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©ijcrtscg 
 
 3K&ortf)i 
 
 its' 
 
 Hifcrarg* 
 
 
 THE 
 
 
 
 COMPLETE 
 
 POEMS 
 
 ®r. ^ 
 
 enr 
 
 V 
 
 iWore 
 
 (1614-1687) 
 
 ^Off THE FIRST TIME COIIECTED AND EDITED: 
 
 WITH MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION, NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 GLOSSARLAL INDEX, AND PORTRAIT &-c. 
 
 BY 
 
 The Rev. ALEXANDER B. GROSART, LL.D., F.S.A. 
 
 ST. GEORGE'S, BLACKBURN, LANCASHIRE. 
 
 PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. 
 
 187S. 
 
rHOMAS AND ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY. 
 
 2>0 (o 
 

 To 
 
 EDWARD DOWDEN, Esq. 
 
 LL.D. 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN. 
 
 D, 
 
 'OWDEN/ THE BOON I ASK, THOU WILT ALLOW- 
 TO LET THY NAME ADORN THESE LONG-DIMM'D PAGES; 
 WHICH I HAVE WORKED ON, FOR NO SORDID WAGES, 
 
 BUT IN REV'RENCE. MORE, IN THIS LIVING NOW 
 
 I WOULD RE-SHRINE FOR HOMAGE. 'TIS A VOW 
 
 OF LONG YEARS PAST. IN SUPREME BYGONE AGES, 
 HE STOOD IN THE FOREFRONT OF ENGLAND'S SAGES, 
 
 REVERED OF ALL. AS ARROW FROM THE BOW 
 
 HIS GREAT THOUGHTS SPED STRAIGHT TO MEN'S HEARTS ; AND SHOOK 
 GRAY SUPERSTITIONS, AS WITH STROKE OF LEVIN. 
 
 THE BOOKS REMAIN ; AND I DARE RISK REBUKE, 
 AS I AVOUCH THEM NOBLE AS WHEN GIVEN. 
 
 AS POET DARK— BUT AS A STARRY NIGHT, 
 
 OR LEAF-SCREEN'D BROOK, GLEAMING WITH FLECKS OF LIGHT. 
 
 ALEXANDER B. GROSART. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION— 
 
 I. — Biographical, ..... 
 
 It. — Critical, ...... 
 
 Appendix, ...... 
 
 I.— PHILOSOPHICAL POEMS— 
 
 Note, ....... 
 
 General Title-page, ..... 
 
 Epistle-Dedicatory to Alexander More, Esq. , 
 
 A PLATONICK SONG OF THE SOUL— 
 
 To the Reader, .... 
 Psychozoia, or the First Part of the Song of the Soul, 
 To the Reader, .... 
 Canto i., 
 Canto ii., 
 Canto in., ..... 
 
 Psychathanasia, or the Second Part of the Song of the Soul, 
 To the Reader, 
 Book I., Canto I., 
 Book I., Canto II., 
 Book l, Canto nr. , 
 Book I., Canto iv., 
 Book ii., Canto I., 
 Book ii., Canto II., 
 Book II., Canto in., 
 Book in., Canto I., 
 Book in., Canto II., 
 Book in., Canto ill., 
 Book in., Canto iv., 
 
 Democritus Platonissans, or an Essay upon the Infinity of Worlds, etc. 
 To the Reader, ...... 
 
 The Poem, ....... 
 
 Antipsychopannychia, or the Third Book of the Song of the Soul, 
 To the Reader, 
 Canto l, 
 Canto ii., 
 Canto hi., 
 
 The Prjeexistency of the Soul, 
 To the Reader, 
 The Poem, 
 
 Antimonopsychia, or the Fourth Part of the Song of the Soul, 
 The Poem, ...... 
 
 The Oracle, etc., ...... 
 
 The Author's Notes, etc. , .... 
 
 xxix 
 
 xlvii 
 
 3 
 4 
 
 6-8 
 9-39 
 
 IO-I2 
 I 3 -l8 
 IQ-32 
 
 33-39 
 41-87 
 42 
 43-45 
 46-51 
 52-55 
 55-56 
 57-58 
 59-62 
 63-66 
 66-69 
 
 70-75 
 76-83 
 83-87 
 
 89-100 
 
 90 
 
 91-100 
 
 101-116 
 102-3 
 103-107 
 107-111 
 112-116 
 
 117-128 
 
 118 
 
 119-128 
 
 129-134 
 130-134 
 
 134-5 
 136-166 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 II.— MINOR POEMS 
 
 III.— DIVINK HYMNS 
 
 IV -I kom PROSE WORKS, . 
 
 V— QUOTATIONS FROM THE CLASSICS, 
 VI. -OCCASIONAL POEMS, . 
 GLOSSARIAL INDEX, 
 
 N.B.— In Nos. IV. and V. there are quotations from his other Poems ; but it was 
 deemed well to give them— being so short — as the Author did, viz. 
 in his Poems-proper and in his Prose. 
 
 %* The Portrait of More is to go before the general Title-page, and the 
 Plate of Diagrams, etc. , between pages 148 and 149. 
 
 PAGI5 
 167-182 
 
 183-188 
 
 189-194 
 
 195-199 
 
 201-206 
 
 207-224 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 I.— BIOGRAPHICAL. 
 
 RICHARD WARD, A.M., 'Rector of 
 Ingoldsby, in Lincolnshire,' has writ- 
 ten the ' Life ' of our Worthy in a consider- 
 able volume. 1 Of it the Rev. Benjamin 
 Street, B.A., now of Barnetby-le-Wold 
 (Lincolnshire), in his ' Historical Notes on 
 Grantham and Grantham Church,' 2 says — 
 ' His [More's] Life is in the Vestry Library, 
 written by a Rector of Ingoldsby, who 
 achieved in it the difficult task of writing a 
 Biography without giving any information 
 respecting his hero' (p. 155). Unfortunately 
 this drastically- put verdict is ill-warranted 
 by the Critic's own notices ; for notwithstand- 
 ing that from local advantages — as being resi- 
 dent in Grantham — he might have added to 
 our information, he does not one iota, and 
 blunders, e.g., he turns Alexander More into 
 Sir Alexander More, Knt. (repeatedly), and 
 our Dr. Henry More himself into ' Sir Henry 
 More.' 3 More justly, but still too severely, 
 has Principal Tulloch said of the quaint 
 discursive old book : ' Ward's Life is interest- 
 ing, but vague, uncritical, and digressive, 
 after the manner of the time.' * I feel in- 
 
 1 The Life of the Learned and Pious Dr. Henry More, Late 
 Fellow of Christ's College in Cambridge. To which are an- 
 nex'd Divers of his Useful and Excellent Letters. By Richard 
 Ward, A M. Rector of Ingoldsby in Lincolnshire. London, 
 Printed and Sold by Joseph Downing in Bartholomew Close 
 near West Smithfield. 1710. 8vo, 12 leaves [unpaged] and 
 pp. 366. 
 
 2 Grantham, 1857. 1 vol. 8vo, pp. 164. 
 
 3 I have to thank Mr. Street for kind attention to my in- 
 quiries, so that it is a pain to need thus to retort his harsh 
 words on Ward. 
 
 ■* Rational Theology, etc., vol. ii. p. 304. 
 
 clined to soften, or at least explain away, each 
 adjective. The uneventfulness outwardly of 
 the ' Life ' accounts for the few facts given, 
 and so for a certain ' vague ' element. ' Un- 
 critical ' betrays, I fear, hasty reading ; for 
 it is superabundant in its criticism, albeit 
 perchance not very careful or sifting in its 
 selection of points. Then as to its being 
 'digressive,' I for one am thankful, seeing 
 that — as in De Quincey later — it is in the 
 digressions the best bits are met with. No 
 one who will leisurely and with becoming 
 sympathy study Ward's ' Life ' will regret it. 
 It is further to be remembered that the 
 Biographer left behind him an additional 
 Manuscript, wherein he discusses more fully, 
 and with all his first enthusiasm of reverence, 
 the manifold Works of More. 1 Besides 
 these, More has written a kind of Autobio- 
 graphy in the ' Prefatio Generalissima ' of 
 his 'Opera Omnia' (1679), and earlier in his 
 'Apology' (1664), giving a 'General Ac- 
 count ' of the motif and purpose of his writ- 
 ings — the former as notable as Herbert of 
 Cherbury's for its supreme self-estimate. 
 The ' Biographia Britannica ' (1760)— those 
 noble old folios, matterful and painstaking, 
 
 1 Principal Tulloch inadvertently states that this Manuscript 
 was in the possession of John Crossley, Esq. It is in the good 
 keeping of my bookish and scholarly friend James Crossley, 
 Esq., F.S.A., Manchester— to whom I venture to iterate Pro- 
 fessor Mayor's appeal in Notes and Queries {' 2d Series, vii.' 59 : 
 pp. 249, 50), that he will make this MS. public, annotated like his 
 Worthington's Diary. The published 'Life' and this MS. 
 should be most acceptable additions to the very valuable series 
 of the Chetham Society's books. 
 
 19 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and putting to shame the literary scambling 
 of to-day — has also a Life of him ; and else- 
 where you come on notices that show the 
 grip he took of his contemporaries, and 
 especially his swift readiness to write 
 1 weighty and powerful ' letters even when 
 the incmirer who turned to him for counsel 
 was of the oddest. 
 
 Some day — may it be soon — a capable 
 son of Cambridge will address himself to 
 reproducing worthily the collective Works 
 of that remarkable group of Thinkers where- 
 of Henry More was the most potential. 
 For it cannot be that the University Presses 
 will reprint such empty and effete ' Collec- 
 tive Works ' as our shelves groan under, and 
 continue to neglect them (except John 
 Smith), — Ralph Cudworth, Benjamin 
 Whichcot, Rust, Glanvill, Cradock, 
 Peter Sterry, John Norris. 1 Principal 
 Tulloch's most masterly and thorough 
 ' Rational Theology and Christian Philo- 
 sophy in England in the Seventeenth Cen- 
 tury,' 2 like young Alfred Vaughan's 
 ' Mystics,' 3 only exacerbates one's longing 
 for accessible critical texts of the Works. 
 "When these Works are thus revived, it will 
 be recognised that these Thinkers and 
 noble Livers — each meet follower of Him, 
 ' the first true gentleman that ever breathed ' 4 
 — have shaped and coloured our highest 
 and purest thought and feeling to an extent 
 that your so-called ' Histories of Philosophy ' 
 — whether home or foreign — only shallowly 
 estimate. 6 
 
 1 It is invidious to go into minute detail, but surely Bragge 
 (.n the Parables, etc., and Bishop Patrick's Works (9 vo- 
 lumes ! ! ) might have been long-delayed to say the least. 
 
 - 2 vols. 8vo. 1872 (Blackwood). 
 
 3 2 vols. cr. 8vo, 2d edn. 
 
 •* Thomas Dekker. 
 
 6 See Principal Tulloch's remonstrance with the University 
 of Cambridge and its Pitt Press (Preface, p. xii., note 1) ; but 
 he is mistaken (»ieo jtuiicid) in imagining that Henry More's 
 Works are ' forgotten ' and without living influence. Students 
 of them increase, and will. Professor Mayor is indicated by 
 the Principal as the man to whom the noble task ought to be 
 confided. All who know his immense erudition and 'collec 
 tions,' and almost morbid painstaking, will agree. 
 
 My little task is a much humbler one. I 
 have first of all to give the ascertained out- 
 ward facts of my Worthy's ' Life ; ' and 
 thereafter examine suggestively, rather than 
 exhaustively, his Poetry, as now for the first 
 time brought together. 
 
 The earliest of the name — variously spelled 
 earlier and later Moore and More — was a 
 William Moore of Lichfield, co. Stafford 
 (buried at Grantham 27th November 1587). 
 His son Richard Moore is found at Grant- 
 ham, married to Goditha, a daughter of 
 John Green of Uppingham, co. Rutland (she 
 was buried at Grantham 26th September 
 1608 J ). He was a Justice of the Peace for 
 the Parts of Kesteven in 1584: M.P. for 
 Grantham in the Armada year, 1588 : Re- 
 ceiver for co. Lincoln 159 1-2. He died 
 10th, and was buried at Grantham nth 
 August 1595 (Will dated 29th March 1595, 
 sealed 3d April, and proved 29th October 
 1595). The eldest son of this Richard 
 Moore a was Alexander Moore of Grantham. 
 He was aged 25 at his father's death. 3 
 He married Anne, daughter of William Lacy 
 
 1 An Elizabeth More was buried at Grantham May 156S. 
 She was daughter of a Gabriel Armstrong. She was the first 
 wife of Richard. Goditha Green was his second wife. She 
 bore him Alexander in 1570. 
 
 2 Besides Alexander there were the following : — (a) Richard 
 More, second son, living 12th October 1652, and had a son Adam 
 baptized at Grantham 28th May 1603 : living 12th October 
 1652. [b] Thomas, third son, living 29th March 1595 — to be 
 apprenticed, (c) Gabriel Moore, D.D., fourth son : baptTzed 
 at Grantham 18th April 1585 : Prebendary of Westminster, in- 
 stalled 8th March 1631-2 : died at his lodgings in Clement's 
 Lane, Westminster, 17th, and buried in Westminster Abbey 
 29th October 1652: Will dated 12th October, and proved 2d 
 November 1652. (d) Elizabeth, married at Grantham, 158S, 
 Francis Everingham of Barton-on-Humber — not named in her 
 father's Will, (e) Susan, baptized at Grantham 10th October 
 1582 : married Sir Richard Green, Clerk of ye Check of ye 
 Gent. Pensioners: dead 12th October 1652 — his Will, as of 
 Dixley Grange, co. Leicester, dated 10th December 1637, and 
 proved by her 9th February 1637-8. (/) Robert, baptized 
 22d January, and buried 1st February 1586-7 at Grantham. 
 (g) Ursula, living 1595, wife of John Fisher, with daughter 
 Martha. (/;) Mary, unmarried 29th March 1595 ; but appa- 
 rently contracted to Raphael Wiseman, Silkman in Cheapside. 
 
 3 As the ' Philosophical Poems ' were dedicated to him in 
 1647, he was then living ; but the Register at Grantham from 
 October 5, 1644 to March 27, 1652 has no burial entries. So 
 Canon Clements informs me. 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 of Deeping, co. Lincoln (marriage-settle- 
 ment dated ist March 1594-5). 
 
 These were the parents of our Henry 
 More. The father was Alderman of Grant- 
 ham in 1594, and Mayor in 161 7, and on- 
 ward repeatedly. The mother's family, by 
 intermarriages, linked on our Poet and 
 Philosopher to many illustrious names — 
 and we must pause to note some of them. 
 Besides his daughter Anne (our More's 
 mother) William Lacy had two sons and 
 three daughters. Two of these brought 
 about the relation and associations I have 
 intimated. First, Robert, one of the sons, 
 who is described as of Washingborough 
 (which is a parish close to the city of Lincoln 
 and within its ancient ' Liberty '), married 
 Cassandra, daughter of Thomas Ogle of 
 Pinchbeck, co. Lincoln. This lady's mother 
 was Jane Welby, sister of Henry Welby the 
 celebrated recluse; 1 and her Grandmother 
 Beatrice, the wife of Richard Ogle, was a 
 sister of Sir Anthony Cooke of Gidea Hall 
 in Essex, sometime Tutor of Edward the 
 Sixth. Her father was thus first cousin to 
 Mildred Cooke, who, as second wife to Lord 
 Burghley, was mother to Robert, Earl of 
 Salisbury. Robert Lacy died without issue, 
 and his widow Cassandra married, secondly, 
 Sir Francis Beaumont, who was uncle on the 
 mother's side to George Villiers, Duke of 
 Buckingham, and Crashaw's friend and con- 
 vert, Susan, Countess of Denbigh. Sir 
 Francis Beaumont was buried at Washing- 
 borough in 1625, and his widow Cassandra 
 in 1632, leaving no issue. 
 
 Secondly — Elizabeth, one of the daughters 
 of William Lacy — and aunt of course to our 
 Worthy — became the wife of Henry Chol- 
 
 1 Henry Welby, ' the Phoenix of these times, who lived at his 
 house in Grub Street forty and four years, and in that space 
 was never seen by any,' married Alice, daughter of Thomas 
 White of Tuxford in co. Nottingham, by Anne Cecil, sister of 
 Lord Burghley. He left an only daughter and heiress, who 
 married Sir Christopher Hildyard of Winstead, co. York 
 (Marvell's birthplace). Tennyson is lineally descended from 
 this alliance. 
 
 meley, founder of that branch of the family 
 now residing, as baronets, at Easton, near 
 Grantham. Henry Cholmeley was knighted 
 and died in 1620, leaving a son and heir — 
 our Poet's first cousin — of whose alliances we 
 find the following account in Burke and the 
 usual authorities : — ' Henry Cholmeley suc- 
 ceeded to the estate of Easton, and died in 
 1632. He married Elizabeth Sondes, the 
 daughter of Sir Richard Sondes of Throwley, 
 and sister of George Sondes, who, in con- 
 sideration of his loyalty to Kings Charles 1. 
 and 11., was created by the latter monarch 
 Earl of Feversham. . . . The mother of Eliza- 
 beth Sondes . . . was Susan Montague, 
 daughter of Sir Edward Montague, Baronet, 1 
 by Elizabeth Harrington, daughter of Sir 
 James Harrington of Exton, maternally de- 
 scended from the Sydneys. Henry Cholmeley 
 and Elizabeth Sondes had issue Montague 
 Cholmeley of Easton, who died in 165 2. He 
 married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward 
 Hartopp, Bart., and maternal grand-daughter 
 of Sir Erasmus Dryden, Bart., and therefore 
 first cousin to " glorious John." ' 
 
 These details are somewhat of the Dr. 
 Dry-as-dust school, some reader may ex- 
 claim. But 'an' it please' him, others will 
 be interested thus to connect the names of 
 Sydney, Sir Thomas More, Harrington, 
 Dryden, and our Poet Laureate, with our 
 Henry More. 2 Returning from this genea- 
 logical excursion, it thus appears that our 
 More was the seventh son of Alexander 
 More of Grantham, by his wife Anne, 
 daughter of William Lacy. He was baptized 
 at Grantham (in Lincolnshire) on October 
 10th, 1614 {not born 12th October, as Ward 
 
 1 Sir Edward Montague's mother was Helen or Eleanor 
 Roper, sister to that William Roper of Eltham who married 
 Margaret More, daughter of the great Chancellor, . . . 
 
 ' who clasp'd in her last trance 
 Her murdered father's head.' 
 
 2 I am indebted to my good friend, the Rev. J. H. Clark. 
 M. A. , Vicar of West Dereham, for most of these details ; but 
 see ' Burke's Peerage and Baronetage,' and similar reference- 
 works. 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCT10N. 
 
 and all hitherto). 1 He probably drew his 
 Christian name from Henry Cholmeley (as 
 supra.' 1 ) 
 
 It was something for a Poet to have had for 
 birthplace so renowned a spot. Every one 
 knows that few small towns (speaking com- 
 paratively) have so venerable and lustrous a 
 history to recount. ' Royalism ' must have 
 interpenetrated its very atmosphere, though 
 to-day — if we may subordinate Queens Editha, 
 Maud, Eleanor — its most memorable histori- 
 cal incident is the victory of one ' Colonel 
 
 1 Authority — Parchment Roll at Grantham, entitled ' A true 
 Certificate of all such as were baptized in the Parish Church of 
 Grantham, Anno Domini 1614.' The entry is thus : — ' October 
 10. Henry the sonne of Mr. [Alexander] More' (Folio Re- 
 nter Parchment) — Rev. Benjamin Street, as before, and 
 Canon Clements, to me. 
 
 '-' I relegate to a foot-note the other members of the household 
 as follow :— (a) Richard, baptized at Grantham 18th December 
 1597 : admitted to Gray's Inn 3d March 1617-18, as son and heir- 
 apparent, (d) Alexander More, baptized at Grantham 17th 
 December 1598: admitted to Gray's Inn 15th March 1619-20: 
 Councillor of Law of Gray's Inn 1634 : M.P. for Grantham 
 1628: ob. v.p. Buried at Grantham 5th January 1635-6, as 
 Alexander More the younger, Esquire. He married Catharine, 
 daughter of Richard Oliver of Shire Lane, co. Middlesex ; 
 (she married, secondly, Peregrine Mackworth, second son 
 of Sir Thomas Mackworth of Normanton, co. Rutland, 
 first baronet : married at Grantham 17th February 1652-3 : 
 ob. s.p.). The children of Alexander More were (1) Richard, 
 first son and heir, a;t. 6 years and 2 months at father's 
 death ; probably died young : (2) Gabriel More, baptized 
 at Grantham 26th October 1634 : second son, and heir of his 
 brother : heir and executor of his great-uncle, Gabriel, whose 
 Will he proved, 1652 : died 21st February, and buried at 
 Grantham 1st March 1698-9: Will dated 16th October 1697: 
 proved 16th June 1699 : last of his Family, and left his estates 
 to charitable uses. See more onward. (3) Anne, baptized at 
 Grantham 26th December 1630. (4) Catherine, living 12th Oc- 
 tober 1652. (5) Jane, baptized at Grantham 14th January 1635-6 
 (a posthumous child), (c) William, baptized at Grantham, 27th 
 March, and buried there 21st August 1602. (if, John, baptized 
 at Grantham 4th December 1603. (e) Gabriel, baptized at Grant- 
 ham 24th July 1608, and buried there 27th February 1652-3. 
 (f William, baptized at Grantham 10th July 1609, buried there 
 5th November 1657. (j?) Henry — is our Worthy. (^ Elizabeth, 
 baptized at Grantham 1st June 1600 : married Henry Calverley 
 of Calverley, co. York : apparently dead in 1634, ob. s.p. 
 (/ Jane, baptized at Grantham 21st June 1612 : married there 
 23d September 1634, to John Colby of Nappa (see Dugdale's 
 Yorkshire, p. 47). (J) Catherine, baptized at Grantham 27th 
 October, November, or December 1596. (£) Goditha, buried at 
 Grantham 15th September 1596. (/} Anne, baptized at Grant- 
 ham 1st January 1604-5, and buried there 21st June 1607. For 
 these and other entries I have to give thanks, mainly, to my 
 always well-furnished and always obliging friend, Dr. Chester 
 of Bermondsey. I have also to acknowledge help on the same 
 lines from Arthur Larken, Esq., through the Rev. J. H. Clark, 
 as before, and Canon Clements, Vicar of Grantham. 
 
