward the Pole B, cutting the Circle ACBD no longer in KL, but in two other points betwixt AK & LB, whence the Inhabitants of the Circle IK begin to enjoy the light, and the Inhabitants of LM, to be conveyed into Night.    

The Interpretation General.  
IF any man conceive I have done amiss in using such obscure words in my writings, I answer, That it is sometime fit for Poetical pomp sake, as in my Psychozoia: Othersome time necessity requires it, Propter egestatem linguae, & rerum novitatem, as Lucretius pleads for himself in like case. Again, there is that significancy in some of the barbarous words (for the Greeks are Barbarians to us) that, although not out of superstition, yet upon due reason I was easily drawn to follow the Counsel of the Chaldee Oracle, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Not to change those barbarous terms into into our english tongue. Lastly, if I have offended in using such hard names or words, I shall make amends now by interpreting them.  

A  
ABinoam 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Pater amoenitatis, Father of delight.  
Acronychall. See Cronychall.  
Adamah. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Earth, The earthly or natural man's abode.  
Adonai. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 The Lord, or the sustainer of all things, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Basis or foot of a pillar.  
Aelpon. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, not hoping, or without hope.  
Aeon 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Eternity.  
Aether. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to burn. The fluid fiery nature of heaven, the same that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which signifies as much, viz. a fiery fluour, or fluid fire.  
Africa Rock. See Pompon. Mel. lib. 1. cap. 8. Rom. 9.33. 1. Cor. 10.4 1. Pet. 2.5. Revel 5.10. Psal. 105.15.  
Ahad. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. One, or The One. The Platonists call the first Original of all things, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, for these reasons: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or One, because the multitude or plurality of Being's is from this One, as all numbers from an unite: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or The Good, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, because all things are driven, drawn, or make haste to partake of it. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Procl. Theo. log. Plat. lib. 2. cap. 4.  
Aides. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, It ordinarily signifies Orcus or Pluto; here the Winter Sun: the etymon fits both, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Hell is dark, and the Sun in Winter leavs us to long nights.  
Ain, Not to be, To be nothing; from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Non, nihil, or nemo.  
Alethea-land, That is, the land of truth, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as the Platonists call it.  
Alopecopolis, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The fox's city, or polity.  
Ananke, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The same that Hyle is. But the proper signification of the word is Necessity. See Hyle.  
Anautaesthetus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, One that feels not himself, or at least relisheth not himself.  
Anautaesthesie, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Without self-sensednesse, or relishing one's self.  
Animadversall. That lively inward animadversall. It is the soul itself, for I cannot conceive the body doth animadvert; When as objects plainly exposed to the sight are not discovered till the soul takes notice of them.  
Anthropion, The same with Adamah: Only Adamah signifies earthliness; Anthropion from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, uprightness of body or looking up.  
Apathy, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. To be without passion.  
Apogee, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is that absis or ark of the circle of a Planet, in which the Planet is further off from the earth, as the word itself intimates.  
Apterie, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 negative, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a wing. It signifies the want of wings.  
Arachnea hath its name from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a spider.  
Atom-lives. The same that Centrall-lives. Both the terms denotate the indivisibilty of the inmost essence itself; the pure essential form I mean, of plant, beast, or man, yea of angels themselves, good, or bad.  
Atove. See Hattove.  
Autaparnes, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Simon, Autaparnes & Hypomone are but the soul, thrice told over. Autaparnes is the soul denying itself: Hypomone the soul bearing the anguish of this denial of itself: From these two, results Simon, the soul obedient to the spirit of Christ. Now there is no self-denial where there is no corrupt or evil life to be suppressed and satisfied; nor any Patience or Hypomone, where there is no agony from the vexation of self-denial. So that the soul as long as it is Autaparnes or Hypomone, is a thing complex or concrete, necessarily including the corruption of that evil life or spirit, which is the souls self for a time. Hence is that riddle easily opened; How the strength of Autaparnes is the weakening of Simon and the destruction of him and Hypomone in the valley of Ain Simons consummation and perfection, or rather his translation, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Autaestthesia, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Self-sensednesse.  
Autokineticall, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, That which moves itself.  
Autopathia, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Denotates the being self-strucken, to be sensible of what harms us, rather than what is absolutely evil.  
Autophilus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, A lover of himself.   