 Cromwell' over far-outnumbering troops of 
 the King (Charles I.). In Literature it must 
 ever hold a place of honour ; for besides 
 Henry More, John Still (Bishop), author 
 of that drollest and quaintest of our elder 
 English Comedies, ' Gammer Gurton's 
 Needle' (1575), was also born in Grantham. 
 Supremest of all, to its School — from neigh- 
 bouring Woolsthorpe — came Isaac Newton, 
 as earlier Sir William Cecil. Its great church 
 is the cynosure of pilgrim- visitants from all 
 lands. 
 
 I know of only a single allusion to his 
 mother by More — that she, like his father, 
 was a Calvinist. Of his father he has fre- 
 quent notices. The Epistle-dedicatory of 
 his Poems to his father (p. 4) may be at this 
 point advantageously turned to. Ward — 
 after characterising the son as ' this Eximous 
 [ = eximious, excellent] Person,' says of the 
 father, that he was ' one of excellent under- 
 standing, probity, and piety; and of a fair 
 estate and fortune in the world, remembered 
 yet with esteem in the place where he liv'd ' 
 (p. 22). The elder Mores were, like most of 
 the Puritans, accepters of the theological 
 system known as Calvinism — the Calvinism 
 of the youthful ' Institutes ; rather than of the 
 later Commentaries and Letters of John 
 Calvin. In the outset, I fear the home-dis- 
 cipline and teaching were over-stern and 
 exacting. Yet it is to be pleasantly remem- 
 bered that the rigid family-training of these 
 our forefathers was based on gravity born of 
 an abiding sense of the presence of Almighty 
 God everywhere and always ; nor less so that 
 evidence remains that there were breaks of 
 humour and sparkles of wit and the warble 
 of quiet laughter, among the staid and 
 thoughtful men and women of the type of the 
 Mores. I like to recall that it was to his 
 father Master Henry owed his bookish tastes 
 and his introduction to Spenser's ' Fairy 
 Queen.' 
 
 The Registers of the famous School of 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 Grantham — founded by Bishop Richard 
 Fox, founder of Corpus Christi College, 
 Oxford, and confirmed and enlarged by 
 Edward vi. — have perished ; but there can 
 be no doubt that young More received his 
 early education in it. I question if he were 
 well-grounded in this School ; for his Latin 
 Prose is not of the purest, and his Latin and 
 Greek Verse somewhat faulty. 1 His School 
 Exercises sorely exercised his Masters with 
 admiration ( = wonder). ' And yet,' observes 
 his Biographer, ' the Dr. hath been heard to 
 say, that the wonder and pleasure with which 
 he and others would sometimes read them, 
 elated him not ; but that he was rather 
 troubled and asham'd ; as not knowing whe- 
 ther he could do so well another time ' (p. 
 22). I shall have occasion to return on this 
 characteristic trait. His progress at Grant- 
 ham School, ' his anxious and thoughtful 
 genius from his childhood' (ibid.) struck his 
 paternal uncle ; and he took him in charge. 
 He was sent in his thirteenth or fourteenth 
 year to Eton.' 2 Thither he certainly carried 
 an old man's head on very young shoulders. 
 For in his ' Prefatio ' (as before) he informs 
 us that even thus early he had rebelled 
 against the teaching (as he understood or 
 misunderstood it) of his father on Predesti- 
 nation. His uncle threatened him with the 
 birch if he did not acquiesce in the family 
 orthodoxy. It is easy to cry out against the 
 threat ; but doubtless it was directed against 
 the pertness and ' answering-back ' as much 
 as against the impugnment of the specific 
 opinion. Certes such matters were 'too high ' 
 for the lad, and he had been a healthier man 
 every way had he not so prematurely ' inter- 
 meddled ' with the metaphysic of this prodi- 
 gious postulate, not of Calvinism or of the 
 
 1 In the Cambridge University mss. (G g vi. 11, art. i, pp. 
 2-33) is a correspondence 167 1-2) between More and H. H., 
 wherein the latter corrects More's Latinity. 
 
 - The Rev. Dr. Goodford writes me that there is no record 
 at Eton of our More's attendance at the celebrated School. The 
 sooner his name is added to its great roll the better. 
 
 Bible merely, but of universal nature and 
 human nature. Here is his own narrative, 
 than which few more remarkable are to be 
 read : 1 — 
 
 ' For the better Understanding of all this, we are 
 to take {saith he) our Rise a little higher ; and to pre- 
 mise some things which fell out in my Youth ; if not 
 also in my Childhood it self : To the End that it may 
 more fully appear, that the things which I have 
 written, are not any borrowed, or far-fetch'd Opinions, 
 owing unto Education, and the Reading of Books ; 
 but the proper Sentiments of my own Mind, drawn 
 and derived from my most intimate Nature ; and that 
 every Humane Soul is no abrasa tabula, or mere 
 Blank Sheet ; but hath innate Sensations and Notions 
 in it, both of good and evil, just and unjust, true and 
 false ; and those very strong and vivid. 
 
 ' Concerning which Matter, I am the more assur'd, 
 in that the Sensations of my own Mind are so far from 
 being owing to Education, that they are directly con- 
 trary to it ; I being bred up, to the almost 14th Year 
 of my Age, under Parents and a Master that were 
 great Calvinists (but withal, very pious and good 
 ones) : At which Time, by the Order of my Parents, 
 persuaded to it by my Uncle, I immediately went to 
 sEton School ; not to learn any new Precepts or 
 Institutes of Religion ; but for the perfecting of the 
 Greek and Latin Tongue. But neither there, nor yet 
 any where else, could I ever swallow down that hard 
 Doctrine concerning Fate. On the contrary, I re- 
 member, that upon those Words of Epictetus, " ^Vye 
 /xe w ZeC Kal <rv i) weirpuifj-ivr), Lead me, Juf-itcr 
 and thou Fate, I did (with my eldest Brother, who 
 then, as it happened, had accompanied my Uncle 
 thither) very stoutly, and earnestly for my Years, dis- 
 pute against this Fate or Calvinistiek Predestination, 
 as it is usually call'd : And that my Uncle, when he 
 came to know it, chid me severely ; adding menaces 
 withall of Correction, and a Rod for my immature 
 Forwardness in Philosophizing concerning such Mat- 
 ters : Moreover, that I had such a deep Aversion in 
 my Temper to this Opinion, and so firm and unshaken 
 a Perswasion of the Divine Justice and Goodness : 
 that on a certain Day, in a Ground belonging to 
 ALton College, where the Boys us'd to play, and 
 exercise themselves, musing concerning these Things 
 with my self, and recalling to my mind this Doctrine 
 of Calvin, I did thus seriously and deliberately con- 
 clude within my self, viz. Lf I am one of those that are 
 predestinated unto Hell, where all Things are full of 
 nothing but Cursing and Blasphemy, yet will I behave 
 
 1 Ward, as before, pp. 5-8. 
 
ME MORI A L-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 my self there patiently and submissively towards God ; 
 and if there be any one Thing more than another, that 
 is acceptable to him, that will I set my self to do with a 
 sincere Heart, and to the utmost of my Penver : Being 
 certainly persuaded, that if I thus demeaned my self, 
 he would hardly keep me long in that Place. Which 
 Meditation of mine, is as firmly fix'd in my Memory, 
 and the very place where I stood, as if the Thing 
 had been transacted but a Day or two ago. 
 
 ' And as to what concerns the Existence of GOD : 
 Though in that Ground mentioned, walking, as my 
 Manner was, slowly, and with my Head on one Side, 
 and kicking now and then the Stones with my Feet, 
 I was wont sometimes with a sort of Musical and 
 Melancholick Murmur to repeat, or rather humm to 
 my self, those Verses of Claudian : 
 
 Scspc viihi dubiam traxit sententia mentem ; 
 Curarent Superi terras ; an nullus inesset 
 Rector, &■ incerto fluerent Mortalia casu. 
 
 [Oft hath ?ny anxious Mind divided stood; 
 Whether the Gods did mind this lower World ; 
 Or whether no such Ruler ( Wise and Good) 
 We had ; and all things here by Chance were hurld.\ 
 
 Yet that exceeding hail and entire Sense of GOD, 
 which Nature her self had planted deeply in me, 
 very easily silenced all such slight and Poetical Jubi- 
 lations as these. Yea even in my first Childhood, 
 an inward Sense of the Divine Presence was so strong 
 upon my Mind ; that I did then believe, there could 
 no Deed, Word, or Thought be hidden from him : 
 Nor was I by any others that were older than my 
 self, to be otherwise persuaded. Which Thing since 
 no distinct Reason, Philosophy, or Instruction taught 
 it me at that Age ; but only an internal Sensation 
 urg'd it upon me ; I think it is very evident, that 
 this was an innate Sense or Notion in me, contrary 
 to some witless and sordid Philosophasters of our 
 present Age. And if these cunning Sophisters shall 
 here reply ; that I drew this Sense of mine ex Tra- 
 duce, or by way of Propagation, as being born of 
 Parents exceeding Pious and Religious ; I demand, 
 how it came to pass, that I drew not Calvinism also 
 in along with it ? For both my Father and Uncle, 
 and so also my Mother, were all earnest followers 
 of Calvin. But these Things I pass ; since men 
 Atheistically disposed cannot so receive them, as 
 I from an inward Feeling speak them.' 
 
 These and kindred revelations impress me 
 with the awfulness — and I use the word 
 deliberately — of the responsibility of the 
 Head-master of a great School such as Eton, 
 or indeed any School, in the knowledge that 
 
 just such agitated young minds are constantly 
 being placed under their supervision and 
 influence. 
 
 Coincident with his rejection of the pater- 
 nal Calvinism, in re predestination, was a 
 like rejection of paternal plans for his life- 
 occupation. Not only his opinions but his 
 career he decided for himself. His father 
 evidently wished him to enter on some active 
 work-a-day profession, as a road to wealth 
 and position. But the son answered — as we 
 learn from the Epistle-dedicatory of his 
 Poems — 
 
 ' Your early Encomiums of Learning and Philo- 
 sophic did so fire my credulous [= believing] 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 
 Unmannerlinesse and Incivility it would be held to 
 seem wiser then them that are more wealthy and 
 powerfull, could never yet restrain my mind from 
 her first pursuit, nor quicken my attention to the 
 affairs of this World. But this bookish disease, let it 
 make me as much poor as it will, it shall never make 
 me the lesse just.' — (p. 4.) 
 
 His father evidently acquiesced ; and, 
 indeed later, when he visited his son at 
 Christ's College and saw him surrounded 
 with his books, he told him he was occupied 
 in ' an angelical way.' Nor need there have 
 been any shadow of fear of poverty. From 
 the outset he was well-provided for, and 
 onward inherited a considerable fortune. So 
 that self-dedicated to ' high thinking ' and 
 noble-living, as with Wordsworth in an after- 
 generation, he found abundant and unex- 
 pected friends and means, without need of 
 the greater Poet's ' Stamp-office ' drudgery, 
 in person or by deputy. He never had — 
 any more than Wordsworth — a doubt of the 
 rightness of the mode of life he had chosen. 
 
 He remained three years at Eton. He then 
 proceeded — in 1631 — in his seventeenth 
 year, to Cambridge University. His admis- 
 sion-entry to Christ's College there, runs 
 thus : — 
 
ME MORI A L-INTROD UCTIOX. 
 
 'Decemb. 31 . 163 1 
 
 Henricus More, filius Alexandri, natus Grant- 
 hamiffi in agro Lincolinensi, Uteris institutus Etonse 
 a M r ° Harrison, anno setatis 17 . ad missus est 
 Pensionarius minor sub M r ° Gell.' 1 
 
 The word 'pensionarius' meant one who 
 paid a pensio or rent for rooms in College, 
 as distinguished from the higher ' noblemen ' 
 and ' fellow-commoners,' and the humbler 
 ' sizars.' 
 
 It is to be noted that John Milton was 
 still in attendance at this College ; so that a 
 memorandum in one of More's Works, in the 
 Vestry Library at Grantham, is doubtless 
 true, that ' he was acquainted with Milton.' 
 
 His tutor was William Chappell — who had 
 also the distinction of having acted in a like 
 capacity to the great Hebraist, John Light- 
 foot, and others of after-repute. 2 
 
 We are again enabled to see him at this 
 period from his 'Prsefatio,' as follows : 3 — 
 
 ' Endued as I was with these Principles, that is 
 to say, a firm and unshaken Belief of the Existence 
 of GOD, as also of his unspotted Righteousness and 
 perfect Goodness, that he is a God infinitely Good, as 
 well as infinitely Great ; (and what other would any 
 Person, that is not doltish or superstitious, ever admit 
 of) at the Command of my Uncle, to whose Care my 
 Father had committed me, having spent about three 
 Years at sEton, I went to Cambridge ; recommended 
 to the Care of a Person both learned and pious, and, 
 what I was not a little sollicitous about, not at all a 
 Calvinist ; but a Tutour most skilful and vigilant : 
 Who presently after the very first Salutation and 
 Discourse with me, ask'd me, whether I had a Dis- 
 cernment of Things Good and Evil? To which, 
 answering in somewhat a low Voice, I said ; I hope 
 I have: When at the same Time I was Conscious to 
 my self, that I had, from my very Soul, a most 
 strong Sense and savoury Discrimination, as to all 
 
 1 The Rev. Dr. Cartmell, Master of Christ's College, was 
 good enough to favour me with this, as also with the long Latin 
 Epitaph by More (see the Poems, p. 206I. By the way, the 
 authority for assigning this epitaph to More is Ward, p. 192, 
 where he names several of his Pupils, among others, Sir John 
 Finch and Sir Thomas Bains, herein celebrated. 
 
 8 e.g. Robert Gouge (Calamy's Account, s. ».), Dr. Clark 
 (Tumor's Grantham, p. 176), Owen Stockton (Sam. Clarke's 
 Lives, 1683, p. 186). See Appendix A to this Introduction for 
 notice of Chappell and Milton. 3 Pages 8-n. 
 
 those Matters. Notwithstanding, the mean while, 
 a mighty and almost immoderate Thirst after Know- 
 ledge possess'd me throughout ; especially for that 
 which was Xatural ; and above all others, that which 
 was said to dive into the deepest Cause of Things, 
 and Aristotle calls the first and highest Philosophy, or 
 Wisdom. 
 
 ' After which when my prudent and pious Tutour 
 observed my Mind to be inflam'd, and carried with 
 so eager and vehement a Career ; He ask'd me on a 
 certain Time, why I was so above Measure intent upon 
 my Studies ; that is to say, for what End I was so? 
 Suspecting, as I suppose, that there was only at the 
 Bottom a certain Itch, or Hunt after Vain-glory ; and 
 to become, by this means, some Famous Philosopher 
 amongst those of my own Standing. But I answered 
 briefly, and that from my very Heart ; That I may 
 know. But, young Man, What is the Reason, saith 
 he again, that you so earnestly desire to know Things ? 
 To which I instantly return'd ; / desire, I say, so 
 earnestly to know, That I may know. For even at 
 that Time, the Knowledge of natural and divine 
 Things, seem'd to me the highest Pleasure and Feli- 
 city imaginable. 
 
 ' Thus then persuaded, and esteeming it what was 
 highly Fit, I immerse my self over Head and Ears 
 in the Study of Philosophy, promising a most wonder- 
 ful Happiness to my self in it. Aristotle therefore, 
 Cardan, Julius Scaliger, and other Philosophers of 
 the greatest Note, I very diligently peruse. In 
 which, the Truth is, though I met here and there 
 with some things wittily and acutely, and sometimes 
 also solidly spoken ; yet the most seem'd to me 
 either so false or uncertain, or else so obvious and 
 trivial, that I look'd upon my self as having plainly 
 lost my time in the Reading of such Authors. And 
 to speak all in a Word, Those almost whole Four 
 Years which I spent in Studies of this kind, as to 
 what concern'd those Matters which I chiefly desired 
 to be satisfied about, (for as to the Existence of a God, 
 and the Duties of Morality, I never had the least 
 Doubt) ended in nothing, in a manner, but mere 
 Scepticism. Which made me that, as my manner 
 was, (for I was wont to set down the present State of 
 my Mind, or any Sense of it that was warmer or 
 deeper than ordinary, in some short Notes, whether 
 in Verse or Prose ; and that also \n English, Greek, 
 or Latin) it made me, I say, that as a perpetual 
 Record of the Thing, I compos'd of eight Verses, 
 which is call'd 'Awopia, and is to be found inserted 
 in the end of my Second Philosophical Volume, viz. 
 
 Ovk iyvuv irbdiv el/xi 6 Svoixopos, ovlit rh elfu, ice. 
 [To this purpose, as translated admirably by the 
 Author himself.] 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 V r whence, nor who I am, poor Wretch ! know I : 
 Xor yet, O Madness f I 1 'hither I must got : 
 />:</ in Griefs crooked Claws fast held I lie , 
 And live, 1 think, by font tuggd to and fro. 
 Asleep or w.ikc all one. O Father Jove, 
 ' Tis brave, we Mortals live in Clouds like thee. 
 Lies, Night-dreams, empty Toys, Fear, fatal Love, 
 
 This is my Life : 1 nothing else do see. 
 
 ' And these things happen 'd to me before that I 
 had taken any Degree in the University.'' 
 
 He took his degree of A.B. in 1635 : pro- 
 ceeded A.M. in 1638 : was chosen Fellow 
 and Tutor — gaining pupils who later dis- 
 tinguished themselves : was ordained Deacon 
 same year, and Priest in 164 1. In 1642 
 he was instituted and inducted to the liv- 
 ing of Ingoldsby in Lincolnshire — the 
 ' living ' being the property of his father. His 
 name occurs once — and I believe only 
 once — in the Ingoldsby Register ; so that 
 he was non-resident. In his own stately 
 way he admitted that whether from his 
 'inward voice' or otherwise, he was not 
 one for the Pulpit or to sway an audience 
 lesser or larger by personal address. He 
 returned from Ingoldsby almost immediately 
 after his institution, to his College of Christ's; 
 and there undisturbed by the commotions 
 of the Civil War, as uninterfered with by the 
 Government of Cromwell, he serenely lived 
 out his appointed term as a life-long student. 
 
 The dates and data furnished, cover 
 nearly the entire Facts — apart from his suc- 
 cessive books — of his ' Life,' so much was he 
 a recluse and meditator rather than actor. 
 
 Of his ' manner of life ' in training and 
 disciplining himself we are once ' more in- 
 formed in his ' Praefatio' thus : x — 
 
 ' After taking my Degree, to pass over and omit 
 abundance of things ; I designing not here the 
 Draught of my own Life (though some, and those 
 very Famous Men too, have done that before me ; 
 and Cardan hath given so exact an Account of his 
 own Writings, that he hath not so much as omitted 
 those that were spoiled by the Urine of a Cat) but 
 only a brief Introduction for the better Understand- 
 
 1 Pages 11-15. 
 
 ing the Occasion of writing my First Book ; It fell 
 out truly very Happily for me, that I suffer'd so great 
 a Disappointment in my Studies. For it made me 
 seriously at last begin to think with my self ; whether 
 the Knowledge of things was really that Supreme Feli- 
 city of Man ; or something Greater and more Divine 
 was : Or, supposing it to be so, whether it was to be 
 acquir'd by such an Eagerness and Intentness in the 
 reading of Authors, and Contemplating of Things ; 
 or by the Purging of the Mind from all sorts of Vices 
 whatsoever : Especially having begun to read now 
 the Platonick Writers, Marsilius Ficinus, Plotinus 
 himself, Mercurius Trismegistus ; and the Mystical 
 Divines ; among whom there was frequent mention 
 made of the Purification of the Soul, and of the 
 Purgative Course that is previous to the Illumina- 
 tive ; as if the Person that expected to have his 
 Mind illuminated of God, was to endeavour after 
 the Highest Purity. 
 
 ' But amongst all the Writings of this kind there 
 was none, to speak the Truth, so pierced and affected 
 me, as that Golden little Book, with which Luther is 
 also said to have been wonderfully taken, viz. Theo- 
 logia Germanica : Though several Symptoms, even 
 at that time, seem'd ever and anon to occur to me, 
 of a certain deep Melancholy ; as also no slight 
 Errors in Matters of Philosophy. But that which 
 he doth so mightily inculcate, viz. That we should 
 thoroughly put off, and extinguish our own proper 
 Will ; that being thus Dead to our selves, -we may live 
 alone unto God, and do all things whatsoever by his 
 Instinct or plenary Permission ; was so Connatural, 
 as it were, and agreeable to my most intimate Reason 
 and Conscience, that I could not of any thing whatso- 
 ever be more clearly or certainly convinced. Which 
 Sense yet (that no one may here use that dull and 
 idle Expression, Quales legimus, Tales evadimus, Such 
 as we read, Such we are) that truly Golden Book did 
 not then first implant in my Soul, but struck and 
 rouz'd it, as it were, out of Sleep in me : Which it 
 did verily as in a Moment, or the twinkling of an 
 Eye. But after that the Sense and Consciousness of 
 this great and plainly Divine Duty, was thus awakend 
 in me ; Good God ! what Struglings and Conflicts 
 follow'd presently between this Divine Principle and 
 the Animal Nature'. For since I was most firmly 
 perswaded, not only concerning the Existence of God, 
 but also of His Absolute both Goodness and Powei; 
 and of His most real Will that we should be perfect, 
 even as our Father which is in Heaven is perfect ; 
 there was no room left for any Tergiversation ; but a 
 necessity of immediately entring the Lists, and of 
 using all possible Endeavours, that our own Will, by 
 which we relish our selves, and what belongs to us, 
 
ME MORI A L-INTROD UC TIOX. 
 
 in things as well of the Soul as of the Body, might 
 be oppos'd, destroy' d, annihilated ; that so the Divine 
 Will alone, with the New Birth, may revive and 
 grmv up in us. And, if I may here freely speak my 
 Mind, before this Conflict between the Divine Will, 
 and our cum proper Will or Self-Love, there can no 
 certain Signs appear to us of this New Birth at all. 
 But this Conflict is the very Punctum saliens, or First 
 Motion of the New Life or Birth begun in us. As to 
 other Performances, whether of Morality or Religion, 
 arising from mere Self Love, let them be as Specious 
 or Goodly as you please, they are at best but as 
 Preparations, or the more refin'd Exercises of a sort 
 of Tlieological Hobbianisme. 
 
 ' But there is nothing that the Animal Man dreads 
 so much as this Conflict : And he looks upon it as a 
 piece of mere Folly and Madness, to attempt any 
 thing that is not for his own Self-interest ; or that is 
 not to be accomplish'd by his own proper Strength 
 and Reason. And therefore the Old Alan ; while it 
 doth but exercise, all this time, its own nature divers 
 ways, and adjusts it self to outward multifarious 
 Opinions and Practices in Religion, and bends and 
 winds it self about this way and that way ; is still a 
 mere Serpent, the mere Old Man; as a Dunghil, 
 turn it into what Shapes and Postures you will, still 
 remains a Dunghil. The Divine Seed alone is that 
 which is acceptable unto God ; and the sole invin- 
 cible Basis of all true Religion. The Revelation, 
 through the Divine Grace, of which Heavenly and 
 sincere Principle in my self, immediately occasion'd, 
 that all my other Studies, in comparison of this, 
 became vile and of no Account : And that insatiable 
 Desire and Thirst of mine after the Knowledge of 
 things was wholly almost extinguish'd in me ; as 
 being sollicitous now, about nothing so much as a 
 more full Union with this Divine and Coslestial Prin- 
 ciple, the inward flowing Well-spring of Life eternal : 
 With the most fervent Prayers breathing often unto 
 God, that he would be pleas'd thoroughly to set me 
 free from the dark Chains, and this so sordid Cap- 
 tivity of my own Will. 
 
 ' But here openly to declare the Thing as it was ; 
 When this inordinate Desire after the Knowledge of 
 things was thus allay'd in me, and I aspir'd after 
 nothing but this sole Purity and Simplicity of Mind, 
 there shone in upon me daily a greater Assurance 
 than ever I could have expected, even of those things 
 which before I had the greatest Desire to know : In- 
 somuch that within a few Years, I was got into a 
 most Joyous and Lucid State of Mind ; and such 
 plainly as is ineffable ; though, according to my 
 Custom, I have endeavoured to express it, to my 
 Power, in another Stanza of Eight Verses, both in 
 
 Sense and Title answering in a way of direct Oppo- 
 sition unto the Former ; Which is call'd (as that 
 'Airopia, Inviousness and Emptiness, so this) Evwopia, 
 Fulness and Perviousness. ' 
 
 It is impossible altogether to pass by this 
 urgent and most sincere writing but none the 
 less egregiously misdirected treatment of 
 himself. So to denounce this body of ours — 
 God's own temple — and so to deem it right 
 and obligatory to ' oppose, destroy, annihi- 
 late' our own Will — God's magnificent dower 
 to man — was to err in fundamentals, whilst 
 to thus calumniate even fallen human nature 
 as 'dunghill,' and all the rest of his false- 
 witness against himself, was to be led cap- 
 tive by mere theological (not Scriptural) 
 figments. One marvels that whilst More 
 resisted the error — as he regarded it — of his 
 father's Predestination, he should have so 
 abjectly accepted vulgar inferences (not 
 exegeses) from misunderstood and muti- 
 lated texts. It is a sorrowful, a tragical 
 spectacle altogether ; and, nevertheless, so 
 splendid was the aspiration and actual 
 attainment that we cannot altogether con- 
 demn. 
 
 The flower of his finest, subtlest, most 
 inner thought and emotion went into his 
 Verse. His little Epigrams (so called) of 
 'A7ropi'a and Evro/na seem to have been 
 written when he was in his teens. Among 
 his 'Occasional Poems' are contributions 
 in 1632, 1633, 1635, ! 1637, 1638, 1640, 
 1641, to the University Collections. It 
 is noteworthy that within a year of his 
 entry at Christ's College he contributed to 
 the 'Anthologia in Regia Exanthema,' and 
 to ' Rex Redux ' the year after. Still more 
 noteworthy that he was one of the verse- 
 mourners for Edward King, the ' Lycidas ' of 
 Milton. These were merely 'Occasional.' 
 But in 1640 he girded up himself for a great 
 
 1 Since his Occasional Poems were issued, a friend has sent 
 us others from an overlooked University Collection. They 
 will be found in Appendix. B to this Introduction. 
 
 19 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 utterance of what was deepest in him, as he 
 thus tells : : — 
 
 ' But to reach now at length the Scope I drive at ; 
 Not content with this short Epigram, I did after- 
 wards, about the Beginning of the Year 1640, com- 
 prise the chief Speculations and Experiences I fell into, 
 by persisting in the Enterprise before mention'd, in a 
 pretty full Poem call'd Psychozoia, or the Life of the 
 Soul : Stir'd up to it, I believe, by some Heavenly 
 Impulse of Mind j since I did it at that time with no 
 other Design, than that it should remain by me a 
 private Record of the Sensations and Experiences of 
 my own Soul.' 
 
 His Biographer continues : 2 — 
 
 'This was the Occasion of his Writing that first 
 Part of his Book of Poems. Which that it might lie 
 the better conceal'd, he tells us next, how darkly and 
 obscurely it was in several respects composed by him. 
 And afterwards he gives an Account of his adding 
 the rest, some at one time, and some at another ; 
 and then proceeds to a short List of all his Writings 
 whatsoever, with the Times and Occasions of them. 
 Which with the entire Preface would be highly worth 
 the Knowledge of the English Reader, if proper to 
 be given in this Place.' 
 
 Somewhat excursive and discursive cer- 
 tainly is Ward's further account — half-trans- 
 lating, half-supplying — yet to the sympathetic 
 reader it has a fascinating interest. Accord- 
 ingly I venture to give it in extenso:* — 
 
 'I shall only advertise the Reader farther, That 
 though this first Poem of the Life of the Soul was 
 written in the Year 1640, when the Author was 
 between 25 and 26 Years of Age ; yet with some 
 more that he added concerning the Immortality, and 
 both against the Sleep and Unity of Souls, it came 
 not out till 1642, and then he tells us, at the Instiga- 
 tion of some Learned and Pious Friends, to whom he 
 had in private accidentally shew'd them. Nay, for 
 that first Piece, he several times, it seems, thought of 
 bunting it, lest it should fall into the Hands of others. 
 But Providence design'd not that such a Jewel, with 
 the rest that follow'd, should be lost to the World ; 
 and so ordered the Matter, as we have seen, other- 
 wise. And these were to be the First-fruits, or 
 Primordia of his Studies ; and a Pledge of his future 
 Performances. 
 
 1 Page 16. 
 
 2 Page 17. 
 
 3 Pages 17-21. 
 
 1 If any shall be here curious to enquire into the 
 more particular extent of his intra paucos Annos, or 
 those few Years wherein he arriv'd to so admirable 
 a Degree both of Life and Kncnvledge, and such a 
 Divine State of Joy consequent upon them ; I can 
 assure him on very good Grounds, or from the Author 
 himself, that it was the Space of between 3 and 4 
 Years. This short time of Holy Discipline and Con- 
 flict, let him in, it seems, to wonderful Communica- 
 tions ; and open'd, as it were, the Gates of Paradise 
 to Him. 
 
 ' Concerning which matter, it is not, I conceive, 
 for any that have not had some very considerable 
 Experiences of this kind to make a true Judgment : 
 Nor will I my self pretend to a sufficient Knowledge 
 or Experience of it. But it is not, I should think, 
 difficult to apprehend ; That a Man having once 
 rescued himself from the Obliquity and Captivity of 
 his own Self-will and Self-love, and got, so far as 
 even this Life suffers, from the Bondage of Corrup- 
 tion, into the Glorious Liberty of the Children of God ; 
 into a high State of Virtue and Divine Purity, with 
 a most. Free, Noble, Intelligent, and Universal Love 
 of God, and of the whole Creation : I say, it is not 
 difficult to conceive, that the Life of such a Person, 
 especially of a Person of the Doctor's Parts and 
 Constitution, must needs be very highly Joyous and 
 Blessed. A Heart loosed from it self, is like a Ship 
 sailing in the midst of the Seas : And we having re- 
 covered our selves into the due Love of God, and of 
 one another, to a State of Freedom and Innocency ; 
 what remains, but to live in a most unspeakable 
 Peace, Liberty and Felicity for evermore ? 
 
 ' Such will exult in GOD, in this Divine Life com- 
 municated to them, and in all Creatures: Whose 
 Numbers, Orders, Happinesses, and Extent, with the 
 Works of Providence in the Universe at large, are 
 unspeakable and unknowable ; but will be shrewdly 
 guess'd at, and most magnificently concelv'd of, by 
 Men of this Character : And indeed even Philosophy 
 it self doth present us with admirable and astonishing 
 Prospects of them. 
 
 ' This then was the Blissful and Glorious Issue of 
 the Doctor's so sincere and Heroical Enterprise, in 
 the freeing of his Soul from Sin and Self ; it was 
 excellent Wisdom ; and that sudden, in a manner, 
 and unexpected ; a clear ALthereal sort of Tempera- 
 ment of Body and of Mind ; a gladsome and even 
 Enthusiastick Sense of Joy, in the Nature, Works 
 and Providence of GOD ; with a most stable Truth 
 and Rectitude of Nature as to himself. Nor can any 
 deny, but that all these are the noblest Fruits and 
 Attainments of Religion ; the highest and most 
 perfect Exercises of it ; and that, according to our 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Powers, we are all of us oblig'd to aspire after this 
 Sincerity and Virtue. 
 
 ' Let me only add now. with respect to that Poetical 
 Description of his, touching the so high Conflict and 
 Victory in Himself (which to its useful and pious 
 Seriousness hath all the Art and Elegancy added, 
 that an incomparable Piece of Divine Poetry, writ in 
 that way, can be embelish'd or adorn'd with) what 
 he speaks of that matter in another Place thus. 
 
 ' But being well advis'd, both by the Dictates of 
 my own Conscience, and clear Information of those 
 Holy Oracles which we all deservedly reverence ; 
 that God reserves his choicest Secrets for the purest 
 Minds ; and that it is Uncleanness of Spirit, not dis- 
 tance of Place, that dissevers us from the Deity ; I 
 was fully convinc'd, that trite Holiness was the only 
 safe Entrance into Divine Knowledge. And having 
 an unshaken Belief of the Existence of God, and of 
 kis Will that we should be holy even as he is holy ; 
 Nothing that is truly Sinful, could appear to me 
 unconquerable, assisted by such a Power : Which 
 urged me therefore seriously to set my self to the 
 Task. Of the Experiences and Events of which 
 Enterprise my zd and yi Canto of the Life of the 
 Soul is a real and faithful Record. 
 
 ' So that this Great Person hath, we see, in a 
 Measure, and in some of the most concerning In- 
 stances of it, presented his own Life and Picture to 
 the World. Which though he hath done in little, 
 or, as it were, in Miniature, and could not be pre- 
 vail'd upon to enlarge ; yet am I glad, for my part, 
 that he hath drawn the Effigies so far as he hath. 
 And we may perceive by his Lcrtissimum, Lucidis- 
 simumque Animce sfatum, &> plane ineffabilem, his 
 most lucid, joyous, and unspeakable State of Mind, 
 with such other Intimations up and down in his 
 Writings, that there was assuredly something not a 
 little Extraordinary in His Character. For the rest ; 
 Whoever would obtain a more complete Draught of 
 Dr. More, he must have it from his Works ; as those 
 that are the truest Pourtraicture of his Spirit. It 
 was his own Expression indeed, that if any Man had 
 -written, his Works would best shew' to all intelligent 
 Readers what he was. And perhaps never Person 
 wrote more the Sentiments of his own Mind, or hath 
 more truly represented the free and absolute Results 
 of his own Reason and Conscience to the World 
 than He himself hath done. 
 
 ' I have writ, saith he, after no Copy but the Eternal 
 Characters of the Mind of Man, and the known Phoe- 
 nomena of Nature. And again ; I borrowed them not 
 from Books, but fetched them from the Nature of the 
 thing it self, and indelible Ideas of the Soul of Man. 
 And once more ; In his Epistle Dedicatory before 
 
 the Immortality of the Soul, he tells that noble Lord, 
 that He can 'without vanity Profess, that zonal he offers 
 to him, is the genuine Result of his crwn anxious and 
 thoughtful Mind, no old Stuff purloin d or borrow-' d 
 from other Writers.' 
 
 Throughout I am reminded of a still 
 greater man and poet of our own era; for 
 nowhere so much as in Henry More do 
 we find that self-contained and almost preter- 
 human sense of the grandeur of the human 
 intellect as exemplified in himself, that ex- 
 posed William Wordsworth to miscon- 
 struction as though it were poor vanity or 
 conceit. Ellis Yarnall (of America) has 
 put the thing admirably in his ' Reminis- 
 cences,' where he describes the great Poet's 
 reading Professor Reed's Introduction to 
 his ' Selections ' from his Poems. ' He 
 made,' he says, ' but little comment on your 
 notice of him. Occasionally he would say, 
 as he came to a particular fact, "That's 
 quite correct ;" or, after reading a quotation 
 from his own works, he would add, ' : That s 
 from my writings." These quotations he 
 read in a way that much impressed me ; it 
 seemed almost as if he was awed by the 
 
 GREATNESS OF HIS OWN POWER, THE GIFTS 
 WITH WHICH HE HAD BEEN ENDOWED.' 1 
 
 The same impression is inevitable in read- 
 ing More, even in his casual sayings, and 
 deepeningly as you ponder his Poetry. Of 
 the former, take this from Ward with his own 
 elucidatory words :- — 
 
 'The Doctor in his Book of Ethicks speaks of 
 some that, by a Divine Sort of Late, are Virtuous 
 and Good ; and this is to a very great and Heroicai 
 Degree. And the same may seem by him to be in- 
 timated elsewhere, as coming into this World rather 
 for the Good of others, and by a Divine force, than 
 through their awn proper fault or any necessary and 
 immediate Congruity of their Natures. All which is 
 agreeable to that Opinion of Plato : That some descend 
 hither to declare the Being and Nature of the Gods ; 
 
 1 Grosart's Wordsworth's Prose Works, vol. iii. p. 484 
 (3 Vols. 8vo, 1876;. 
 
 2 Page 34 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and for the greater Health, Purity, and Perfection of 
 this Lower World. 
 
 • I will not say, that the Great Person I here write 
 of, was of this sort : But this, I think, may notwith- 
 standing be afhrm'd ; that he seem'd to act or appear 
 as one of these. And it was once his own Expres- 
 sion (yet free and unaffected) of himself ; That he had 
 as a fiery Arrow been shot into the World; and he 
 hoped, that he had hit the Mark. And certainly that 
 noble Zeal and Activity which was in him, was not a 
 little Extraordinary. He was truly in his time a 
 burning and a shining Light : And there were not 
 a few that did and do rejoice in it.' 
 
 Be it noted that in the preceding, the rebel 
 against his father's theological 'Predestina- 
 tion ' affirms an ethical predestination. 
 
 Again : x — 
 
 ' The Dr. had always a great care to preserve His 
 Body as a well-strung Instrument to His Soul, that 
 so they might be both in Tune, and make due Musick 
 and Harmony together. His Body, he said, seem'd 
 built for a Hundred Years, if he did not over-debilitate 
 it with his Studies. But with respect to these I have 
 also heard him say, That it was almost a Wonder to 
 him at times, that he had not long before then fired, (as 
 he express'd it) his little World about him : And that 
 he thought, there were not many that could have born 
 that high Warmth and Activity of Thoughtfulness, 
 and intense Writing, that he himself had done; Or 
 to that purpose. And there was one Thing farther 
 Observable, which he would sometimes speak of; 
 That after all his Study, and Depth of Thought in the 
 Day-time ; when he came to sleep {more especially ivhen 
 Young) he had a strange sort of Narcotick Power (as 
 his Word was) that drew him to it ; and he was no 
 sooner, in a manner, laid in his Bed, but the Falling 
 of a House would scarce wake him : When yet early in 
 the Morning he was wont to awake usually into an 
 immediate unexpressible Life and Vigour ; with all 
 his Thoughts and Notions raying (as I may so speak) 
 about him, as Beams surrounding the Centre from 
 whence they all Proceed.' 
 
 Once more : 2 — 
 
 ' I say {breaks he out in a Place of it) that a Free, 
 Divine, Universalis d Spirit is worth all. How 
 lovely, how Magnificent a State is the Soul of Matt 
 in, when the Life of God inactuating her, shoots 
 her along with himself through Heaven and Earth ; 
 makes her Unite with, and after a Sort feel her 
 
 1 Pages 41-42. 
 
 : Pages 48-51. 
 
 self animate the whole World, c><r. This is to be 
 become Dei-form, to be thus suspended, (not by 
 Imagination, but by Union of Life ; Ktvrpov Kivrpy 
 ffwaxpavra, joining Centres with God) and by a 
 sensible Touch to be held up from the clotty dark 
 Personality of this Compacted Body. Here is Love, 
 here is Freedom, here is Justice and Equity in the 
 Super-essential Causes of them. He that is here 
 looks upon All things as One ; and on himself, if he 
 can then Mind himself, as a part of the Whole. 
 
 ' And after much more both of Zeal and Triumph, 
 he goes on thus ; 
 
 1 Nor am I out of my Wits, as some may fondly 
 interpret me in this Divine Freedom. But the Love 
 of God compell'd me. Nor am I at all, Philalethes, 
 Enthusiastical. For God doth not ride me as a 
 Horse, and guide me I know not whither my self; 
 but converseth with me as a Friend ; and speaks to 
 me in such a Dialect as I understand fully, and can 
 make others understand, that have not made Ship- 
 wrack of the Faculties that God hath given them, by 
 Superstition or Sensuality : For with such I cannot 
 converse, because they do not converse with God ; 
 but only pity them, or am angry with them, as I am 
 Merry and Pleasant with Thee. For God hath per- 
 mitted to me all these things ; and I have it under 
 the Broad Seal of Heaven. Who dare Charge me ? 
 God doth acquit me. For he hath made me full 
 Lord of the Four Elements ; and hath constituted 
 me Emperour of the World. I am in the Fire of 
 Choler, and am not burn'd ; in the Water of Phlegm, 
 and am not drown'd ; in the Airy Sanguine, and yet 
 not blown away with every blast of transient Pleasure, 
 or vain Doctrines of Men ; I descend also into the 
 sad Earthly Melancholy, and yet am not buried from 
 the Sight of my God. I am, Philalethes, (though I 
 dare say thou takest me for no Bird of Paradise) 
 Incola Colli in Terrd, an Inhabitant of Paradise and 
 Heaven upon Earth. — I sport with the Beasts of the 
 Earth ; the Lion licks my Hand like a Spaniel ; and 
 the Serpent sleeps upon my Lap, and stings me not. 
 I play with the Fowls of Heaven ; and the Birds of 
 the Air sit Singing on my Fist.— All these things are 
 true in a Sober Sense. And the Dispensation I live 
 in, is more Happiness above all measure, than if thou 
 could'st call down the Moon so near thee, by thy 
 Magick Charms, that thou mayst kiss her, as she is 
 said to have kiss'd Endymeon ; or couldst stop the 
 Course of the Sun ; or which is all one, with one 
 Stamp of thy Foot stay the Motion of the Earth. 
 ' I will conclude with a Passage he hath before. 
 ' He that is come hither, God hath taken him to 
 be his own Familiar Friend ': And though he speaks 
 to others aloof off, in Outward Religions and 
 
MEMO RIAL- IN TROD UCTION. 
 