B  
BAcha, Weep, Bacha Vale is the Valley of tears; from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Flevit.  
Beirah, or Beiron, The brutish life, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 brutum.  
Body. The ancient Philosophers have defined it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Sext. Emperic. Pyrrhon. Hypotyp. lib. 3. cap. 5. Near to this is that description, Psychathan. Cant. 2. Stanz. 12. lib. 2. Matter extent in three dimensions: But for that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, simple trinall distension doth not imply it, wherefore I declined it. But took in matter according to their conceit that fancy a Materia prima, I acknowledge none; and consequently no such corpus naturale as our Physiologist make the subject of that science. That 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 is nothing but a fixed spirit, the conspissation or coagulation of the cuspidall particles of the Cone, which are indeed the central Tasis, or inward essence of the sensible world. These be an infinite number of vital Atoms that may be wakened into divers tinctures, or energies, into Fiery, Watery, Earthy, etc. And one divine Fiat can unloose them all into an universal mist, or turn them out of that sweat, into a dry and pure Ethereal temper. These be the last projections of life from the soul of the world; and are act or form though debil and indifferent; like that which they call the first matter. But they are not merely passive, but meet their information half way, as I may so speak: are radiant ab intimo, and awake into this or the other operation, by the powerful appulse of some superadvenient form. That which change of phantasms is to the soul, that is alteration of rays to them. For their rays are ab intrinseco, as the phantasms of the soul. These be the real matter of which all supposed bodies are compounded, and this matter (as I said) is form and life, so that all is life and form what ever is in the world, as I have somewhere intimated in Antipsychopan. But how ever I use the term Body ordinarily in the usual and vulgar acception. And for that sense of the Ancients, nearest to which I have defined it in the place first above mentioned, that I seem not to choose that same as most easy to proceed against in disproving the corporeity of the soul, the Arguments do as necessarily conclude against such a natural body as is ordinarily described in physiology (as you may plainly discern if you list to observe) as also against this body composed of the Cuspidall particles of the Cone. For though they be central lives, yet are they neither plastical, Sensitive, or Rational; so fare are they from proving to be the humane soul, whose nature is there discussed.   

C  
CEntre, central, Centrality. When they are used out of their ordinary sense, they signify the depth, or inmost Being of any thing, from whence its Acts and Energies flow forth. See Atom: lives.  
Chaos, In our blue Chaos, that is, In our corporeal spirit: for that is the matter that the soul raiseth her phantasmaticall forms in, as the life of the World, doth bodily shapes in the Heavens or Air.  
Circulation. The term is taken from a toyish observation, viz. the circling of water, when a stone is cast into a standing pool. The motion drives on circularly, the first rings are thickest, but the further they go, they grow the thinner, till they vanish into nothing. Such is the diffusion of the Species audible in the strucken Air, as also of the visible Species. In brief, any thing is said to circulate that diffuseth its Image or Species in a round. It might have been more significantly called orbiculation, seeing this circumfusion makes not only a Circle, but fills a Sphere, which may be called the Sphere of activity: Yet Circulation more fitly sets out the diminution of activity, from those rings in the water, which as they grow in compass, abate in force and thickness. But sometimes I use Circulate in an ordinary sense to turn round, or return in a Circle  
Clare, Claros, a City of Jonia, famous for Apollo's Temple, and answers, amongst which was this, which I have interpreted in Psychathanasia.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Macrob. Saturnal. lib. 1. cap. 18.  
Cone; Is a solid figure made by the turning of a rectangular Triangle, about; one of the sides that include the right angle resting, which will be then the Axis of the completed Cone. But I take it sometimes for the comprehension of all things, God himself not left out, whom I term the Basis of the Cone or Universe. And because all from him descends, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, with abatement or contraction, I give the name of Cone to the Universe. And of Cone rather than Pyramid, because of the roundness of the figure; which the effluxes of all things imitate.  
Cronychall, or Acronychall, that is, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, vespertine, or at the beginning of night. So a star is said to rise or set Acronychall, when it riseth or setteth at the Sunne-setting; For than is the beginning of Night.  
Cuspis of the Cone. The multiplied Cuspis of the Cone is nothing but the last projection of life from Psyche, which is a liquid fire, or fire and water, which are the corporeal or material principles of all things, changed or disgregated (if they be centrally distinguishable) and again mingled by the virtue of Physis or Spermaticall life of the World; of these are the Sun and all the Planets, they being kned together, and fixed by the central power of each Planet and Sun. The volatile Aether is also the same, and all the bodies of Plants, Beasts and Men. These are they which we handle and touch, a sufficient number compact together. For neither is the noise of those little flies in a Summer-evening audible severally: but a full Choir of them strike the ear with a pretty kind of buzzing. Strong and tumultuous pleasure, and scorching pain reside in these, they being essential and central, but sight and hearing are only of the Images of these, See Body.   