 Parables; yet he leads this Man by the Hand, teach- 
 ing him intelligible Documents upon all the Objects 
 of his Providence; speaks to him plainly in his own 
 Language ; sweetly insinuates himself, and possesseth 
 all his Faculties, Understanding, Reason and Memory. 
 This is the Darling of God ; and a Prince amongst 
 Men ; far above the Dispensation of either Miracle 
 or Prophesie. ' 
 
 Further : a — 
 
 ' HE had spent, he said to one, many Happy Days 
 in his Chamber ; And that his Labours were to him 
 often in looking back upon them, as an Aromatick 
 Field. So sweet and pleasing a Fruit did they yield 
 to him ; and so satisfied was his Mind in the Con- 
 templation of them. 
 
 ' And it is here worthy of special Remark, what He 
 said likewise, upon another Occasion, of Himself; 
 as I had it from those that were then present. 
 When some in the Company were speaking with 
 Regret of the Time they had lost, or how they would 
 act if it was to be all pass'd over again ; He replied, 
 (and it was not many Years before he died) That if 
 he was to live his whole time over again, he would do 
 just, for tlie main, as he had done. Which is such an 
 egregious Attestation to his Piety and Conduct ; and 
 such an Applause of Conscience to its own Actions, 
 and that for a whole Life ; as is not, I believe we 
 shall all agree, to be easily met with. 
 
 1 There were some, as he expressed it, amongst the 
 Spiritualists, that would have had him, he thought, to 
 go up upon a Stall, and from thence preach to the People. 
 But in the telling of this, he broke out into this High 
 and Extraordinary Expression ; I have measured 
 my self from the Height to the Depth ; and know what 
 I can do, and what I ought to do, and I do it. But 
 the Air, the Person told me, and Gesture with which 
 he said it, was so Noble and Unaffected ; that he 
 knew not which most to admire, the Thing it self, or 
 the Manner of speaking it. 
 
 Again : 2 — 
 
 1 It was not for nothing that Extraordinary Ex- 
 pression fell so Emphatically from his Pen, Enthus. 
 Triumph. Numb. 53. / profess, I stand amaz\i, 
 while I consider the ineffable Advantage of a Mind 
 thus submitted to the Divine Will ; hoio calm, /mu 
 comprehensive, how quick aiui sensible s/ie is, how 
 free, how sagacious, ofhozo tender a Touch aiu.1 Judg- 
 ment she is in all things.'' 
 
 Finally here : 3 — 
 
 1 Tages 77-78. 
 
 2 Pages 78-79. 
 
 3 Pages 89-90. 
 
 ' FOR Purity ; Doubtless he had arrived to the 
 Highest Measures and degrees of it. You may see 
 his Description of this Virtue also in his Enthusias- 
 mus Triumphatus, as well as in the Place of his 
 Mystery of Godliness before referr'd to. Understand- 
 ing by it a due Moderation ami Rule over all the Joys 
 and Pleasures of the Flesh ; bearing so strict an Hand, 
 and having so watchful an Eye over tJieir Subtil 
 Enticements and Allurements, and that firm and 
 loyal Affection to that Idea of Ccelestial Beauty set up 
 in our Minds, that neither the Pains of the Body, nor 
 the Pleasures of the Animal Life, shall ever work us 
 below our Spiritual Happiness, and all the competible 
 Enjoyments of that Life that is truly Divine. 
 
 'And this undoubtedly was his own most true 
 State, His Body was for its part not Unsuitable to 
 his Mind, Temperance and Devotion, Charity and 
 Humility, seem to have refined his Nature and inmost 
 Spirits, to an Extraordinary Pitch of Sanctity and 
 Purity. This, saith he to Eugenius, (speaking of 
 the State of J'irtue he was under) is that true 
 Chymical Fire, that hath purged my Soul, and 
 purified it ; and hath Chrystaliz'd it into a bright 
 Throne, and shining Habitation of the Divine 
 Majesty.' 
 
 Turning similarly to his Poetry, the most 
 casual reader will be struck by touches of 
 self-portraiture declarative of the same Words- 
 worthian consciousness of his largeness of 
 soul and intellectual strength. Adaperturaiit 
 libri, — let these speak for themselves : — 
 
 ' The just and constant man, a multitude 
 Set upon mischief cannot him constrain 
 To do amisse by all their uprores rude ; 
 Not for a tyrants threat will he ere stain 
 His inward honour. The rough Adrian 
 Tost with unquiet winds doth nothing move 
 His steddy heart. Much pleasure he doth gain 
 To see the glory of his Master Jove, 
 When his drad darts with hurrying light through all do 
 rove. 
 
 ' If Heaven and Earth should rush with a great noise, 
 He fearlesse stands ; he knows whom he doth trust, 
 Is confident of his souls after joyes, 
 Though this vain bulk were grinded into dust. 
 Strange strength residcth in tiic soul that's just. 
 She feels her power how't commands the sprite 
 Of the low man, vigorously finds she must 
 Be independent of such feeble might, 
 Whose motions dare not 'pear before her awfull sight.' 
 
 (p. 84, St. 12, 13.) 
 
 Again: — 
 
 ' But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse 
 Seemeth to vaunt as in got victory, 
 
ME MORI A L-IN TROD UCTION. 
 
 And with puissant stroke the head to bruize 
 Of her stiffe foe, and daze his pbantasie, 
 < iptive his reason, dead each faculty : 
 Yet in her self so strong a force withstands 
 That of her set/ afraid, she 11 not aby, 
 Nor keep the field. She'll fall by her own hand 
 As Ajax once laid Ajax dead upon the strand.' 
 
 (p. 87, st. 39.) 
 
 Once more : — 
 
 ' Hence, hence unhallowed ears and hearts more hard 
 Then winter clods fast froze with Northern wind. 
 But most of all, foul tongue I thee discard 
 That blamest all that thy dark strait'ned mind, 
 Cannot conceive : But that no blame thou find ; 
 Whate're my pregnant Muse brings forth to light, 
 She'll not acknowledge to be of her kind, 
 Till Eagle-like she turn them to the sight 
 Of the eternall Word, all deckt with glory bright. 
 
 ' Strange sights do straggle in my restlesse thoughts, 
 And lively forms with orient colours clad 
 Walk in my boundlesse mind, as men ybrought 
 Into some spacious room, who when they've had 
 A turn or two, go out, although unbad. 
 All these I see and know, but entertain 
 None to my friend but who's most sober sad ; 
 Although, the time my roof doth them contain 
 Their presence doth possesse me till they out again.' 
 
 (p. 91, st. 1, 2.) 
 
 Further : — 
 
 ' Yet doth the soul of such like forms discourse, 
 And finden fault at this deficiency, 
 And rightly term this better and that worse ; 
 Wherefore the measure is our own Idee, 
 Which th' humane soul in her own self doth see. 
 And sooth to sayen when ever she doth strive 
 To find pure truth, her own profundity 
 She enters, in her self doth deeply dive ; 
 From thence attempts each essence rightly to descrive. ' 
 
 (p. in, st. 39.) 
 
 Thus realizing within himself the ' height 
 and depth ' of the human soul — his own, the 
 measure and type of both to himself — 
 Henry More combined withal a touching 
 personal humility, and was eager to ' serve ' 
 and to communicate. I think of him in 
 Christ's College and in the University as a 
 Knight of the Red-Cross shield, leading a 
 pure white life unstained and unstainable as 
 the light. It is well that so many sat at his 
 feet and welcomed his books ; for if ever 
 man has been a saint on earth and the in- 
 
 carnation of his own ideal, it was this Mystic 
 and Christian-Platonist. 
 
 I do not attempt so much as an enumera- 
 tion of his manifold prose Writings. That 
 were out-of-place in an Introduction to his 
 Verse. Suffice it that they grew out of two 
 main things, (a) His Meditativeness on 
 human nature — with himself in all the 
 subtleties of a natively subtle intellect and 
 emotional temperament, for text ; {b) His 
 omnivorous reading and learning — as miscel- 
 laneous and odd as Robert Burton's, and as 
 varied and unexpected as Thomas Fuller's, 
 though, sooth to say, without either's fusing 
 and transfusing faculty. From the former 
 — as I think — you have in his most fantastic 
 speculations and inferences, substantive 
 additions to high philosophical thought and 
 darts of insight into intellectual and spiritual 
 problems that are like intuition. From the 
 latter, you have throughout, if not learning 
 in the highest and exactest sense, extra- 
 ordinary extent of reading and recollection. 
 One must smile at his Cabbalistical-Hebraistic 
 lore and credulous interpretation of ' pro- 
 phecies ' and 'visions,' as of the Apocalypse; 
 but you will never read a book of his without 
 coming on original thinking illustrated by re- 
 condite quotations. His much 'reading' 
 (or learning) was drawn on inevitably from 
 his manifold attacks and opponents — as 
 Descartes — Dr. Joseph Beaumont — John 
 Butler, B.D. — Thomas Vaughan — H. Stubbe 
 — Sir Matthew Hale — Richard Hayter. His 
 ' Cabbalistical ' reveries (not to call them 
 ' vagaries ') sent him a-searching in wasteful 
 places. Many a forgotten folio had the 
 dust blown from it by this eager inquirer. 
 Must it be owned that he saw through his 
 spectacles in all such reading, rather than 
 through his own ' cleare eyen ' 1 
 
 That our Worthy sequestered himself so 
 absolutely was of his own choice : for he 
 had abundant opportunities of acquiring 
 important and influential public positions. 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 Ward tells us this garrulously yet with fine 
 touches, as thus : 1 — 
 
 ' Truly what, if we consider it, was his Whole Life 
 spent in, but in a Course of Retirement and Con- 
 templation ; in the Viewing of the Works of God 
 and A T ature, and a rejoycing at the Happiness of the 
 Creatures that have been made by Him ; in doing 
 Honour unto God, and Good to Men ; in Clearing up 
 the Existence of God, and his Attributes ; and skewing 
 the Excellency and the Reasonableness both of Provi- 
 dence and of Religion ; more especially in Asserting 
 the Christian Religion, and Magnifying, after the 
 justest manner, Him who is the Author and FinisJier 
 of it ; in the Illustrating of our 5fofe Present and 
 Future ; and in a very particular Discovery of the 
 two Grand Mysteries both of Godliness and Iniquity ; 
 in the Clearing up of Truth and Dissipating of 
 Err our ; and in a most diligent laying open the 
 Visions and Prop/iesies of Zfo/j/ Scripture ; in a word, 
 in a universal Promoting the Interests of i%B?£ and 
 Righteousness in the Earth ; and giving in general an 
 Example of Prudence and Piety, of Charity and /;*- 
 tegrity amongst Men ? It was sometimes his Expres- 
 sion amongst his Friends, 7%atf ^ should not have 
 known what to have done hi the World, if he could 
 not have preach'd at his Fingers Ends. His Voice 
 was somewhat inward; and so not fit for that of a 
 Publick Orator. 
 
 ' FOR the being Preferred to any Great Dignities ; 
 He was so far from Coveting, that he particularly 
 Declined it : Making good here that Expression of a 
 Father ; Totus ei Mundus possessio est, qui toto eo 
 quasi suo utitur. The whole World is the large Pos- 
 session of him that useth and enjoys the whole as his 
 own. 
 
 ' I have seen Letters from an Honourable Person 
 to him, Courting him to accept of very great Prefer- 
 ments in Ireland ; and assuring him, that the Interest 
 was actually made, and the Way smooth'd to his 
 Hands with the Lord Deputy. The Deanary of 
 Christ-Church, said to be worth 900/. per Annum, 
 was one ; and the Provostship of Dublin College with 
 the Deanary of St. Patricks was another. And these 
 were but by way of Preparation to something Greater : 
 For there were withal two Bishopricks in view offer'd 
 to his Choice ; of which one was said to be valued 
 at no less then 150x3/. per Annum. And that Noble 
 Person added this Piece of Pleasant and Friendly 
 Instigation ; Pray be not so Morose, or Humoursome, 
 as to refuse all things you have not known so long as 
 Christ-College. 
 
 1 Pages 57-60. 
 
 ' Nay farther, to shew his Temper in these Matters, 
 I have been inform 'd from such as had it from him- 
 self ; that a very good Bishoprick was procur'd for 
 him once in this our own Kingdom ; and that his 
 Friends had got him on a Day as far as White-Hall, 
 in order to the Kissing of the Royal Hand for it : 
 But when he understood the Business, he was not 
 upon any account to be perswaded to it. 
 
 'These things he refus'd not from any Supercilious 
 Contempt ; but from the pure Love of Contemplation, 
 and Solitude ; and because he thought that he could 
 do the Church of God greater Service, as also better 
 enjoy his own Proper Happiness, in a Private than 
 in a Publick Station : Taking great Satisfaction, the 
 mean while, in the Promotion of many Pious and 
 Learned Men to these Places of Trust and Honour 
 in the Church ; (To whom he heartily congratulated 
 such Dignities) and being exceeding Sensible of the 
 Weight as well as the Honour of them ; and how 
 Necessary it was to have them fill'd with Able and 
 Worthy Persons. 
 
 ' Once indeed, and that about 12 Years before 
 he died, he accepted of a Prebend in the Church of 
 Gloucester ; given him by the Right Honourable 
 the Earl of Nottingham, then Lord Chancellour of 
 Englaiul : But he soon made a shift, (not without, 
 I believe, such an original Intent) to resign it again ; 
 Procuring it at the same time for one of his Worthy 
 Friends, now himself a Right Reverend Bishop of 
 our Church : To whom, when he would have reim- 
 burs'd him his Charges, he pleasantly said, That if 
 he would not accept it upon his own Terms, he might 
 let it alone. And though he thus desir'd Nothing for 
 himself; yet was he Happily instrumental in the 
 doing Signal Services unto others : Nor was any one 
 more ready to serve a Friend, or more Active therein, 
 than He was, whenever there was a good Oppor- 
 tunity offer'd him. ' 
 
 And so he 'liv'd and died a private 
 Fellow of Christ's College in Cambridge ; ' 
 having troops of friends and disciples, and 
 such correspondents among others as 
 Descartes and Van Helmont, but shrink- 
 ing from the ostentation and noise of the 
 world outside. Nevertheless he had quick 
 and practical sympathies with the poor and 
 the suffering. His Biographer tells us— 
 ' His very Chamber-Door was a Hospital to 
 the Needy' (p. 85). 
 
 Principal Tulloch has well summed up 
 his retired life— 'Such a life as More's neces- 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 sarily presents few points of contact with the 
 great events of his time. " He was so busy 
 in his chamber with his pen and lines as not 
 to mind much the bustles and affairs of the 
 world without." He did not occupy any 
 party position, even in that indefinite sense 
 in which Whichcote and Cudworth may be 
 said to have done. He had no relations 
 with the statesmen of the civil war and the 
 Commonwealth, and never made, like his 
 friends, any prominent public appearance. 
 Educated in a Calvinistic although not a 
 Puritan home [?], he turned aside very early 
 from all that could have connected him with 
 the religious parties dominant in his youth. 
 His ideal was the Church of England as it 
 existed before the times of disturbance — the 
 Church of the Reformation and of Hooker ' 
 (n. pp. 335-6). The same Writer, with 
 shrewd outlook and insight, reminds us of a 
 modern parallel, as eloquently thus : — ' If 
 More's life as a student kept him retired 
 from the world, it greatly stimulated his pro- 
 ductivity as an author. Probably, also, it 
 contributed in some degree to the endless 
 prolixity and repetitions of his writings. 
 We feel especially with him — as more or less 
 with all the Cambridge school, except Which- 
 cote — that we are conversing with a mind 
 too little braced by active discipline, and the 
 prompt, systematic, compact habits which 
 come from large intercourse with men, and 
 the affairs which stir men to powerful move- 
 ment or great ambitions. The air of a 
 school, which was after all confined to a 
 narrow if influential sphere, is more pervad- 
 ing in his writings than in any of the others. 
 Christ College, with its books, is never far 
 out of sight ; and all the sweetness and 
 seclusion of Ragley, " the solemness of the 
 place, its shady walks and hills and woods, 
 where he lost sight of the world and the 
 world of him ' (Ep. ded. to Immortality of 
 the Soul) did not help to let the light of day 
 or the breath of the common air into his 
 
 " choice Theories," however they may have 
 assisted him in " finding them out " and 
 elaborating them. In this respect we have 
 been reminded more than once of an analogy 
 betwixt him and the leaders of the modern 
 High-Church school in its original develop- 
 ment. Oxford and Hursely Parsonage may 
 not inaptly be compared to Cambridge and 
 Ragley ; and the enervating force of a wilful 
 seclusion from the world is certainly not less 
 conspicuous in Keble and Newman — 
 although in a different direction — than in 
 our author. It may be pleasant to keep 
 away from the "bustles and affairs of the 
 world without," as it is pleasant to contem- 
 plate the peculiar beauty and serenity of 
 character which ripens amidst such retire- 
 ment, but, after all, no man can escape from 
 his fellow-men, and the rough facts of 
 ordinary human life, without spiritual and 
 intellectual injury. The product may be 
 finer that is grown in solitude, but it will 
 neither be so useful, nor, in many respects, 
 so true and good' (11. pp. 339, 340). 
 
 I must now leave Ward to give his 
 account in his own lingering and loving and 
 loveable way, with innumerable personal 
 traits and characteristics, of 'the end': 1 — 
 
 ' I AM brought now at length to give an Account of 
 his Death and Last Illness : Which I shall do chiefly 
 from one that was a faithful Attender on him in it ; 
 and who, as he ever honour'd him with a very 
 Particular Honour, so did he signally shew it upon 
 this Occasion. A very Great Person in our Church, 
 and no less Friend to the Doctor, was pleas' d to say ; 
 That he never observ'd a greater Instance of Friend- 
 ship in any Person, than in this Party at that Time. 
 And to my Knowledge it was very Extraordinary ; 
 and no less Grateful and Serviceable to his Dear 
 Friend the Doctor: Who would several times tell 
 him ; That he was a mighty Cordial and Refreshment 
 to him. To my self he express'd hozu greatly he was 
 obliged to him for his Company ; and that he should 
 not have known what almost to have done without him. 
 From this Worthy and Reverend Person, my Honoured 
 Friend Dr. John Davies, it is (I say) mainly, that I 
 
 1 Pages 213-227. 
 
ME MORI A L-INTROD UC TION. 
 
 shall with all Faithfulness give the Reader an Account 
 of that Cloud and Weakness, which after some time 
 carried off the Doctor from this to a Better Life. 
 
 ' He enjoy'd in the general (though Checquer'd with 
 some Illnesses, and what he call'd, I remember, once 
 a Valetudinarian State) an excellent Habit both of 
 Body and of Mind ; as may sufficiently be collected 
 (amongst other things) from the Nature and Frequency 
 of his Writings. But for some time before his Last 
 Sickness, he found himself to be often pretty much 
 out of Order ; and had particularly many times every 
 3d or \th Turn an intermitting Pulse ; and once for 
 Six Hours together (though he seem'd otherwise to 
 be well, and went into the Hall) no Pulse at all. 
 He was taken one Night after Supper very 111 in the 
 Fellows Room, and swooned away ; He complained 
 afterwards, That his Distemper was Wind, but he 
 hoped it would not carry him atvay in a Storm. This 
 was about a Year before he died. And the Summer 
 before this, for many Nights together, he felt himself 
 in a perfect Fever : But it going off again after a few 
 Hours, and he sleeping well the rest of the Night, 
 and finding himself at Ease, and fit for Study in the 
 Morning, with an Appetite for his Meat, Dinner and 
 Supper, he took no farther notice of it. 
 
 ' But it had been much Happier in all Probability (I 
 say not for himself, but for the Church and Publick) 
 if he had given some more heed to these Friendly 
 Items of Nature. But immoderate Studies past (not 
 to say, and present too) the Breakings and Weak- 
 nesses of Age, with some Trouble in Affairs more 
 than Ordinary from without (which yet could never, 
 I am perswaded, have made that Impression upon 
 his Mind at any other Season) meeting altogether 
 with an actual Indisposition, drew him at length into 
 a sort of Sadness and Deficiency of Spirits : Inso- 
 much that my Friend writing to me about that time, 
 gave me this Account. He seems to labour under a 
 Divine Melancholy ; from whence notwithstanding he 
 promiseth to himself a very great Advantage in the 
 End. And in that same Letter again, speaking of the 
 Decays of Strength he was under, he adds this upon 
 it : But his Mind is Vigorous within ; and breaths, 
 beyond what I can express, after GOD and Virtue. 
 
 1 This was in November before his Death : And much 
 to the same purpose was that which he wrote the 
 Month following ; Our most Excellent Friend is still 
 held in a Doubtful State, as to the Recovery of his 
 Health : But he aspires, with an incredible Ardour of 
 Mind, after that which is Best. And a while after 
 he was pleas'd to send me the ensuing Relation ; 
 That he had been let Blood, and seem'd after it much 
 better than before ; yet it had a great deal of black 
 Melancholy in it, though other Parts of it were very 
 Florid and Sanguine : That though before the Writing 
 
 19 
 
 of this Letter, at his sitting dotun to Dinner, he look'd 
 dispirited, yet it was also with an Appearance of 
 approaching Health ; but before he had dined, and after 
 Dinner, I never sazo (saith he) more vigorous Emana- 
 tions from him, nor the Air of his Face Stronger or 
 Chearfuller. 
 
 ' Yet after all this promising Appearance, the Sun 
 began soon to be clouded afresh ; and the dark sullen 
 Vapours, as glad to take him at so great an 
 Advantage, to be multiplied upon him ; till weary 
 with struggling, this envelop'd Star yielded at length 
 to their Force and Power ; and was carried away by 
 them from its State here into another Region ; yet 
 in this Case not to lose, but to increase (as I said) his 
 Lustre in that New World. 
 
 ' As his Body had been out of Tune, for some time, 
 so had his Mind in a sort, before his great Illness ; I 
 speak as to that deep and Plastick sense (to use his 
 own term) he had been under usually in Divine 
 Matters : Insomuch that he complained on a certain 
 time to his Friend, That he had for a long Season been 
 in as good a Way as he could almost wish ; but he knew 
 not, how he came to be whimm'd off from it (as his 
 Expression was). And he noted again afterwards, 
 how the Plastick went one way, and his Intellective 
 another. If he was to live, he could fetch them both up 
 together (he said) again; but for that, he left it wholly 
 to the Will and good Providence of God. And perhaps 
 his over-great Endeavours to do this, in the State he 
 was in, prov'd still but the more Injurious to him. 
 He was (if possible) for making all Vital and Unison 
 anew (with respect, I mean, both to Body and Mind) 
 and for the rendring of his Affections and Passions, 
 as well as Reason and Understanding, Joyous and 
 Livine. He took notice once, looking on his Hands, 
 That his Body (as he express'd it) was strangely nm 
 out. His meaning, I conceive, was, Things were 
 not so Compact and Spiritous in it as they had 
 formerly been. 
 
 ' Even this Wonderful Matt (saith my Friend to me, 
 in another of his Letters) repents him of several things 
 that are past ; and complains, that he hath not been in 
 all things so closely united to the Will of God, as a 
 Faithful and Perfect Servant of Christ ought to be. 
 And he said to him another time ; That Repentance 
 was a sweet thing. And yet it is certainly True, 
 what he spoke to this same Person many Years before, 
 as we have above remark'd ; That he did not remember 
 of a long time, that he had done any thing that was 
 really Evil. In all which, if rightly understood, 
 there is nothing, as I conceive, either of vain Boast 
 or of Contradiction : And there may be a Difference 
 between the not doing things truly Sinful, and the 
 not doing all the Good that was possible ; or that 
 might tend to a greater Perfection. 
 
 d 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ' He was twice (as I take it) after that first time let 
 Blood again ; and then there appear'd nothing of that 
 black Melancholy in it : But yet still it avail'd not 
 to a Recovery. 
 
 ' In June I my self saw him ; and twice waited on 
 him. He was the first time much indispos'd ; as 
 much almost, my Friend told me, as he had seen him 
 any time of his Illness. Weaker indeed he was after- 
 wards ; but little more disorder'd : The Calamity (he 
 was pleas'd to tell me) of his Condition had been 
 exceeding great ; that for many Weeks together he had 
 liv\i almost a perpetual Pervigilium {with little or no 
 Sleep at all) So that it was a I Fonder, and the great 
 Mercy of God to him, that he had not been perfectly 
 Distracted. Yet that Day he walked abroad ; and 
 Trudent, Tious, and even Pleasant things would come 
 from him. 
 
 ' He had a Melancholy, and some unruly Ferment of 
 Nature about him. It was his own Reflection more 
 than once to his Friend ; That his Body was out of 
 Order ; but that as to his Mind, it 7vas in its right 
 Frame, and fix'd on God. He said, He thought he 
 should have dyed Laughing ; but was sensible now 
 how much the Scene was chang'd with him, and 
 repeated twice (as I remember) That he was as a Fish 
 out of its Element, and that lay tumbling in the Dust 
 of the Street. And at another time he said, That he 
 was but the Remains of an Ordinary Man. 
 
 ' He was very Sensible of the State he was in, and 
 the Occasion it might give the World to discourse ; 
 and that some possibly might be prone to make an ill 
 Use of it to the Prejudice of his Writings: But then he 
 pleasantly observ'd upon it this ; That Ju had read of 
 a Person, an excellent Mathematician, that at last came 
 to doat ; but none (saith he) will say, that any of his 
 former Demonstrations zaere ever the worse for all that. 
 Than which I know not what could have been said 
 more solidly or ingeniously by any person. 
 
 ' The second time I saw him, he was in an extra- 
 ordinary Calm and Easy temper. I was expressing 
 my Hopes to see him perfectly recover'd. He 
 replied, That GOD alone knew that; to whom, 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ, he entirely resign'd all 
 that concerted him ; and that there was his Anchor- 
 age, and his Rest : Not doubting of the Remission 
 of all his Sins, through him that had dyed on the 
 Cross for them. To which he added, That never 
 any person thirsted more after his Meat and Drink, 
 than He, if it pleas'd God, after a Release from the 
 Body : Professing withal, that he had deserved greater 
 Afflictions from the Hands of God, than those he had 
 met with. 
 
 ' I took an Occasion to say ; That he might indeed 
 be the willinger to die, because he seem'd to have 
 done the great Work that God had sent him into the 
 
 World for. His Answer was, That he hoped he had 
 not spent his Time in Vain ; and that his Writings 
 would be of Use to the Church of God, ami to Mankind. 
 It was his Expression (it seems) some Years before 
 this ; That it was to him a very great Pleasure, to 
 think that, when he was gone out of the World, lie 
 should still converse with it by his Writings. As he 
 added also farther at this time to my self; That it 
 was a great Satisfaction to him, to consider that he was 
 going to those, with whom he should be as well 
 acquainted in a quarter of an Hour, as if he had 
 Known them many Years. And this was the Last 
 Time I had the Honour and Happiness to see him, 
 being much Pleas'd to leave him so Easy and in so 
 Hopeful a way, as I thought, of Recovery. 
 
 ' But the Divine Foresight had not decreed his Stay 
 here. His Weakness continued, and advanced upon 
 him. Yet as a Wise Person, both living and dying, 
 and to add now at last to all the rest of his Pious 
 and Prudent Reflections, he said this to his Friend 
 towards the End of his Sickness ; " It is the frequent 
 Trick of some of the Romanists, when they speak of 
 Men that have writ more than Ordinarily against 
 them, to give out, that they alter'd their Minds before 
 they died : Therefore do you tell all my Friends, that 
 I have the same Sense of the Church of Rome, and 
 of all the Great Points of Religion now, that I had 
 when I wrote : And farther, if any one shall pretend, 
 that he ever heard me speak any thing that is Con- 
 trary to my Publick Writings ; assure them again, 
 They are my true Sense ; and that to them I stand. 
 
 • He was not (as likewise most other Persons at that 
 time) without a due Sense, and Sollicitous Fore- 
 sight, of what seem'd so plainly coming on us in a 
 late Reign. We had a very Prudent Power (he said) 
 over us. Such was his own Prudent and Cautious 
 Expression that he used to my self. And he added 
 somewhat at that time ; That he hoped, he should be 
 7-eady for whatever it should please God to cut out for 
 him. But to his Faithful Friend and Attender he 
 said more particularly, and at large, thus ; That if 
 he were to be called out to a Stake, he could speak little 
 to the People in that Cojuiition : But this (saith he) / 
 think, would be sufficient ; to let them knoiv, that my 
 Sense, as to all Points in Controversy between us and 
 the Church of Rome, was in my Publick Works ; 
 and that L was there come to seal it with my Blood. 
 And certain it is, that a very small time before his 
 Death, he seem'd with some Concern to express it; 
 That he should not do that Service to the Truth, as to 
 die or suffer in Testimony of it: But however, he 
 having writ so very freely, and thereby having so much 
 exposed himself to it, and being ready in Mind, as he 
 had often declared himself to be ; it might not be 'without 
 its Use. 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 ' And this reminds me now of another Passage in 
 the Doctor, which he likewise spake of (and I tell it 
 here, on Condition it may not be mis-interpreted 
 by any) viz. That some time before his Illness (on 
 what Occasion I know not) he was making at a 
 leisure time (by way of Diversion or Experiment) an 
 Anagram of his Name, Henricus Moras Cantabrigien- 
 sis. It was falling otherwise at first ; but not hitting 
 thoroughly, it settled it self at length with these 
 significant and exact Words ; Insignis Heros cumam 
 se curabit? (Why should this Eximious Heros be 
 Sollicitous for himself?) Which he soon naturally 
 interpreted as a sort of gentle Reprehension from 
 Providencey^r it : As it could not also, at the same 
 time, but serve as greatly to fortifie his Mind under it. 
 Certain it is, as well the Character as the Sense was 
 very highly Applicable to both the Person and the 
 Season. 
 
 ' He profess'd with Tears in his Eyes ; That he had 
 with great Sincerity offer 'd what he had written to the 
 World ; and added this afterwards, That he had 
 spent all his Time in the State of those Words, Quid 
 Verum sit, cr= quid Bonum, quaro, &• rogo ; &-= in 
 hoc Omnis sum : That what is good, and what is true, 
 were the two great things that he had always sought 
 and enquir'd after, and was wholly indeed taken up 
 with them. Which is not much unlike that of 
 Siracides, at large taken notice of in his Preface 
 general ; and which he there affirms to be the Bent 
 and Scope of all his Writings whatsoever; and shews 
 it by a particular Application to be so. Quid est 
 Homo ? &C What is man, and whereto serveth he ? 
 What is his Good, and what is his evil ? And then 
 he adds this ; Whoso affects Niceties, or unprofitable 
 Curiosities, let him seek them elsewhere : What 
 Fruit, or Entertainment this my own Garden affords, 
 I have sufficiently by this inform'd the Reader. 
 
 'This calls to my Remembrance a Saying of 
 Lactantius ; Primus Sapientice Gradus, dr'c. The 
 first Degree of Wisdom is, to uiuierstand the things 
 which are false ; the second, those that are true ; than 
 which there can no greater Pleasure appertain to Man. 
 As Tully again hath very Heroically asserted ; That 
 there was no better Gift ever yet given unto Mankind, 
 No, nor ever shall be, than the Kncnvledge of 
 Philosophy. Which, if it be understood of the 
 Highest Wisdom and Philosophy indeed, both 
 Natural and ReveaPd, is most True and Sacred 
 according unto that of Philotheus in the Dialogues ; 
 For my Part, I look upon the Christian Religion 
 rightly understood, to be the deepest and choicest 
 Piece of Philosophy that is. And how much he 
 undervalued all Other Philosophy in comparison of 
 this, or when void of the Virtues and Graces of it, 
 may at large be seen, Dial. 3. Numb. 3. 
 
 ' Demosthenes is said to have griev'd at his Death, 
 after having liv'd 107 Years, that he should go out 
 of the World, When he was but just beginning to grow 
 Wise. The Doctor, on the contrary, had been long 
 acquainted both with A r atural and Divine Wisdom ; 
 and died Contentedly in the full, and even antient 
 Embraces and Possessions of them : And this to that 
 Degree, that it puts me in mind of that Notable 
 Saying of one of the Philosophers; Cum Homo 
 copulatus fuerit Intellectui per Scientiam omnium 
 Rerum complete, tutu est Deus in Humano Corpore 
 hospitatus. i.e. When a Man shall be joined to 
 Intellect, or Understanding, by a sort of Complete 
 Knowledge of all things, then a God (or, as I would 
 interpret it, an extraordinary Hcroe) may be said to 
 sojourn in a Human Body. 
 
 ' Let me conclude here with that of the Poet ; and 
 which, I confess, I take to be the Doctor's Character 
 in a distinguishing manner. 
 
 Felix, qui potuit Rerum cognoscere Causas ; 
 Atque Metus omncs, cV inexorabile Fatum, 
 Subjecit pedibus , strepitumque Acherontis avari ! 
 
 To this Sense. 
 Happy the Man, that knows the Causes deep 
 Of Things ; and all dread Fears can under keep ; 
 Tread upon Death ' s inexorable Claws, 
 And slight the Roar of Acheron's rav'tious yaws. 
 
 But here I have run out, I fear, unseasonably. To 
 return to the Doctor, and to the Close of this Account 
 I am giving of him ; He broke out, but a short time 
 before he Died, thus : Doctor (saith he) / have 
 marvellous things to tell you. Sir, replied the other, 
 You are full, I suppose, of Divine foy. He answer'd 
 with a most deep Sense, Full. It is Pity but that 
 Reverend Person had ask'd him a little more 
 particularly about it ; namely, what those Marvellous 
 Things were : But he saw him extreme Weak ; and 
 so it pass'd over. 
 
 'The Day before he died, his Nephew Gabriel 
 More, Esq. , came to him ; being sent for out of the 
 Country by a Messenger on Purpose ; Whom though 
 some things had pass'd that were far from being 
 Grateful or Easy between them, (as the Publick since 
 hath been sufficiently acquainted) he made his Sole 
 Executor, and left a very large Addition of Estate to 
 him ; saluting him at his coming very affectionately, 
 and saying, Nephew, You are kindly Welcome. 
 
 ' He said particularly to a Party some time before 
 his Death, that he was throughly reconciled to him : 
 And when some admir'd at his Candour, He replied ; 
 There was something that drew a Man's Affections in 
 suck Cases almost -whether he would or no. 
 
 ' With respect to his being sent for, and the State 
 the Doctor was then in, I had this Account. "After 
 
MEMORL 1 L-1N TROD UCTION. 
 
 this he was in a clammy Sweat, and his Pulse almost 
 gone : Death seem'd to sit on his Countenance ; and 
 I thought he would have gone off. Asking him what 
 I should say to his Nephew ; He told me, that he 
 was exceeding Weak, and must refer him to my own 
 Informations ; but, said he very affectionately and 
 plainly, though also very weakly, my kind hearty 
 Love to him. When I ask'd him positively after- 
 wards, whether I should send for him, he seem'd 
 unresolv'd ; saying, that he was Alelancholick and 
 Suspicious, and might think that we play'd tricks 
 with him, if he should continue thus at trot, and loll, 
 and hang on.'' This Person since is dead himself; 
 and left the main of all that he had (as the Doctor 
 had also once intended to do) to Charitable Uses. 
 
 ' About 3 of the Clock the Day before he died, he 
 called for a Glass of Sack ; and seem'd somewhat 
 reviv'd ; his Face lost its Cloud, and his Pulse came 
 a little better, but very Weak. As his Friend was 
 speaking to him as a Dying Man should be spoken 
 to, he express'd his Sense of Death in those first 
 Words of that famous Sentence of Tully's ; Prce- 
 clarum ilium Diem ! The whole is to this Purpose ; 
 most Blessed Day ! when I shall come to that Com- 
 pany of Divine Souls above, and shall depart from 
 this Sink and Rout below. 
 
 ' That last Night of all, his Passionate Friend and 
 Lover, seeing him so extreme Weak, wish'd him a 
 Good Night with a more than Ordinary Pathos and 
 Affection : To whom he replied as deeply and affec- 
 tionately ; Good Night, Dear Doctor. And it was 
 the last time he ever saw him alive : For the next 
 Morning, between 4 and 5 of the Clock, being the 
 First of September, 1687, and the 73</ Year of his 
 Age (his Body as well as Mind being now Fit for it) 
 immediately before his Friend came into the Room, 
 and while his Steps were heard upon the Stairs, the 
 Doctor departed this Life ; in so Easy a manner, and 
 with so Calm a Passage, that the Nurse with him 
 was not sensible of it.' 
 
 There is added this : l — 
 
 ' He was Buried decently by his Executor, Sept. 3. 
 and lies Interr'd in the Chapel of that College, to 
 which he had been so long an Egregious Ornament. 
 He died indeed a Present and Future Honour, not 
 only to the College and University at large ; but to 
 the whole Church and Kingdom, the very Age he 
 liv'd in, and to the Race of Mankind. ' 
 
 In accord with this in the College Chapel, 
 within the altar rails, is a slab of marble, 
 forming part of the floor, with the following 
 inscription : — 
 
 1 Page 227. 
 
 [Arms.] 
 Here lyeth y e Body of Dr. Ralph Cudworth 
 late Master of Christ Colledge about 34 years 
 Hebrew Professor, & Prebendary of Gloucester he died 
 ye 26 th of June 1688 in y e 71 st year of his Age. 
 
 [Arms.] 
 As also : — 
 
 The Body of Dr. Henry Moore 
 late fellow of this College he died 
 ye ist of Sept. 1687 in ye 73d year of his 
 Age. 
 
 On the Eastern Wall of the Chapel is a 
 small plain tablet, with a Latin inscription 
 commemorative of Dr. Joseph Mede, More, 
 and Cudworth. 1 
 
 We take this summary ' Description of his 
 Person ' from Ward : 2 — 
 
 ' IT remains now to give a brief Touch upon the 
 Description of his Person. He was, for Stature in- 
 clining to Tallness ; of a thin Body, but of a Serene 
 and Vivacious Countenance ; rather pale in his latter 
 Years than florid of Complexion ; yet was it Clear and 
 Spirituous ; and his Eye hazel, Vivid as an Eagle. 
 One that knew him in his more middle Age, when he 
 was somewhat swarthy, compared him to the Appear- 
 ance of a duskish Diamond. He had an extraordinary 
 Purity and Tenuity of Spirits (if it need to be 
 repeated) which appear'd in the very Looks and Air 
 of his Face ; in which Seriousness and Pleasantness, 
 Gravity and Benignity, seem'd to seat themselves by 
 turns ; or rather, in a sort, to reside together. His 
 Temper was Sanguine ; yet with a due Quantity of 
 Noble Melancholy that was mix'd with it : As it was 
 Aristotle's Observation, That all Persons eminent, 
 whether in Philosophy, Politicks, Poetry, or any other 
 Arts, do partake pretty much of the Melancholick 
 Constitution. And the Reason seems evident ; for 
 that nothing of these can be Extraordinary, without 
 a certain Weight and Depth of Thoughtfulness in the 
 
 1 From the Rev. Dr. Cartmell, as before. The mural in- 
 scription may find a place here : — 
 
 Ut admoneantur Posteri 
 
 Sepultos fuisse in hoc sacello 
 
 Josephum Mede S. T. B. Socium 
 
 Henricum More S. T. P. Socium 
 
 Radulphum Cudworth S. T. P. Magistrum 
 
 Collegii Academiae Ecclesiae Anglicanae 
 
 Olim Lumina 
 
 Hanc Tabulum ponendam curarunt 
 
 Magister et Socii 
 
 A.D. MDCCCXXVIII. 
 
 It would seem that the three occupy one grave. 
 
 2 Page 228, 229, 230. 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 Frame and Complexion of Man. His Body was, in 
 the general, well proportion'd ; and his Person Fair 
 and Agreeable. In short, Nature had not fitted 
 amiss the Case to the Jewel, the Body to the Soul. 
 .... His Picture was twice drawn, and prefix'd to 
 his Writings. The first of these Draughts, placed 
 before the Theological Volume, was not happily 
 perfected : It had not the true Air, or Spirit of his 
 Countenance. The Motto's underneath it are a much 
 truer Representation of him. The second (by Loggan) 
 was more lucky and exact ; and contains in a 
 sufficient Measure the real Air and Visage of the 
 Doctor : So that Posterity may be justly gratified with 
 the outward as well as inward Pourtraicture of him. ' 
 
 It is the latter that has been reproduced 
 for us ; and of it Principal Tulloch writes 
 penetratively, thus : x — ' There is indeed, as 
 all who have seen his portrait by Loggan will 
 admit, a singularly vivid elevation in his 
 countenance — with some lines strongly drawn 
 round the mouth, but with ineffable sweet- 
 ness, light and dignity in the general 
 
 1 As before, II. 347-8. 
 
 expression. As he is the most poetic and 
 transcendental, so he is upon the whole the 
 most spiritual-looking of all the Cambridge 
 divines.' To me there are lines and shadows 
 in the face that explain — with all his ' sweet- 
 ness and light' and tenderness — his egregious 
 gibes and almost ribaldry in his con- 
 troversy with Thomas Vaughan ( ' Eugenies 
 Philalethes' ) twin-brother of Henry Vaughan 
 the Silurist, and are declarative of an ulti- 
 mate conquest indeed, yet of a hard struggle 
 of the ' spirit ' with the ' flesh,' or of the ' flesh ' 
 with the ' spirit ' as he himself puts it. It 
 has been thus with many. Saintly Phineas 
 Fletcher and George Herbert and 
 Richard Baxter and John Bunyan have 
 admitted passionately — like St. Paul — that 
 only by higher might and control than their 
 own did they find themselves walking in 
 obedience at once to their own conscience 
 and to the One supreme Lord of conscience. 
 