D  
Daemon, Any particular life, any divided spirit; or rather the power ruling in these. This is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 divido.  
Daemoniake, That which is according to that divided life or particular spirit that rules for itself.  
Deuteropathie, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is a being affected at second rebound, as I may so say. We see the Sun not so properly by sympathy, as deuteropathie. As the mundane spirit is affected where the Sun is, so am I in some manner; but not presently, because it is so affected, but because in my eye the Sun is vigorously represented. Otherwise a man might without question see the Sun if he had but a body of thin Air.  
Diana, The Moon, by which is set out the dead light, or letter of the Law.  
Dicaeosyne, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Justice or Moral righteousness.  
Dizoia, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Double-livednesse.  
Duessa, Division, or duality.   

E  
Eidos' 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Form or Beauty.  
Eloim or Eloah, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 signify properly the strong God.  
Energy, it is a peculiar Platonical term, I have elsewhere expounded it, Operation, Efflux, Activity: None of those words bear the full sense of it. The examples there are fit, viz. the light of the Sun, the phantasms of the soul. We may collect the genuine sense of the word, by comparing several places of the Philosopher. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For every being hath its Energy, which is the image of itself, so that it existing that Energy doth also exist, and standing still is projected forward more or less. And some of those Energies, are weak and obscure, others hide or undiscernible, other some greater and of a larger projection, Plotin. Ennead. 4. lib. 5. cap. 7. And again, Ennead. 3. lib. 4. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And we remain above by the Intellectual man, but by the extreme part of him we are held below, as it were yielding an efflux from him to that which is below, or rather an Energy, he being not at all lessened. This curiosity Antoninus also observes (lib 8. Meditat.) in the nature of the Sunbeams, where although he admits of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, yet he doth not of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The Sun, saith he, is diffused, and his fusion is every where but without effusion, etc. I will only add one place more out of Plotinus Ennead. 3. lib. 6. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The natural Energy of each power of the soul is life not parted from the soul though gone out of the soul, viz. into act.  
Comparing of all these places together, I cannot better explain this Platonic term, Energy, then by calling it the rays of an essence, or the beams of a vital Centre. For essence is the Centre as it were of that which is truly called Energy, and Energy the beams and rays of an essence. And as the Radi● of a circle leave not the Centre by touching the Circumference, no more doth that which is the pure Energy of an essence, leave the essence by being called out into act, but is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 a working in the essence, though it flow out into act. So that Energy depends always on essence, as Lumen on Lux, or the creature on God; Whom therefore Synesius in his Hymns calls the Centre of all things.  
Entelechia, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: It is nothing else but forma, or actus, and belongs even to the most contemptible forms, as for example to Motion, which is defined by Arist. in the third of his physics, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Scaliger in his 309 exercitation against Cardan, descants very curiously upon this word: Cùm igitur formam dixeris (that is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) intelliges immaterialitatem, simplicitatem, potestatem, perfectionem, informationem. Hoc enim est 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: quod innuit maximus Poetarum, Totósque infusa per artus. Hoc est, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: quia est ultima forma sub coelestibus, & princeps inferiorum, finis & perfectio. Hoc est 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, posse. This goodly mystery and fit significancy seems plainly forced or fictitious, if you compare it with what was cited out of Arist. about Motion. So that when we have made the best of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, it is but the form of any thing in an ordinary and usual sense. If we stood much upon words, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 would prove more significant of the nature of the Soul, even according to Scaligers own Etymon, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: from its permeation, & colligation or keeping together the body from defluxion into its ancient principles, which properties be included in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 moves forward the body thus kept together: 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 intimates the possession or retention of the body thus moved, that it is rather promoved by the Soul, than moved from the Soul. But of these words enough, or rather too much.  
Eternity is the steady comprehension of all things at once. See Aeon described in my Notes upon Psychozoia.  
Euphrona, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The night.   