 II.— CRITICAL. 
 
 I LI MIT myself here to the Poetry of our 
 Worthy. The preceding portion of our 
 Memorial-Introduction has made it clear 
 that it was to ' sing ' his Philosophy that he 
 became a Poet, and that his Poetry was 
 designed as the vehicle of his highest reach 
 of attainment as a Philosopher. Nevertheless 
 it is not for its philosophy per se, but for its 
 imaginative qualities and vividness of fancy 
 and exquisite nicety of expression of the most 
 gossamery thinking and feeling, and its pre- 
 Raphael-like studies of nature, and now and 
 again — alas ! at long intervals, and mainly in 
 the minor Poems — wonderfulness of rapture 
 and aspiration, that we hold the Poetry of 
 Henry More to be worthy of prolonged 
 
 study. Regarding him broadly, Dr. George 
 MacDonald,in his ' England's Ant iphon,' 1 has 
 written judicially and eloquently ; and so far 
 as his Philosophy in his Verse goes, I know 
 not that I need to do more than leave him 
 very much to speak for me. ' Whatever,' he 
 says, ' may be thought of his theories, they 
 belong at least to the highest order of 
 philosophy; and it will be seen from the 
 poems I give that they must have borne their 
 part in lifting the soul of the man towards a 
 lofty spiritual condition of faith and fearless- 
 ness. The mystical philosophy seems to me 
 safe enough in the hands of a poet : with 
 
 1 In Sunday Library for Household Reading (Macmillan). 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 others it may degenerate into dank and dusty 
 materialism ' (p. 223). ' Dank and dusty' is 
 an odd combination ; but I suppose the 
 meaning is that, unconsecrated by high 
 personal devoutness, mysticism is apt to 
 ' degenerate ' into sensuism, if not sensualism. 
 He next quotes 'Resolution/ 1 and thus ex- 
 pounds the two lines : — 
 
 ' Those too officious beams discover 
 Of forms that round about us hover. ' 
 
 — 'It is the light of the soul going out from the 
 eyes, as certainly as the light of the world 
 coming in at the eyes, that makes things 
 seen.' Reverting to the close of ' Resolution ' l 
 — and let every reader turn and return on the 
 entire poem, — he observes — ' This is magni- 
 ficent as any single passage I know in 
 literature' (p. 226). He continues: — 'Is it 
 lawful, after reading this, to wonder whether 
 Henry More, the retired, and so far untried, 
 student of Cambridge, would have been able 
 thus to meet the alternations of suffering 
 which he imagines 1 It is one thing to see 
 reasonableness, another to be reasonable 
 when objects have become circumstances. 
 Would he, then, by spiritual might, have 
 risen indeed above bodily torture 1 ? It is 
 possible for a man to arrive at this perfection \ 
 it is absolutely necessary that a man should 
 some day or other reach it ; and I think the 
 wise doctor would have proved the truth of 
 his principles. But there are many who 
 would gladly part with their whole bodies 
 rather than offend, and could not yet so rise 
 above the invasions of the senses. Here, as 
 in less important things, our business is not 
 to speculate what we would do in other cir- 
 cumstances, but to perform the duty of the 
 moment, the one true preparation for the 
 duty to come. Possibly, however, the right 
 development of our human relations in the 
 world may be a more difficult and more 
 important task still than this condition ot 
 divine alienation. To find God in others is 
 
 1 Minor Poems, pages 175, 176. 
 
 better than to grow solely in the discovery of 
 Him in ourselves, if indeed the latter were 
 possible' (pp. 226, 227). He next quotes 
 'Devotion,' 1 and 'The Philosopher's Devo- 
 tion,' 2 and ' Charity and Humility,' 3 and thus 
 criticises them and all — ' There are strange 
 things, and worth pondering, in all these. An 
 occasional classical allusion seems to us 
 quite out of place, but such things we must 
 pass. The poems are quite different from 
 any we have had before. There has been 
 only a few of such writers in our nation, but 
 I suspect those have had a good deal more 
 influence upon the religious life of it than 
 many thinkers suppose. They are in closest 
 sympathy with the deeper forms of truth 
 employed by St. Paul and St. John. This 
 last poem, concerning humility as the house 
 in which charity dwells, is very truth. A 
 repentant sinner feels that he is making 
 himself little when he prays to be made 
 humble : the Christian philosopher sees such 
 a glory and spiritual wealth in humility that 
 it appears to him almost too much to pray 
 for. 
 ^ 'The very essence of these mystical writers 
 seems to me to be poetry. They use the 
 largest figures for the largest spiritual ideas 
 — light for good, darkness for evil. Such 
 symbols are the true bodies of the true 
 ideas. For this service mainly what we 
 term nature was called into being, namely, 
 to furnish forms for truths, for without form 
 truth cannot be uttered. Having found 
 their symbols, these writers next proceed to 
 use them logically ; and here begins the 
 peculiar danger. When the logic leaves the 
 poetry behind, it grows first presumptuous, 
 then hard, then narrow, and untrue to the 
 original breadth of the symbol ; the glory of 
 
 1 Minor Poems, page 176. 
 
 - Ibid., pages 178-80. On 1. 7, 'and this eye has multiplied,' 
 he annotates 'suns, as centres of systems,' and on 1. 10, 
 ' Toucheth each,' etc. Intransitively used. ' They touch each 
 other': on 1. 30, ' back'— go back : a verb. 
 
 3 Ibid., page 181. 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 x — ■ 
 
 fulfilment.' 1 It will be noted that the minor 
 Poems — More's most absolute workmanship 
 — are overlooked by Gilfillan in his criticism 
 as in his ' Specimens.' The brief notices of 
 Campbell and Southey fitly close this general 
 aspect of More as a Poet. The former thus 
 picturesquely and succinctly sums up his 
 verdict : — ' As a poet he has woven together 
 a singular texture of Gothic fancy and Greek 
 philosophy, and made the Christiano-Platonic 
 system of metaphysics a ground-work for the 
 fables of the nursery. The versification, 
 though he tells us that he was won to the 
 Muses in his childhood by the melody of 
 Spenser, is but a faint echo of the Spenserian 
 tune. In fancy he is dark and lethargic. 
 Yet his Psychozoia is not a commonplace 
 production : a certain solemnity and earnest- 
 ness in his tone leaves an impression that 
 he " believed the magic wonders which he 
 sung " [Collins]. His poetry is not, indeed, 
 like a beautiful landscape on which the eye 
 can repose, but may be compared to some 
 curious grotto, whose gloomy labyrinths we 
 might be curious to explore for the strange 
 and mystic associations they create.' 2 
 
 The latter writes to a friend :■ — ' He was a 
 most odd fellow, the veriest believer in 
 ghosts, goblins, vampires. But I have 
 not done full justice to him as a poet. 
 Strange and sometimes uncouth as he is, 
 there are lines and passages of the highest 
 poetry and most exquisite beauty.' 3 
 
 I have now to bring before the student- 
 reader of this remarkable Poetry certain 
 things in it that deserve and will reward pro- 
 longed thought : — 
 
 1 Specimens, with Memoirs, of the Less-known British Poets, 
 vol. ii. pp. 221-2 (in Nichol's Poets— 3 vols. 8vo, 1862). En 
 passant, it seems right to notice that Mr. Gilfillan inadvertently 
 spells Van Helmont's name (twice) as Van Helmcnt, and also 
 confounds the son with the father. 
 
 2 ' Specimens,' p. 297 : 1 vol. 8vo, 1844. Campbell, like Gil- 
 fillan, leaves unnoticed More's minor poems— in both sugges- 
 tive. 
 
 3 Quoted in the Sotheby mss. in Chetham Library, s.n. 
 
 the symbol vanishes ; and the final result is 
 a worship of the symbol, which has withered 
 into an apple of Sodom. Witness some of 
 the writings of the European master of the 
 order — Sweden borg : the highest of them 
 are rich in truth ; the lowest are poverty- 
 stricken indeed' (pp. 231-232). Bating the 
 pagan hopelessness of its close, George 
 Gilfillan has also well generalised the char- 
 acter of More, as follows : — ' More's prose 
 writings give us, on the whole, a higher 
 idea of his powers than his poem. This is 
 not exactly, as a recent critic calls it, " dull 
 and tedious," but it is in some parts prosaic, 
 and in others obscure. The gleams of fancy 
 in it are genuine, but few and far between. 
 But his prose works constitute, like those of 
 Cudworth, Charnock, Jeremy Taylor, and 
 John Scott, a vast old quarry, abounding 
 both in blocks and in gems — blocks of 
 granite solidity, and gems of starry lustre. 
 *. The peculiarity of More is in that poetico- 
 philosophic mist, which, like the autumnal 
 gossamer, hangs in light and beautiful fes- 
 toons over his thoughts, and which suggests 
 pleasing memories of Plato and the Alexan- 
 drian school. Like all followers of the Grecian 
 sage, he dwells in a region of ' ideas,' which 
 are to him the only realities, and are not 
 cold, but warm ; he sees all things in Divine 
 solution ; the visible is lost in the invisible, 
 and nature retires before her God. Surely 
 they are splendid reveries those of the Plat- 
 onic school; but it is sad to reflect that 
 they have not cast the slightest gleam of 
 light on the dark, frightful, faith-shattering 
 mysteries which perplex all inquirers. The 
 old shadows of sin, death, damnation, evil, 
 and hell, are found to darken the " ideas " of 
 Plato's world quite as deeply as they do the 
 actualities of this weary, work-day earth, into 
 which men have, for some inscrutable pur- 
 pose, been sent to be, on the whole, miser- 
 able, — so often to toil without compensation, 
 to suffer without benefit, and to hope without 
 
UEMORIAL-I.XTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 {a) The words and workmanship. 
 
 (6) Personal opinions and characteristics. 
 
 (c) His love of nature. 
 
 (d) His assurance of ' fit readers.' 
 
 (a) The words and workmanship. — In 
 his Epistle to the Reader of his 'Philo- 
 sophical Poems' (1647), he thus makes his 
 Apology (in the old sense) : — 
 
 ' If I seem too bold in presenting my self again so 
 suddenly to publick view, let it excuse me, at least in 
 part, that there is not so much boldnesse in this, as in 
 my first adventure. For whereas I had then no en- 
 couragement but mine own well meaning, and carelesse- 
 nesse of the opinions of men ; I have now (beside that 
 resolv'd neglect of mens 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 leasure a 
 while to lay aside the pleasure or trouble of the world, 
 and entertain their minds with thoughts of a greater 
 compasse then 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 smoothnesse. For I must confesse such was 
 the present haste and heat that I was then hurried in 
 (dispatching them in fewer moneths then 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 repre- 
 sentation of things, that it was even necessary to forget 
 the ceconomie of words, and leave them behind me 
 aloft, to float and run together at randome (like chaff 
 and straws on the surface of the water) that it could not 
 but send them out in so uneven and rude a dresse. 
 Nor yet can I, (I professe) ever hope to find leasure or 
 patience so exquisitely 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 compos'd as their own hair, or as smooth as their 
 Mistresses Looking-glasse. But may these emendations 
 prove but acceptable to the more generous and manly 
 Genius : I shall please my self enough, if I prove but 
 tolerable to those female phansies.' (p. 6.) 
 
 Again — in his ' Interpretation Generall ' 
 he pleads — 
 
 ' If any man conceive I have done amisse in using such 
 obscure words in my writings, I answer, That it is some- 
 time fit for Poeticall pomp sake, as in my Psychozoia : 
 Othersome time necessitie requires it, 
 
 Propter egestatem linguw, cV rerum novitatem, 
 as Lucretius pleads for himself in like case. Again, there 
 is that significancie 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, 'Ovofiara 
 
 fiapfiapa p.7) 7tot' aWi^-qs, Not to change those barbar- 
 ous terms into our English tongue. Lastly, if I have 
 offended in using such hard names or words, I shall 
 make amends now by interpreting them.' (p. 159.) 
 
 Most characteristic too is his consideration 
 for the ' common people.' Thus : — 
 
 ' Nothing else can be now expected for the easie and 
 profitable understanding of this Poem, but the interpre- 
 tation of the names that frequently occurre 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 equall with the 
 best, onely they have not fed of husks and shels, as others 
 have been forced to do, the superficiary knowledge of 
 tongues. But it would be well, that neither the Linguist 
 would contemne the illiterate for his ignorance, nor the 
 ignorant condemn the learned for his knowledge, For it 
 is not unlearnednesse that God is so pleased withall, or 
 sillinesse and emptinesse of mind, but singlenesse and 
 simplicity of heart. ' (p. 12, col. 2ji>t.) 
 
 So too in his Poetry itself, e.g. : — 
 
 . . . ' So hath my muse with much uncertaintie 
 
 Exprest herself, so as her phantasie 
 
 Strongly enacted guides her easie pen ; 
 
 I nought obtrude with sow'r anxietie, 
 
 But freely offer hints to wiser men : 
 
 The wise from rash assent in darksome things abstain. ' 
 
 With lowlier candour still, in his ' Cupid's 
 Conflict' — one of the most memorable of 
 the minor poems — he admits his unskilful- 
 ness and obscurity and ' barbarous words,' 
 as against mellifluous love-lays that he might 
 have sung, e.g. : — 
 
 . . . ' now thy riddles all men do neglect, 
 
 Thy rugged lines of all do ly forlorn. 
 
 Unwelcome rhymes that rudely do detect 
 
 The Readers ignorance. Men holden scorn 
 To be so often non-plus'd or to spell, 
 And on one stanza a whole age to dwell. 
 
 ' Besides this harsh and hard obscurity 
 Of the hid sense, thy words are barbarous 
 And strangely new, and yet too frequently 
 Return, as usuall plain and obvious, 
 So that the show of the new thick-set patch 
 Marres all the old with which it ill doth match. 
 
 ' But if thy haughty mind, forsooth would deign 
 To stoop so low as t'hearken to my lore, 
 Then wouldst thou with trim lovers not disdeign 
 To adorn th' outside, set the best before. 
 Nor rub nor wrinkle would thy verses spoil, 
 Thy rhymes should run as glib and smooth as oyl. ' 
 
 (pp. 171, 172.) 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 He is nevertheless resolved to keep to his 
 own way, as thus : — 
 
 . . . ' what thou dost Pedantickly object 
 
 Concerning my rude rugged uncouth style, 
 
 As childish toy I manfully neglect, 
 
 And at thy hidden snares do inly smile. 
 How ill alas ! with wisdome it accords 
 To sell my living sense for livelesse words. 
 
 ' My thought's the fittest measure of my tongue, 
 Wherefore I'll use what's most significant, 
 And rather then my inward meaning wrong 
 Or my full-shining notion trimly skant, 
 
 I'll conjure up old words out of their grave, 
 Or call fresh forrein force in if need crave. 
 
 ' And these attending on my moving mind 
 
 Shall duly usher in the fitting sense 
 
 As oft as meet occasion I find. 
 
 Unusuall words oft used give lesse offence ; 
 Nor will the old contexture dim or marre, 
 For often us'd they're next to old, thred-bare. 
 
 ' And if the old seem in too rusty hew, 
 Then frequent rubbing makes them shine like gold, 
 And glister all with colour gayly new. 
 Wherefore to use them both we will be bold. 
 
 This lifts me fondly with fond folk to toy, 
 
 And answer fools with equall foolery. 
 
 y~~ ' The meaner mind works with more nicetie 
 As Spiders wont to weave their idle web, y*~ 
 But braver spirits do all things gallantly 
 Of lesser failings nought at all affred : 
 A~ So Natures carelesse pencill dipt in light 
 
 With sprinkled starres hath spattered the Night. ' > 
 
 (p. 172, cols. 1, 2.) 
 
 Then with touch of pathos in the recogni- 
 tion of the ebbing out of his ' fine phrensy ' 
 that suffused his barest words to himself 
 with light of glory — as the sun transfigures 
 into the radiance of a diamond a bit of delf 
 on a ploughed hill-side — and his infinite 
 short-coming from his ideal — we have this : — 
 
 4 Right well I wot, my rhymes seem rudely drest 
 In the nice judgement of thy shallow mind 
 That mark'st expressions more than what's exprest, 
 , — Busily billing the rough outward rinde, 
 
 But reaching not the pith. Such surface skill's 
 Unmeet to measure the profounder quill. 
 
 ' Yea I alas ! my self too often feel 
 Thy indispos'dnesse ; when my weakened soul 
 Unstedfast, into this Out world doth reel, 
 And lyes immerse in my low vitall mold. 
 
 For then my mind, from th' inward spright estrang'd 
 My Muse into an uncouth hew hath chang'd. 
 
 19 
 
 ' A rude confused heap of ashes dead 
 My verses seem, when that caelestiall flame 
 That sacred spirit of life's extinguished 
 In my cold brest. Then gin I rashly blame 
 
 My rugged lines : This word is obsolete ; 
 
 That boldly coynd, a third too oft doth beat 
 
 ' Mine humerous ears. Thus fondly curious 
 Is the faint Reader, that doth want that fire 
 And inward vigour heavenly furious 
 That made my enrag'd spirit in strong desire 
 Break through such tender cob-web niceties, 
 That oft intangle these blind buzzing flies. 
 
 ' Possest with living sense I inly rave, 
 Carelesse how outward words do from me flow, 
 So be the image of my mind they have 
 Truly exprest, and do my visage show ; 
 As doth each river deckt with Phebus beams 
 Fairly reflect the viewer of his streams. ' 
 
 (P- 177) 
 
 These and other admissions will win for 
 More forgiveness — such as Spenser had to 
 ask in his ' Shepherd's Calendar,' because of 
 his Chaucerian and older words — for inevit- 
 able obscurantism and irritating neologies. 
 Many of the new words and new ' ideas ' 
 were as hierogylphs rather than expressions 
 of his thoughts, intelligible or semi-intelligible 
 to himself, but hidden to the multitude. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, when you compare 
 the little volume of 1642 with the larger of 
 of 1647, you find that he did more than 
 merely enlarge. In our quotation from the 
 ' Epistle to the Reader,' it is to be observed 
 that he professes — ' I have taken the pains 
 to peruse these Poems of the soul, and to 
 lick them into some more tolerable form and 
 smoothnesse ; ' and the reader who will 
 emulate the Author's ' pains ' to peruse and 
 re-peruse, and compare, will be interested 
 with the marks of revision and nicety of 
 labour in the most unlooked-for places. 
 But so far as I have discovered, the more 
 1 tolerable form and smoothnesse ' belong 
 rather to the additional stanzas inserted 
 throughout, so as to give a firmer nexus, and 
 a less abrupt succession to the philosophising 
 and fancies. I have been struck with the 
 untouched perfection of all that arrests you 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 in reading, when the portions are common to 
 both the editions. Not verbal but structural 
 and constructural were his endeavours 'to 
 lick them ' into shape. Thus in the ' Argu- 
 ment of Psychozoia,' Canto I., except in 
 slight changes in spelling, 1642 and 1647 are 
 identical ; but in Canto 11., for the 79 stanzas 
 of 1642, in 1647 we have no fewer than 148 ; 
 i.e. in 1647, a f ter st - 56 come st. 57 to 125 
 new, and st. 126 as st. 57 of 1642, and therein 
 st. 57 to 79 represent st. 126 to 148. The 
 other additions the Author's own Epistles and 
 Notes point out. Seeing that there is little 
 or nothing of Herrick's or Herbert's earlier, or 
 Wordsworth's or Tennyson's later, re-working 
 of epithet and turn, it does not seem expe- 
 dient to dwell on them. That More had an 
 ear for the melody of versification, and an 
 eye for the colouring of choice words, many 
 and many a stanza in his ' Philosophical 
 Poems,' — as finely wrought in workmanship 
 as gem from Holland, — goes to demonstrate. 
 I can only cull a few flowers from the rich 
 Garden, and like Alexander Wilson's little 
 friend say, ' The woods are full of them,' the 
 book will yield well-nigh innumerable such. 
 I leave them without italicizing, to commend 
 themselves. 
 
 The Son of God. 
 ' His beauty and His race no man can tell : 
 **\ His glory darkcneth the Sunnes bright face ; 
 Or if ought else the Sunnes bright face excell, 
 His splendour would it dim, and all that glory quell.' 
 
 (p. 14, st. 8.) 
 The Eagle. 
 ' The fulvid Eagle with her sun-bright eye.' — (p. 13, st. 3. ) 
 
 Dawn of Day and Sunset. 
 * There you may see the eyelids of the Morn 
 With lofty silver arch displaid i' th' East, 
 And in the midst the burnisht gold doth burn ; 
 A lucid purple mantle in the West 
 Doth close the day, and hap the Sun at rest. 
 Nor doth these lamping shewes the azur quell, 
 Or other colours : where 't beseemeth best 
 There they themselves dispose ; so seemly well 
 Doth light and changing tinctures deck this goodly veil. 
 