F  
FAith. Platonic faith in the first Good. This faith is excellently described in Proclus. where it is set above all ratiocination, nay, Intellect itself. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. But to them that endeavour to be joined with the first Good, there is no need of knowledge or multifarious cooperation, but of settledness, steadiness and rest, lib. 1. cap. 24. Theolog. Platon. And in the next chapter, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
For we must not seek after that absolute or first good cognoscitively or imperfectly, but giving ourselves up to the divine light, and winking (that is shutting our eyes of reason and understanding) so to place ourselves steadily in that hidden Unity of all things: After he prefers this faith before the clear and present assent to the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, yea and the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, so that he will not that any intellectual operation should come in comparison with it. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. For the operation of the Intellect is multiform, and by diversity separate from her objects, and is in a word, intellectual motion about the object intelligible. But the divine faith must be simple and uniform, quiet and steadily resting in the haven of goodness. And at last he summarily concludes, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. See Procl: Theolog. Platonic. lib. 1. cap. 25.   

G  
GAbriel, The strength of God from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Glaucis, Glaux, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, an Owl.   

H  
HAphe. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The touch.  
Har-Eloim, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 The mount of Angels, Genii, or particular spirits.  
Hattove, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the Good, or that eminent Good, or first Good from whence all good is derived. See Ahad.  
Helios, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The Sun.  
Heterogeneal, is that which consists of parts of a divers nature, or form: as for example, a man's body, of flesh, bon●s, nerves, etc.  
Homogeneal, That whose nature is of one kind.  
Hyle, Materia prima, or that dark fluid potentiality of the creature, the straightness, repugnancy, and incapacity of the creature: as when its being this, destroys or debilitates the capacity of being something else, or after some other manner. This is all that any wary Platonist will understand by 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Hypomone, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Patience. See Autaparnes.   

I  
JAo, A corruption of the Tetragrammaton. Greek writers have strangeely mashed this word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, some calling it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, others 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, some 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. It is very likely that from this 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 came Bacchus his apellation 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. and the Maenades acclamations 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in his Orgia. Which suits well with the Clarian Oracle, which saith that in Autumn, the Sun is called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which is the time of vintage.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. See Fuller's Miscel.  
Ida. See Pompon. Mel. lib. 1. cap. 17.  
Ideas, or Idees, sometimes they are forms in the Intellectual world, viz. in Aeon, or On; other sometimes, phantasms or representations in the soul. Innate Idees are the souls nature itself, her uniform essence, able by her Fiat to produce this or that phantasm into act.  
Idea Lond. The Intellectual world.  
idiopathy, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is one's proper peculiar 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, my or thy, being affected thus or so, upon this or that occasion; as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is this or that man's proper temper. But this propriety of affection may also belong unto kinds. As an Elephant hath his idiopathy, and a man his, at the hearing of a pipe; a Cat and an Eagle at the sight of the Sun; a Dog and a Circopithecus at the sight of the Moon, etc.  
Idothea, The fleet passage of fading forms; from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Forma, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, curro.  
Intellect. Sometimes it is to be interpreted Soul. Sometimes the intellectual faculty of the Soul. Sometimes Intellect is an absolute essence shining into the Soul: whose nature is this. A substance purely immaterial, impeccable, actually omniform, or comprehending all things at once: which the soul doth also being perfectly joined with the Intellect. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Plot. Ennead 1. lib. 1. cap. 8.  
Isosceles, A triangle with two sides equal.   

L  
LAmpropronaea, The bright side of Providence.  
Lelurion, Nocturnal fire, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
Leontopolis 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The Lion's city or Polity.  
Life. The vital operation of any soul. Sometimes it is the Soul itself, be it sensitive, vegetative, or rational.  
Logos, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The appellation of the Son of God. It is ordinarily translated the Word, but hath an ample signification. It signifieth Reason, Proportion, Form, Essence, any inward single thought, or apprehension; is any thing but matter, and matter is nothing.  
Lower man, The lower man is our enquickned body, into which our soul comes, it being fully prepared for the receiving of such a guest. The manner of the production of souls, or rather their non-production is admirably well set down in Plotinus, See Ennead 6. l. 4. c. 14.15.  
Lypon, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, sorrow.   

M  
Magical, that is, attractive, or commanding by force of sympathy with the life of this natural world.  
Melampronoea, the black side of providence.  
Memory. Mundane memory. Is that memory that is seated in the Mundane spirit of man, by a strong impression, or inustion of any phantasm, or outward sensible object, upon that spirit. But there is a memory more subtle and abstract in the soul itself, without the help of this spirit, which she also carries away with her having left the body.  
Michael, who like unto God? from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 quis & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 similitudinis, & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Deus.  
Moment. Sometimes signifies an instant, as indivisible, as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which in motion answers to an instant in time, or a point in a line, Arist. Phys. In this sense I use it, Psychathan. lib. 3. cant. 2. stanz. 2.16. But in a moment Sol doth ray. But Cant. 3. stanz 45. vers. 2. I understand, as also doth Lansbergius, by a moment one second of a minute. In Antipsych. Cant. 2. stanz. 10. vers. 2. by a moment I understand a minute, or indefinitely any small time.  
Monad, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is Unitas, the principle of all numbers, an emblem of the Deity: And the Pythagoreans call it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, God. It is from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, because it is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, stable and immovable, a firm Cube of itself, One time one time one remains still one, See Ahad.  
Monocordia, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Single-heartednesse.  
Mundane, Mundane spirit, is that which is the spirit of the world, or Universe. I mean by it not an Intellectual spirit, but a fine, unfixt, attenuate, subtle, ethereal substance, the immediate vehicle of plastical or sensitive life.  
Myrmecopolis, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the city or polity of Pismires.   

N  
NEurospast, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a Puppet or any Machina thats moved by an unseen string or nerve.   

O  
OGdoas, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, numerus octonarius, the number of eight.  
Omniformity, the omniformity of the soul is the having in her nature all forms, latent at least, and power of awaking them into act, upon occasion.  
On, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. The being.  
Orb. Orb Intellectual, is nothing else but Aeon or the Intellectual world. The Orbs general mentioned, Psychathan. lib. 1. cant. 3. stanz. 23. vers. 2. I understand by them but so many universal orders of being, if I may so term them all; for Hyle hath little or nothing of being.  
Outworld, and Out Heaven. The sensible World, the visible Heaven.   