 ' But 'mongst these glaring glittering rovvs of light, 
 And flaming Circles, and the grisell gray, 
 
 A 
 
 i 
 
 And crudled clouds, with silver tippings dight, 
 And many other deckings wondrous gay, 
 As Iris and the Halo ; there doth play 
 Still-pac'd Euphrona in her Conique tire ; 
 By stealth her steeple-cap she doth assay 
 To whelm on th' earth : So School-boyes do aspire 
 With coppell'd hat to quelme the Bee all arm'd with ire.' 
 
 (p. 15, st. 24-5.) 
 
 The Sunbeams. 
 
 ' 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 grosse his beams, and light refract. 
 Then sweep by all those Globes that by reflexion 
 His long small shafts do rudely beaten back, 1 
 And let his rayes have undenied projection, 
 And so we will pursue this mysteries retection.' 
 
 (pp. 19-20, st. 7.) 
 Mnemon. 
 
 ' With that his face shone like the rosie Morn 
 With maiden blush from inward modesty, 
 Which wicked wights do holden in such scorn : 
 Sweet harmlesse Modesty a rose withouten thorn ! ' 
 
 (p. 36, st. 36.) 
 
 The Shrew-wife. 
 
 ' So through her moody importunity 
 From downright death she rescues the poore man : 
 Self favouring sense ; not that due loyaltie 
 Doth wring from her this false compassion, 
 Compassion that no cruelty can 
 Well equalize. Her husband lies agast ; 
 Death on his horrid face so pale and wan 
 Doth creep with ashy wings. He thus embrac'd 
 Perforce too many dayes in deadly wo doth wast.' 
 
 (p. 37, st. 41.) 
 Spring. 
 
 ' Fairly invited by Sols piercing ray 
 And inward tickled with his chearing spright, 
 All plants brealt thorough into open day, 
 Rend the thick curtain of cold cloying night, 
 The earths opakenes, enemy to light, 
 And crown themselves in sign of victory 
 With shining leaves, and goodly blossomes bright. 
 Thus called out by friendly sympathy 
 Their souls move of themselves on their Centreitie.' 
 
 (p. 49, st. 31.) 
 
 1 I know only one finer working out of a kindred comparison 
 of the sun-beams — that of Marlowe in Tamburlane the Great 
 (iv. 2) :— 
 
 ' I will persist, a terror to the world, 
 Making the meteors (that, like armed men, 
 Are seen to march upon the towers of Heaven) 
 Run tilting round about the firmament, 
 And break their burning lances in the air 
 For honour of my wondrous victories.' 
 
MEM0RIAL-1NTR0D UCTION. 
 
 Horses. 
 . . . ' coursers strike the grassie ground 
 With swift tempestuous feet ..." (p. 49, st. 32.) 
 
 A Nymph. 
 
 ' Thus wrapt in rufull thought through the waste field 
 
 I staggered on, and scattered my woe, 
 
 Bedew'd the grasse with tears mine eyes did yield, 
 ' At last I am arriv'd with footing slow 
 
 Near a black pitchy wood that strongest throw 
 
 Of starry beam no'te easily penetrate : 
 
 On the North side I walked to and fro 
 
 In solitary shade. The Moons sly gate 
 Had cross'd the middle line : It was at least so late. 
 
 ' When th' other part of night in painfull grief 
 Was almost spent, out of that solemn grove 
 There issued forth for my timely relief, 
 The fairest wight that ever sight did prove, 
 So fair a wight as might command the love 
 Of best of mortall race ; her count'nance sheen 
 The pensive shade gently before her drove, 
 A mild sweet light shone from her lovely eyne : 
 She seem'd no earthly branch but sprung of stock divine. 
 
 <l A silken mantle, colour'd like the skie 
 With silver starres in a due distance set, 
 Was cast about her somewhat carelesly, 
 And her bright flowing hair was not ylet 
 By Arts device ; onely a chappelet 
 Of chiefest flowers, which from far and near 
 The Nymphs in their pure Lilly hands had set, 
 Upon her temples she did seemly weare ; 
 Her own fair beams made all her ornaments appear. 
 
 ' What wilfull wight doth thus his kindly rest 
 Forsake ? said she, approaching me unto. 
 What rage, what sorrow boils thus in thy chest 
 That thou thus spend'st the night in wasting wo? 
 Oft help he gets that his hid ill doth show. 
 Ay me ! said I, my griefs not all mine own ; 
 For all mens griefs into my heart do flow, 
 Nor mens alone, but every mornfull grone 
 Of dying beast, or what so else that grief hath shown. 
 
 ' From fading plants my sorrows freshly spring ; 
 And thou thy self that com'st to comfort me, 
 Would strong'st occasion of deep sorrow bring, 
 If thou wert subject to mortality : 
 But I no mortall wight thee deem to be, 
 Thy face, thy voice, immortall thee proclaim. 
 Do I not well to wail the vanity 
 Of fading life, and churlish fates to blame 
 That with cold frozen death lifes chearfull motions 
 tame?' (p. 53, st. 10-14.) 
 
 Body and Soul. 
 
 ' But low'st 'gins first to work, the soul doth frame 
 This bodies shape, imploy'd in one long thought 
 So wholy taken up, that she the same 
 Observeth not, till she it quite hath wrought. 
 
 So men asleep some work to end have brought 
 Not knowing of it, yet have found it done : 
 Or we may say the matter that she raught 
 And suck'd unto her self to work upon 
 Is of one warmth with her own spright, & feels as one. 
 
 ' And thus the body being the souls work 
 From her own centre so entirely made, 
 Seated i' th' heart, — for there this spright doth lurk,— 
 It is no wonder 'tis so easly sway'd 
 At her command. But when this work shall fade, 
 The Soul dismisseth it as an old thought, 
 "Tis but one form ; but many be display'd 
 Amid her higher rayes, dismist and brought 
 Back as she list, & many come that ne're were sought.' 
 (pp. 67-68, st. 15, 16.) 
 
 The Visible and Invisible : Soul and Sense. 
 ' So eyes and ears be not mere perforations, 
 But a due temper of the Mundane spright 
 And ours together ; else the circulations 
 Of sounds would be well known by outward sight, 
 And th' eare would colours know, figures & light. 
 So that it's plain that when this bodie 's gone, 
 This world to us is clos'd in darknesse quite, 
 And all to us is in dead silence drown : 
 Thus in one point of time is this world's glory flown. 
 
 ' But if 't be so, how doth Psyche hear or see 
 That hath nor eyes nor eares ? She sees more clear 
 Then we that see but secondarily. 
 We see at distance by a circular 
 Diffusion of that spright of this great sphear 
 Of th' Universe : Her sight is tactuall. 
 The Sun and all the starres that do appear 
 She feels them in herself, can distance all, 
 For she is at each one purely presentiall. 
 
 ' To us what doth diffusion circular, 
 And our pure shadowed eyes, bright, crystalline, 
 But vigorously our spright particular 
 Affect, while things in it so clearly shine ? 
 That's done continually in the heavens sheen. 
 The Sun, the Moon, the Earth, blew-glimmering Hel, 
 Scorch'd /Etna's bowels, each shape you'l divine 
 To be in Nature, every dern cell 
 With fire-eyed dragons, or what else therein doth dwel : 
 
 ' These be all parts of the wide worlds excesse, 
 They be all seated in the Mundane spright, 
 And shew just as they are in their bignesse 
 To her. But circulation shews not right 
 The magnitude of things : for distant site 
 Makes a deficience in these circulings. 
 But all things lie ope-right unto the sight 
 Of heavens great eye ; their thin-shot shadowings 
 And lightned sides. All this we find in Natures springs. ' 
 
 (p. 68, st. 20-23.) 
 
 I would specify ' Exorcismus ' (pp. 177-8) 
 as in every way marvellously worked out. 
 
MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Others of his minor Poems already named 
 and noticed are equally exquisite in adapta- 
 tion of word to ' idea.' His ' Hymns ' — 
 strong, severely simple, hearty — I place far 
 above the effusive sentimentalisms of our 
 popular Hymnology. It is a scandal and a 
 sorrow that some of them have not long 
 since been used in the Churches. 1 
 
 (b) Personal Opinions and Charac- 
 teristics. — I have already stated and illus- 
 trated More's Wordsworthian self-scrutiny 
 and lofty self-estimate. The most cursory 
 reader will be struck with his ingenuity in 
 working into his arguments his own ex- 
 periences and likings. No one will con- 
 found this characteristic with the petty vanity 
 of your small nature, that is constantly 
 exemplifying the old fable of the fly on the 
 chariot wheel. ' Personal as these details 
 are,' observes Principal Tulloch, 'there is 
 nothing egotistical in them. They are natu- 
 rally and simply told, after the manner of the 
 time. Such moods are for the most part 
 left untold. The reserve of after-years and 
 
 1 I would record here certain Author's and Editor's over- 
 sights for correction by the Reader : p. 17, st. 43, for ' hidden- 
 lie ' read ' hidden lie ' : p. 35, St. 21, 1. 5, for ' lives ' read ' lies ' : 
 p. 64, st. 17, 1. 8, for 'truths' read 'truth's': p. 84, st. 5, 1. 8, 
 for ' 'tis* read "ts": p. 121, St. 20, I. 3, for 'over oft' read 
 ' overmost ' : p. 122, st. 36, 1. 7, for 'of read 'to': p. 176, 
 Aphroditus, I. 4 (from end), put comma after ' Haec ' : p. 139, 
 
 b, for st. 59 read 49 : p. 150, Canto ii., fill in ' 2 ' after ' Stanz.' : 
 p. 156, b, 1. 36, for ' omnipotency ' read ' omnipresency.' 
 Specially correct the following : — p. 20, st. 17, 1, 2, for ' foul ' 
 read 'soul': p. 21, st. 27, 1. 8, put: after 'up-bray': p. 26, 
 st. 77, 1. 7, delete second ' the ' : p. 38, st. 59, 1. 4, for ' lift ' 
 read 'list :' and so too in p. 172, b, st. 1, 1. 5, for 'lifts' read 
 'lists': p. 81, st. 56, 1. 5, for ' switnesse ' read ' swiftnesse.' 
 Occasionally I ought perhaps to have now added to and now 
 changed the Author's punctuation. 
 
 I have further to ask kind attention to the following :— In the 
 Section ' From Prose Works ' (pp. 191-3) No. I. is repeated from 
 p. 128, a»r>(Praeexistencyof the Soul, st. 101-2) ; No. III. from 
 p. 175, ante (being extracted from 'Resolution'); No. IV. 
 from pp 180-1 ante ('The Philosopher's Devotion' — with slight 
 variations); No. II. is from Spenser's 'Faerie Queene.'B. 11., 
 
 c. vi. st. 1. No. VI. is from George Sandys' Version of the 
 Psalms— the first 20 lines from the beginning of Psalm xcii., 
 and the remainder from the end of Psalm xcvi. No. V. I have 
 not elsewhere met with. It is of course a paraphrase of Revela- 
 tion xv. 3, 4. It need scarcely be pointed out that the Latin 
 Poems which follow the English set are translations of the last 
 four of them. 
 
 many experiences seldom permits the veil 
 to be lifted up on the early secrets of the 
 soul. But More, both as a boy and as 
 a man, was singularly transparent in his 
 deepest nature. His communings and 
 ecstasies have not the slightest taint of 
 morbid self-elation. They are the natural 
 carriage of his strangely-gifted spirit. " From 
 the beginning all things in a manner came 
 flowing to him ;" and his mind — according 
 to his own saying — "was enlightened with 
 a sense of the noblest Theories in the morn- 
 ing of his days'" (ii. pp. 307-8). 
 
 Of his personal opinions and character- 
 istics revealed in his Poetry, I value inesti- 
 mably his catholicity. He was a clergyman 
 of the Anglican Church, and he ' defended ' 
 her with courage and force when she was on 
 the losing side. He is full of tart and even 
 sarcastic rebuke of the infinite factions and 
 fractions of Nonconformity who broke off 
 from the National Church. But he rose far 
 above mere Churchism, and estimated a 
 man's religion by what the man was and did, 
 not by the Church-name he bore. Thus 
 common-sensely does he put the matter in 
 his ' Epistle to the Reader : ' — 
 
 ' I have also enlarged the second Canto of PS YCHO- 
 ZOIA, and have added (that I might avoid all suspicion 
 of partiality) to Psittaco and Pithecus diverse other per- 
 sons, Pico, Corvino, Graculo, and Glaucis, but am so 
 sensible of that sober precept in Josephus, which he 
 affirms to be out of Moses, M^SeJj ^Xaa^rj/xelru oOs 
 &X\al fl-6Aeis vofj.l£ov<n Qeovs, that I would be very loth 
 to be so farre mistaken as to be thought a Censurer or 
 Contemner of other mens Religions or Opinions, if they 
 serve God in them in the simplicity and sincerity of their 
 hearts, and have some more precious substratum with- 
 in, then inveterate custome or naturall 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 acutenesse 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 Gods Spirit, it 
 
ME MORI A L- IN TROD UC TIO X. 
 
 is like running quicksilver in the back of a sword, and 
 will enable us to strike to utter destruction and ruine. 
 But it would prevent a great deal of bloud and bitter- 
 nesse in the Christian world, if we reserved the flower 
 and strength of our zeal for the undoubted Truth of God 
 and His immutable Right eousnesse, and were more mildly 
 and moderately affected concerning the Traditions and 
 determinations of the Elders." — (p. 6, &.) 
 
 In accord with this are his rebukes of all 
 mere Church-authority, e.g. : — 
 
 ' Say on said Psittaco. There 's a third, said I, 
 Nor reason nor unreasonablenesse hight. 
 Here Graccus. The disjunction you deny. 
 Then I, there is a third ycleep'd Gods spright 
 Nor reason nor unreasonablenesse hight. 
 Corvino straight foam'd like his champing jade 
 And said I was a very silly wight, 
 And how through melancholy I was mad 
 And unto private spirits all holy truth betray'd. 
 
 ' But I nould with like fury him invade 
 But mildly as I mought made this reply. 
 Gods Spirit is no private empty shade 
 But that great Ghost that fills both earth and sky, 
 And through the boundlesse Universe doth ly, 
 Shining through purged hearts and simple minds 
 When doubling clouds of thick hypocrisie 
 Be blown away with strongly brushing winds ; 
 Who first this tempest feels the Sun he after finds. 
 
 ' 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. 
 Ail due observance to Gods laws to give. 
 With care and diligence to maken pure 
 Those vessels that this heavenly dew receive. 
 But most in point of faith sleep too secure 
 And want this bait their souls to goodnesse to allure. 
 
 ' For they believen as the Church believes 
 Never expecting any other light, 
 And hence it is, each one so loosely lives, 
 Hopelesse of help from that internall spright. 
 Enough ! said Graculo, Corvino s right. 
 Let 's hear, dispute in figure and in mood. 
 And stifly with smart syllogismes fight 
 That what thou wouldst may wel be understood, 
 But now thou rovest out, and rav'st as thou wert wood. 
 
 ' Reason I say all Scripture sense must judge 
 Do thou one reason 'gainst this truth produce : 
 Reason, said I, in humane things may drudge 
 But in divine thy soul it may seduce. 
 
 Gr. Prove that. Mn. I prove it thus. For reasons use 
 Back'd with advantage of all sciences, 
 Of Arts, of tongues, cannot such light transfuse 
 But that most learned men do think amisse 
 
 In highest points divided as well you know, I wisse.' 
 
 (p. 27, st. 90-94.) 
 
 Again : — 
 
 ' 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 wayes, as he doth ope the ey'n 
 Of our dark souls and in our hearts his light enshrine. 
 
 ' Here Graculus did seem exceeding glad 
 On any terms to hear but reason nam'd, 
 And with great joy and jollity he bad 
 Adew to me as if that he had gain'd 
 The victory. Besides Corvino blam'd 
 His too long stay. Wherefore he forward goes 
 Now more confirm'd his Nutshell-cap contain'd 
 What ever any living mortall knows. 
 Ne longer would he stay this sweet conceit to loose. 
 
 ' Thus Psittaco and I alone were left 
 In sober silence holding on our way, 
 His musing skull, poor man ! was well nigh cleft 
 By strong distracting thoughts drove either way ; 
 Whom pittying I thus began to say. 
 Dear Psittaco what anxious thoughts oppresse 
 Thy carefull heart and musing mind dismay ? 
 I am perplexed much I must confesse 
 Said he, and thou art authour of my heavinesse. 
 
 ' My self Corvino 's Church-Autority 
 No certain ground of holy truth do deem. 
 And Scripture the next ground alledg'd by me 
 By Graco was confuted well, I ween. 
 But thou as in these points farre deeper seen 
 Than either Corvin or Don Graculo 
 Yea than my self, assent doth almost win 
 That Church nor Scripture, cast in reason too 
 Can to our searching minds truth's hidden treasures show. 
 
 ' Wherefore a fourth, sole ground of certainty 
 Thou didst produce, to weet, the Spirit divine. 
 But now, alas ! here is the misery, 
 That left to doubt we cannot well enjoyn 
 Nor this nor that, nor Faith-forms freely coyn 
 And make the trembling conscience swear thereto. 
 For we our selves do but ghesse and divine 
 What we force other men to swear is true, 
 Untill the day-star rise our eyes with light t' embew. 
 
 ' Which gift though it be given to me and you, 
 Mn. (Not unto me, courteous Don Psittaco !) 
 Ps. Yet certainly there be but very few 
 
 That so sublime a pitch ascend unto. 
 Mn. My self, alas ! a silly Swain I know 
 
 So far from solving these hard knots, said I, 
 
 1'hat more and harder my ranck brain o'regrow 
 
 And wonder that thy quick sagacity 
 Doth not winde out a further inconveniency. 
 
MEM OKI A L-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 If light divine we know by divine light 
 
 Nor can by any other means it see 
 This ties their hands from force that have the spirit. 
 
 How can, said Psittaco, these things agree? 
 
 For without force vain is Church-Polity ; 
 Mn. But to use force 'gainst men that thing to do 
 
 In which they've not the least ability 
 
 May seem unjust and violent ; I trow, 
 'Gainst reason, 'gainst Religion, 'gainst all sence and law.' 
 
 (p. 28, st. 99-105.) 
 
 Once more : — ■ 
 
 ' Not rage, nor mischief, nor love of a sect, 
 Nor eating irefulnesse, harsh cruelty 
 Contracting Gods good will, nor conscience checkt 
 Or chok'd continually with impiety, 
 Fauster'd and fed with hid hypocrisie ; 
 Nor tyranny against perplexed minds, 
 Xor forc'd conceit, nor man-idolatry, 
 All which the eye of searching reason blinds, 
 And the souls heavenly flame in dungeon darknesse 
 binds. 
 
 ' Can warres and jarres and fierce contention, 
 Swoln hatred, and consuming envie spring 
 From piety ? No. "Pis opinion 
 That makes the riven heavens with trumpets ring, 
 And thundring engine mur'drous balls out-sling, 
 And send mens groning ghosts to lower shade 
 Of horrid hell. This the wide world doth bring 
 To devastation, makes mankind to fade : 
 Such direfull things doth false Religion perswade. 
 
 ' But true Religion sprong from God above 
 Is like her fountain full of charity, 
 Embracing all things with a tender love, 
 Full of good will and meek expectancy, 
 Full of true justice and sure verity, 
 In heart and voice ; free, large, even infinite, 
 Not wedg'd in strait particularity, 
 But grasping all in her vast active spright, 
 Bright lamp of God ! that men would joy in thy pure 
 light!' (p. 63, st. 4-6.) 
 
 Of his own devoutness and ' walking with 
 God,' — as walked the two of Emmaus, — 
 there are everywhere heart-stirring evidences. 
 The Reader will find himself taken captive by 
 these ; nor will he seek to abate one word of 
 Principal Tulloch's tribute : — ' More himself 
 is at once the most typical and the most 
 vital and interesting of all the Cambridge 
 School. He is the most Platonicall of the 
 Platonic sect, and at the same time the most 
 genial, natural, and perfect man of them all. 
 We get nearer to him than any of them, and 
 
 can read more intimately his temper, char- 
 acter, and manners — the lofty and serene 
 beauty of his personality — one of the most 
 exquisite and charming portraits which the 
 whole history of religion and philosophy 
 presents ' (11. 303). 
 
 As the corollary of all this, the student- 
 Reader will be half-awed half-touched by the 
 pervading sanctity of the man and of the 
 Poet. With beaming eye and tremble in his 
 voice he thus greets ' virgin youth as yet im- 
 maculate : ' — 
 
 ' Dear lads ! How do I love your harmlesse years 
 And melt in heart while I the Morning-shine 
 Do view of rising virtue which appears 
 In your sweet faces, and mild modest eyne. 
 Adore that God that doth himself enshrine 
 In your untainted breasts ; and give no eare 
 To wicked voice that may your souls encline 
 Unto false peace, or unto fruitlesse fear, 
 Least loosened from your selves Harpyes away you bear.' 
 
 (p. 30, st. 124.) 
 
 He utterly rejects ' naked Faith disjoyn'd 
 from Purity' (p. 30, st. 116). He scourges 
 the ' froward hypocrite ' — ' That finds pre- 
 texts to keep his darling sinne ' (p. 85, st. 23). 
 Here is his rightly-based ecstasy : — 
 
 ' But O ! how oft when she her self doth cut 
 From nearer commerce with the low delight 
 Of things corporeall, and her eyes doth shut 
 To those false fading lights, she feels her spright 
 Fill'd with excessive pleasure, such a plight 
 She finds that it doth fully satisfie 
 Her thirsty life. Then reason shines out bright, 
 And holy love with mild serenity 
 Doth hug her harmlesse self in this her purity." 
 