P  
PAndemoniothen, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, all from the devil; viz. all false persuasions, and ill effects from them.  
Panoply, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Armour for the whole body.  
Pantheothen, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, All from God. Which is true in one sense, false in another, You'll easily discern the sense in the place you find the word. This passage of Pantheothen contains a very savoury and hearty reproof of all, be they what they will, that do make use of that intricate mystery of fate and infirmity; safely to guard themselves from the due reprehensions and just expostulations of the earnest messengers of God, who would rouse them out of this sleep of sin, and stir them up seriously to seek after the might and spirit of Christ, that may work wonderfully in their souls to a glorious conquest and triumph against the devil, death and corruption.  
Parallax, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is the difference betwixt the true and seeming place of a star; proceeding from the sensible difference of the centre, and the height of the superficies of the earth in reference to the star, and from the stars declining from the Zenith.  
Parelies, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, are rorid clouds which bear the image of the Sun.  
Parturient. See Vaticinant.  
Penia, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Want or poverty.  
Perigee, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is that absis or ark of a Planets circle, in which it comes nearer to the earth.  
Periphere, Peripheria, it is the line that terminates a circle.  
Phantasie, Lower fantasy, is that which resides in the Mundane spirit of a man, See Memory.  
Phantasm, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, any thing that the soul conceives in itself, without any present external object.  
Philosomatus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a lover of his body.  
Phobon, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, fear.  
Phrenition, anger, impatiency, fury; from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, frenzy or madness. Ira furor brevis est.  
Physis, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Nature vegetative.  
Pithecus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, an Ape.  
Pithecusa, the land of Apes.  
Plastic. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, is that efformative might in the seed that shapes the body in its growth.  
Protopathy, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. It is a suffering or being affected at first, that is, without circulation. If any man strike me, I feel immediately; because my soul is united with this body that is struck: and this is protopathy. If the air be struck aloof of, I am sensible also of that, but by circulation or propagation of that impression into my ear; and this is deuteropathy. See Deuteropathy.  
Proteus, Vertumnus, changeab lenesse.  
Psittaco. Don Psittaco, from Psittacus a Parot, a bird that speak significant words, whose sense notwithstanding itself is ignorant of The Dialogue betwixt this Parot and Mnemon sets out the vanity o● superficial conceited Theologasters, that have but the surface and thin imagination of divinity, but truly devoid of the spirit and inward power of Christ, the living wellspring of knowledge and virtue, and yet do pride themselves in prattling and discoursing of the most hidden and abstruse mysteries of God, and take all occasions to show forth their goodly skill and wonderful insight into holy truth, when as they have indeed scarce licked the outside of the glass wherein it lies.  
Psittacusa, the land of Parrots.  
Psychania, the land of Souls.  
Psyche, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Soul, or spirit.  
Psychicall, Though 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 be a general name and belongs to the souls of beasts and plants, yet I understand by life Psychicall, such central life as is capable of Aeon, and Ahad.  
Pteroessa, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the land of winged souls; from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a wing.   

Q  
QUadrate. A figure with four equal sides, and four right angles. The rightness of the angles, is a plain emblem of erectnesse or uprightness of mind. The number of the sides, as also of the angles, being pariter par, that is, equal divisible to the utmost unities (〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, as it is in Aristotle) intimates equity or justice. The sides are equal one with another, and so are the angles; and the number of the sides and angles equal one with another. Both the numbers put together are a number pariter par again, and constitute the first cube which is eight: That adds steadiness and persevererance in true justice and uprightness toward God and man. Hypomone bears all this, that is, all that dolour and vexation that comes from the keeping our perverse heart to so straight and straight a rule.  
Quantitative. Forms quantitative, are such sensible energies as arise from the complexion of many natures together, at whose discretion they vanish That's the seventh orb of things, though broken and not filling all as the other do. But if you take it for the whole sensible world, it is entire and is the same that Tasis in Psychozoia. But the centre of Tasis, viz. the multiplication of the real Cuspis of the Cone (for Hyle that is set for the most contract point of the Cuspis is scarce to be reckoned among realities) that immense diffusion of atoms, is to be referred to Psyche, as an internal vegetative act, and so belongs to Physis the lowest order of life. For as that warmth that the soul doth afford the body, is not rational, sensitive or imaginative, but vegetative; So this, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that is, liquid fire, which Psyche sends out, and is the outmost, last, and lowest operation from herself, is also vegetative.   

R  
RAyes. The rays of an essence is its energy. See Energy.  
Reason. I understand by Reason, the deduction of one thing from another, which I conceive proceeds from a kind of continuity of phantasms; and is something like the moving of a cord at one end; the parts next it rise with it. And by this concatenation of phantasms I conceive, that both brutes and men are moved in reasonable ways and methods in their ordinary external actions.  
Reduplicative. That is reduplicative, which is not only in this point, but also in another, having a kind of circumscribed ubiquity, viz. in its own sphere. And this is either by being in that sphere omnipresent itself, as the soul is said to be in the body tota in toto & tota in qualibet parte; or else at least by propagation of rays, which is the image of itself; and so are divers sensible objects Reduplicative, as light, colours, sounds. And I make account either of these ways justly denominate any thing spiritual. Though the former is most properly, at least more eminently spiritual. And whether any thing be after that way spiritual saving the Divinity, there is reason to doubt. For what is entirely omnipresent in a sphere, whose diametre is but three foot, I see not, why (that in the circumference being as fresh and entire as that in the centre) it should stop there and not proceed, even in infinitum, if the circumference be still as fresh and entire as the centre. But I define nothing.  
Rhomboides, is a parallelogrammicall figure with unequal sides and obliqne angles.   

S  
SCalen, a triangle with all sides unequal.  
Self reduplicative. See Reduplicative.  
Semele, Imagination; from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 imago.  
Simon, intimates obedience, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 obedivit.  
Solyma, or Salem, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Peace.  
Soul, when I speak of man's soul, I understand that which Moses saith was inspired into the body, (fitted out and made of Earth) by God, Gen. 2. which is not that impeccable spirit that cannot sinne; but the very same that the Platonists call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a middle essence betwixt that which they call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 (and we would in the Christian language call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉) and the life of the body which is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, a kind of an umbratil vitality that the soul imparts to the body in the enlivening of it: That and the body together, we Christians call 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and the suggestions of it, especially in its corrupt estate, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. And that that which God inspired into Adam was no more than 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the soul, not the spirit, though it be called 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Spiraculum vitae; is plain out of the text; because it made man but become a living soul, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. But you will say, he was a dead soul before, and this was the spirit of life, ye the spirit of God, the life of the soul that was breathed into him.  
But if 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 imply such a life and spirit, you must acknowledge the same to be also in the most stupid of all living creatures, even the fishes (whose soul is as but salt to keep them from stinking, as Philo speaks) for they are said to be 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 chap. 1. v. 20.21. See 1. Cor. chap. 15. v. 45, 46. In brief therefore, that which in Platonisme is 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; is in Scripture 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; what 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in one, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the brute or beast in the other, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the same in both.  
Sperm. It signifies ordinarily seed. I put it for the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, the ratio seminalis, or the invisible plastical form that shapes every visible creature.  
Spermaticall. It belongs properly to Plants, but is tranferred also to the plastical power in Animals, I enlarge it to all magnetic power whatsoever that doth immediately rule and actuate any body. For all magnetic power is founded in Physis, and in reference to her, this world is but one Plant, one 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 giving it shape and corporeal life) as in reference to Psyche, one happy and holy Animal.  
Spirit. Sometimes it signifieth the soul, othersometime, the natural spirits in a man's body, which are Vinculum animae & corporis, and the souls vehicle: Sometimes life. See Reduplicative.   

T  
TAgathon, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, The Good; the same with Hattove.  
Tasis, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, extension.  
Tricentreity. Centre is put for essence, so Tricentreity must imply a Trinity of essence. See Centre and Energy.   

V  
VAticinant The soul is said to be in a vaticinant, or parturient condition, when she hath some kind of sense, and hover knowledge of a thing, but yet cannot distinctly and fully, and commandingly represent it to herself, cannot plainly apprehend, much less comprehend the matter. The phrase is borrowed of Proclus, who describing the incomprehensibleness of God, and the desire of all things toward him, speaks thus; 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Theolog. Platon. lib. 1. cap. 21. See Psychathan. lib. 3. cant. 3. stanz. 12. & 14.  
Vranore. The light or beauty of heaven, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 pulchritudo.   

Z  
ZAphon, Aquilo. The North.  
Zeus, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Jupiter, from 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, serveo, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, vivo.  
THus have I run through the more obscure terms in the preceding Poems. But for the many points a man may meet withal therein, though I did heretofore make some sleight promise of speaking more determinately of them, I hope I may without offence decline the performance as yet, till I abound more with leisure and judgement. For as I am certain I have little enough of the one, so I can not but doubt (Nature having lavished so much upon all men else, even to the infallible Determining of mutual contradictions) whether I have got any share at all of the other. But yet I hope, without breach of modesty, I may presume to understand the purpose of my own writings. Which, as I have heretofore signified was no other than this, to stir men up to take into their thoughts these two main considerations. The hearty good will of God to mankind, even in the life of this world, made of the commixture of light and darkness, that he will through his power rescue those souls, that are faithful in this their trial, and prefer the light before the dark; that he will, I say, deliver them from the power of living Death, and Hell, by that strong arm of their salvation, Jesus Christ, the living God enthroned in the heart of man, to whom all the Genii of the Universe, be they never so goodly and glorious shall serve. They and all their curious devices and inventions shall be a spoil, prey, and a possession to Him that is most just, and shall govern the nations in righteousness and equity. And that, beside this happiness on earth, every holy soul hereafter shall enjoy a never-fading felicity in the invisible and eternal Heaven, the Intellectual world. Which if it be not true, I must needs confess, it seems almost indifferent whether any creature be or no. For what is it to have lived, suppose 70 years, wherein we have been dead or worse above two third parts of them? Sleep, youth, age and diseases, with a number of poor and contemptible employments, swallow up at least so great a portion: that as good, if not better, is he that never was, than he is, that hath but such a glance or glimpse of passing life to mock him.  
And although the succession of righteousness upon earth may rightly seem a goodly great and full spread thing, and a matter that may bear an ample correspondency even to the larger thoughts of a good and upright man; yet, to say the truth, no man is capable of any large inheritance, whose life and existence is so scant that he shall not be able so much as to dream of the least happiness once seized on by death.  
But there are continually on earth such numbers of men alive, that if they lived well it would be an Heaven or Paradise. But still a scant one to every particular man, whose days are even as nothing. So that the work of God seems not considerable, in the making of this world, if humane souls be extinguished when they go out of it. You will say that those small particles of time that is thus scattered and lost among men in their successions, are comprehended and collected in God who is a continual witness of all things.  
But, alas! what doth the perpetual repetition of the same life or deiform Image throughout all ages add to Him, that is at once infinitely himself, viz. good, and happy?  
So that there is nothing considerable in the creation, if the rational creature be mortal. For neither is God at all profited by it, nor man considerably. And were not the Angels a great deal better employed in the beholding the worth of their Creator, then to diminish their own happiness, by attending those, whom nothing can make happy? looking on this troubled passing stream of the perishing generations of men, to as little purpose almost, as idle boys do on dancing blebs and bubbles in the water.  
What design therefore can there be in God in the making of this world that will prove 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, worthy of so excellent a goodness and wisdom; but the trial of the immortal spirit of man? It seems the deepest reach of his counsel in the creation; and the life of this world but a prelude to one of longer durance and larger circumference hereafter. And surely it is nothing else but the heavy load of this body, that keeps down our mind from the reaching to those so high hopes, that I may not say from a certain sense and feeling of that undisturbd state of immortality.  
And thus much I have ventured to speak boldly without Scepticism in Faith and Sense, that the first Principle of all things is living Goodness, armed with Wisdom & all-powerfull Love. But if a man's soul be once sunk by evil fate or desert from the sense of this high and heavenly truth, into that cold conceit; that the Original of things doth lie either in shuffling Chance, or in that stark root of unknowing Nature and brute Necessity; all the subtle cords of Reason, without the timely recovery of that divine touch within the hidden spirit of man, will 〈…〉 ●ack, out of that abhorred pit of Atheism and Infidelity. So much better is Innocency and Piety then subtle Argument, and earnest and sincere Devotion then curious Dispute.   
FINIS.   

Errata  
Pag. Stanz. lin. Pro Lege 12 43 9 Hiddenly Hidde● lie 15 56 1 censent consent 22 20 2 weight wight 22 20 5 Can make Can wake 37 79 7 Countrey-speech Counterspeech 46 125 9 preceded proceed 58 21 5 There lives There lies 81 3 1 eanst canst 97 11 8 wild mild 126 17 8 truths truth's 142 11 6 So he 'gins so she begins 145 24 4 Nor part Not part 153 57 6 Wrapped Rapt 162 30 7 binds It binds 175 5 8 for 'tis for 'tis 194 14 1 conpissate conspissate 199 33 3 possession position 203 48 9 debare debar 212 84 1 these their 242 4 4 though through 246 20 2 stell well 260 19 9 night wight 260 20 3 over oft overmost 264 36 7 of thy to thy 286 6 4 toss touse 314  33 two efficious too officious 318  21 Haec Venus Haec, Venus 322  17 vivica vivifica 340  32 Stanz. 5. Stanz. 15. 341  26 Stanz. Verse. 346  18 Stanz. 59 Stanz. 49. 368  4 Stanz. 28. Stanz. 38. 369  3 Stanz. 50. Stanz. 51. 383  24 Stanz. Stanz. 2. 388  8 Stanz. 84. Stanz. 48. 412  17 Omnipotency Omnipraesency.