 (p. 72, st. 28.) 
 Again : — 
 
 ' But the clean soul by virtue purifi'd 
 Collecting her own self from the foul steem 
 Of earthly life, is often dignifi'd 
 With that pure pleasure that from God doth streem, 
 Often's enlightn'd by that radiant beam, 
 That issues forth from his divinity, 
 Then feelingly immortall she doth deem 
 Her self, conjoynd by so near unity 
 With God, and nothing doubts of her eternitie. ' 
 
 (p. 113, st. 12.) 
 
 Once more : — 
 
 ' Like to a light fast-lock'd in lanthorn dark, 
 Whereby, by night our wary steps we guide 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTIOX, 
 
 In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark, 
 Some weaker rayes through the black top do glide, 
 And flusher streams perhaps from horny side. 
 But when we've past the perill of the way 
 Arriv'd at home, and laid that case aside, 
 The naked light how clearly doth it ray 
 And spread its joyfull beams as bright as Summers day. 
 
 ' Even so the soul in this contracted state 
 Confin'd to these strait instruments of sense 
 More dull and narrowly doth operate. 
 At this hole hears, the sight must ray from thence, 
 Here tasts, there smels ; But when she 's gone from 
 
 hence, 
 Like naked lamp she is one shining sphear, 
 And round about has perfect cognoscence 
 Whatere in her Horizon doth appear : 
 She is one Orb of sense, all eye, all airy ear.' 
 
 (p. 128, st. 101-2.) 
 
 Further : — 
 
 ' Thus have I stoutly rescued the soul 
 From centrall death or pure mortalitie, 
 And from the listlesse flouds of Lethe dull, 
 And from the swallow of drad Unitie. 
 And from an all-consuming Deitie. 
 What now remains, but since we are so sure 
 Of endlesse life, that to true pietie 
 We bend our minds, and make our conscience pure, 
 Lest living Night in bitter darknesse us immure.' 
 
 (p. 134, St. 40.) 
 
 Again : — 
 
 ' This proves the soul to sit at liberty, 
 Not wedg'd into this masse of earth, but free 
 Unloos'd from any strong necessity 
 To do the bodies dictates, while we see 
 Clear reason shining in serenity, 
 Calling above unto us, pointing to 
 What's right and decent, what doth best agree 
 With those sweet lovely Ideas, that do show 
 Some glimps of their pure light. So Sol through clouds 
 doth flow.' (p. 74, st. 40.) 
 
 Once more : — 
 
 Socrates. 
 
 ' Als Socrates, when (his large Intellect 
 Being fill'd with streaming light from God above) 
 To that fair sight his soul did close collect, 
 That inward lustre through the body drove 
 Bright beams of beauty. These examples prove 
 That our low being the great Deity 
 Invades, and powerfully doth change and move. 
 Which if you grant, the souls divinity 
 More fitly doth receive so high a Majesty. ' 
 
 (p. 112, st. 4.) 
 
 Finally here : — 
 
 1 Thrice happy he whose name is writ above, 
 And doeth good though gaining infamy ; 
 
 Requiteth evil turns with hearty love, 
 And recks not what befalls him outwardly : 
 Whose worth is in himself, and onely blisse 
 In his pure conscience that doth nought amisse. 
 
 ' Who placeth pleasure in his purged soul 
 And virtuous life his treasure doth esteem ; 
 Who can his passions master and controll, 
 And that true lordly manlinesse doth deem, 
 Who from this world himself hath clearly quit, 
 Counts nought his own but what lives in his sprite. 
 
 ' So when his spright from this vain world shall flit 
 It bears all with it whatsoever was dear 
 Unto it self, passing in easie fit, 
 As kindly ripen'd corn comes out of th' ear. 
 Thus mindlesse of what idle men will say 
 He takes his own and stilly goes his way.' 
 
 (p. 172, st. 5, 4, 3, from bottom col. 2.) 
 
 It is questionable if any man is complete, 
 or of kin to the highest, who has no humour. 
 The finest Humourists of all literatures have 
 had the largest and strongest intellect. 
 Shakespeare is so utterly supreme and excep- 
 tional all round, that it needeth not to adduce 
 him. But apart from him, I know none of 
 the mighties who lacked this element. John 
 Milton and William Wordsworth are 
 vulgarly supposed to have been without it. 
 It is a 'Vulgar Error.' I was glad in study- 
 ing More to discern, amid all his restraint 
 and gravity, sufficient indications that he had 
 humour and pleasantry of wit. None but a 
 genuine Humourist could have drawn these 
 portraits : — 
 
 ' All the nice questions of the School-men old 
 And subtilties as thin as cobwebs bet, 
 Which he wore thinner in his thoughts yrold. ^ 
 
 And his warm brains, they say, were closer set 
 With sharp distinctions than a cushionet 
 With pins and needles ; which he can shoot out 
 Like angry Porcupine, where e're they hit. 
 Certes a doughty Clerk and Champion stout 
 He seem'd and well appointed against every doubt. 
 
 ' The other rod on a fat resty jade 
 That neighed loud. His rider was not lean. 
 His black plump belly fairly outward swai'd 
 And pressed somewhat hard on th' horses mane. A 
 Most like methought to a Cathedrall Dean. 
 A man of prudence and great courtesie 
 And wisely in the world he knew to glean. 
 His sweaty neck did shine right greasily 
 Top heavy was his head with eaithily policy.' 
 
 (p. 26, st. 76-77. \ 
 
xl 
 
 MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 Again : — 
 
 ' Brethren ! said he, (and held by holy belt 
 Corvino grave, ne did his hands abhor't 
 When he the black silk rope soft fimbling felt 
 And with his fingers milked evermore 
 The hanging frienge) one thing perplexeth sore 
 My reason weak and puzled thoughts, said he. 
 Tell then, ye learned Clerks, which of these foure 
 To weet, from Scripture, Church authority, 
 Gods Spirit, or mans Reason is Faiths Certainty.' 
 
 (p. 26, st. 83.) 
 
 Once more, how capitally drawn is this 
 likening of Graculo to a daw ! — 
 
 ' Here Graculo learing up with one eye 
 View'd the broad Heavens long resting in a pause 
 And all the while he held his neck awry 
 Like listning daw, turning his nimble nose, 
 At last these words his silent tongue did loose. 
 What is this spirit, say what's this spirit, man ! 
 Who has it, answer'd I, he onely knows. 
 'Tis the hid Manna and the graven stone. 
 He canteth, said Corvino, come Grac, let's be gone.' 
 
 (p. 28, st. 95.) 
 
 Has your Materialist ever been more 
 keenly ridiculed than here 1 — 
 
 ' For then our soul can nothing be but bloud 
 Or nerves or brains, or body modifide. 
 Whence it will follow that cold stopping crud, 
 Hard moldy cheese, dry nuts, when they have rid 
 Due circuits through the heart, at last shall speed 
 Of life and sense, look thorough our thin eyes 
 And view the Close wherein the Cow did feed 
 Whence they were milk'd ; grosse Pie-crust will grow 
 wise, 
 And pickled Cucumbers sans doubt Philosophize.' 
 
 (p. 127, st. 90.) 
 
 Again : — 
 
 ' Wherefore who thinks from souls new souls to bring 
 The same let presse the Sunne beams in his fist 
 And squeez out drops of light, or strongly wring 
 The Rainbow, till it die his hands, well-prest. 
 Or with uncessant industry persist 
 Th' intentionall species to mash and bray 
 In marble morter, till he has exprest 
 A sovereigne eye-salve to discern a Fay : 
 As easily as the first all these effect you may.' 
 
 (p. 127, st. 87.) 
 
 There is more than humour, there is the 
 condensation of wit, — which is as lightning 
 to light,— as thus : — 
 
 ' But most of all Corvin and Psittaco 
 Prudentiall men and of a mighty reach 
 
 Who through their wisdome sage th' events foreknow 
 
 Of future things ; and confidently preach 
 
 Unlesse there be a form which men must teach 
 
 Of sound opinions (each meaning his own) 
 
 But t' be left free to doubt and counter-speech 
 
 Authority is lost, our trade is gone 
 
 Our Tyrian wares forsaken, we, alas ! shall mone. 
 
 ' Or at the best our life will bitter be : 
 For we must toyle to make our doctrine good. 
 Which will empair the flesh and weak the knee. 
 Our mind cannot attend our trencher-food, 
 Nor be let loose to sue the worldly good. 
 All's our dear wives, poore wenches ! they alone 
 Must ly long part of night when we withstood 
 By scrupulous wits must watch to nights high Noon 
 Till all our members grow as cold as any stone. 
 
 ' Heaps of such inconveniences arise 
 From Conscience-freedome, Christian liberty. 
 Beside our office all men will despise 
 Unlesse our lives gain us Autority. 
 Which in good sooth a harder task will be. 
 Dear brethren ! sacred souls of Behiron ! 
 Help, help as you desire to liven free 
 To ease, to wealth, to honour, and renown 
 And sway th' affrighted world with your disguized frown.' 
 
 (p. 26, st. 79-81.) 
 
 Yet could he speak too with a Seer's 
 splendid passion : — 
 
 ' A deep self-love, Want of true sympathy 
 With all mankind, Th' admiring their own heard, 
 Fond pride, a sanctimonious cruelty 
 'Gainst those by whom their wrathfull minds be stird 
 By strangling reason, and are so afeard 
 To lose their credit with the vulgar sort ; 
 Opinion and long speech 'fore life preferr'd, 
 Lesse reverence of God then of the Court, 
 Fear, and despair, Evill surmises, False report.' 
 
 (p. 34, st. 14.) 
 
 Soft though pungent is this of 'grave 
 ignorance: 1 — 
 
 ■ Now let's go on (we have well-cleard the way) 
 More plainly prove this seeming paradox 
 And make this truth shine brighter then midday, 
 Neglect dull sconses mowes and idle mocks. 
 O constant hearts, as stark as Thracian rocks, 
 Well-grounded in grave ignorance, that scorn 
 Reasons sly force, its light slight subtile strokes. 
 Sing we to these wast hills, dern, deaf, forlorn, 
 Or to the cheerfull children of the quick-ey'd Morn ?' 
 
 (p. 80, st. 41.) 
 
 No grim ascetic, no misanthropic recluse, 
 but a whole-hearted, clean-conscienced man 
 was Henry More. I like him all the better 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 xli 
 
 that he manfully avowed his love of the nut- 
 brown ale of his College, and that he did 
 not believe in ' Fasting ' — for everybody. 
 
 'I have heard,' says Ward, 'from some, 
 that when he was first about to be chosen 
 Fellow, they were afraid of him as a melan- 
 choly man ; till some that knew him better 
 rectified the mistake, and assur'd them of his 
 being more than ordinarily pleasant, as well 
 as studious and serious; and that he was 
 indeed, in his way, one of the merriest Greeks 
 they were acquainted with ' (p. 120). 1 
 
 One feels certain he spoke truly when he 
 exclaimed : — 
 
 ..." my felicity 
 Is multiply'd, when others I like happy see. ' 
 
 (p. 84, st. 6.) 
 
 It could scarcely have been otherwise, for 
 his conception of our common Fatherhood 
 and Brotherhood was Christ-like, as thus 2 : — 
 
 ' His good Art 
 Is all to save that will to Him return, 
 That all to Him return, nought of him is forlorn : 
 
 ' For what can be forlorn, when his good hands 
 Hold all in life, that of life do partake ? 
 O surest confidence of Loves strong bands I 
 Love loveth all that's made ; Love all did make : 
 And when false life doth fail, it's for the sake 
 Of better being.' (p. 13, st. 6-7.) 
 
 Again : — 
 
 ' The highest improvement of this life is love. ' 
 
 (p. 171, col. 1, st. 1.) 
 
 1 Among Ward's anecdotes and sayings — of which there 
 are not a few capital ones — take this : — ' He said after the 
 finishing of some of his writings, and a long and wasting studi- 
 ousness, humourously and pleasantly (as he was lucky in putting 
 things into an elegant and sententious posture), ' Now for these 
 three months, I will neither think a wise thought, nor speak a 
 wise word, nor do an ill thing' (p. 144). 
 
 2 Very noble is his rejection of current conceptions of God 
 that exalt the Almightiness above the Fatherhood. I regret that 
 I can only refer to these among other matterful arguings-out of 
 alike the loftiest and deepest problems : p. 85, st. 15, 17, 18, 19, 
 21 : p. 94, st. 36: p. 165, closing demonstration. That he had 
 no common reasoning faculty if without the music of Sir John 
 Davies in his kindred arguments, let the student judge by turn- 
 ing to p. 49, st. 38 : p. 62, st. 33 : p. 67, st. 6-7 : p. 68, st. 15- 
 16 : p. 72, st. 21-2 : p. 73, st. 35-6 : p. 74, st. 40-50 : p. 85, st. 
 19 : p. 96, st. 60: p. 127. Note reason above sense, p. 57, st. 
 S : p. 60, st. 10. Present-day burning questions, p. 86, st, 29, 
 3 1 , et alibi. 
 
 19 
 
 Finally here : — 
 
 ' The Good is uniform, the Evil infinite." 
 
 (p. 39, st. 71.) 
 
 'While More, in short,' says Principal 
 Tulloch, ' was no hero, either in thought or 
 deed, — his speculations were too transcend- 
 ental, and his life too retired for this, — he 
 yet comes before us as a singularly beautiful, 
 benign, and noble character — one of those 
 higher spirits who help us to feel the divine 
 presence on earth, and to believe in its 
 reality' (11. 350). Even his darkness was as 
 of a holy place. 
 
 (c) His love of Nature. — This comes out 
 very much as in the great ancient Painters, 
 whose backgrounds of portraits or sacred 
 personalities rather than land-scape, or sea- 
 scape, or sky-scape proper, assure us that 
 they had eyes to look into, and not merely 
 on, this so radiant and beautiful earth of ours. 
 That is to say, you have nothing of the later 
 Wordsworthian clarity and intuition of seeing, 
 that humanizing of ' the meanest flower that 
 blows,' which is part of Wordsworth's measure- 
 less gift to our English-speaking race. But 
 you have snatches of description, elect traits 
 of the visible and audible, dainty epithet and 
 interblended perception and emotion. And 
 so you have him crying out with a great 
 joy :— 
 
 ' How sweet it is to live ! what joy to see the Sunne. ' 
 
 (p. 16, st. 32.) 
 
 Similarly in his Preface to the Mystery of 
 Godlinesse, in speaking of the ' contemplation 
 of this outward world,' he tells us that its 
 'several powers and properties touching 
 variously upon my tender senses, made to 
 me such enravishing musick, and snatch 'd 
 away my soul into so great admiration, love, 
 and desire of a nearer acquaintance with their 
 principle from whence all these things did 
 flow ; that the pleasure and joy, which fre- 
 quently accrued to me from hence, is plainly 
 unutterable; though I have attempted to 
 
 / 
 
xlii 
 
 MEMORIAL-INTRODUCTION. 
 
 leave some marks and traces thereof in my 
 Philosophical Poems.' 
 
 I venture to italicise a few lines here and 
 there in these illustrative quotations : — 
 
 Be'irah. 
 
 ' When we that stately wall had undercrept, 
 We straightway found our selves in Dizoie : 
 The melting clouds chill drizzeling teares then wept ; 
 The mistie aire swet for deep agony, 
 Swet a cold sweat, and loose frigiditie 
 Filtd all with a white smoke ; pale Cynthia 
 Did foul her silver limbs with filthy die, 
 Whiles wading on she measured out her way, 
 And cut the muddy heavens defil'd with whitish clay. 
 
 ' No light to guide but the Moons pallid ray, 
 And that even lost in mistie troubled aire : 
 No tract to take, there was no beaten way ; 
 No chearing strength, but that which might appear 
 From Dians face ; her face then shin'd not clear, 
 And when it shineth clearest, little might 
 She yieldeth, yet the goddesse is severe. 
 Hence wrathfull dogs do bark at her dead light : 
 Christ help the man thus clos'd and prison'd in drad 
 Night.' 
 
 (P- 33- st. 3, 4-) 
 
 Visions of Earth. 
 
 ' Fresh varnish'd groves, tall hills, and gilded clouds 
 Arching an eyelid for the glaring Morn ; 
 Fair clustred buildings which our sight so crouds 
 At distance, with high spires to heaven yborn ; 
 Vast plains with lowly cottages forlorn, 
 Rounded about with the low wavering skie, 
 Cragg'd vapours, like to ragged rocks ytorn ; 
 She views those prospects in our distant eye : 
 These and such like be the first centres mysterie.' 
 
 (p. 68, st. 25.) 
 
 The Sunbeams. 
 
 ' If not the same, then like to flowing stream 
 You deem the light that passeth still away, 
 New parts ever succeeding. The Sun-beam 
 Hath no reflexion then, if it decay 
 So fast as it comes forth : Nor were there day ; 
 For it would vanish 'fore it could arrive 
 At us. But in a moment Sol doth ray. 
 One end of his long shafts then we conceive. 
 At once both touch himself and down to us do dive.' 
 
 (p. 71, st. 16.) 
 
 The Creator. 
 
 ' Better the indigent be mov'd, then he 
 That wanteth nought : He fills all things with light 
 And kindly heat : through his fecundity 
 Peoples the world ; by his exciting sprite 
 Wakens the plants, calls them out of deep night. 
 
 They thrust themselves into his fostring rayes, 
 Stretch themselves forth, stird by his quickning might. 
 And all the while their merry roundelayes 
 As lightsome fancies deem) each Planet spritely playes. ' 
 
 (p. 77 , st. 16.) 
 
 Terror. 
 
 ' Certes such knowledge is a vanity, 
 And hath no strength t' abide a stormy stour ; 
 Such thin slight clothing, will not keep us dry 
 When the grim heavens, all black and sadly soure 
 With rage and tempest, plenteously down shower 
 Great flouds of rain. Dispread exility 
 Of slyer reasons fails : Some greater power 
 Found in a lively vigorous Unity 
 With God, must free the soul from this perplexity.' 
 
 (p. 84, st. 10.) 
 
 Mars. 
 
 . . . ' Mars rangeth in a round 
 
 With fiery locks and angry flaming eye. 
 
 Suns. 
 
 (p. 93, st. 22.) 
 
 ' These with their suns I severall worlds do call, 
 Whereof the number I deem infinite : 
 Else infinite darknesse were in this great Hall 
 Of th' endlesse Universe ; For nothing finite 
 Could put that immense shadow into 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.' 
 
 (p. 93, st. 26.) 
 
 God and Creation. 
 
 ' That God is infinite all men confesse, 
 And that the Creature is some realtie 
 Besides Gods self, though infinitely lesse. 
 Joyn now the world unto the Deity. 
 What ? is there added no more entity 
 By this conjunction, then there was before ? 
 Is the broad-breasted earth ? the spacious skie 
 Spangled with silver light, and burning Ore ? 
 And the wide bellowing Seas, whose boyling billows roar, 
 Are all these nothing ? ' 
 
 (p. 94, st. 34-5.) 
 
 The Mind. 
 
 ' Adde unto these, that the soul would take pains 
 For her destruction while she doth aspire 
 To reach at things (that were her wofull gains) 
 That be not corporall, but seated higher 
 Above the bodies sphere. Thus should she tire 
 Her self to 'stroy her self. Again, the mind 
 Receives contrary forms. The feverish fire 
 Makes her cool brooks and shadowing groves to find 
 
 Within her thoughts, thus hot and cold in one she binds 
 
 (p. 65, st. 23.) 
 
 } 
 
MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 xliii 
 
 Wild Fancy. 
 ' Then the wild phansie from her horrid wombe 
 Will senden forth foul shapes. O dreadfull sight ! 
 Overgrown toads fierce serpents thence will come, 
 Red-scaled Dragons with deep burning light 
 In their hollow eye-pits : With these she must fight ; 
 Then thinks her self ill-wounded, sorely stung. 
 Old fulsome Hags with scabs and skurf bedight, 
 Foul tarry spittle tumbling with their tongue 
 On their raw lether lips, these near will to her clung, 
 
 ' And lovingly salute against her will, 
 Closely embrace, and make her mad with wo : 
 She'd lever thousand times they did her kill, 
 Then force her such vile basenesse undergo. 
 Anon some Giant his huge self will show, 
 Gaping with mouth as vast as any Cave, 
 With stony staring eyes, and footing slow : 
 She surely deems him her live-walking grave, 
 From that dern hollow pit knows not her self to save. 
 
 ' After a while, tost on the Ocean main 
 A boundlesse sea she finds of misery : 
 The fiery snorts of the Leviathan 
 (That makes the boyling waves before him flie) 
 She hears, she sees his blazing morn-bright eye : 
 If here she scape, deep gulfs and threatning rocks 
 Her frighted self do straightway terrifie ; 
 Steel-coloured clouds with rattling thunder knocks, 
 With these she is amaz'd, and thousand such like mocks. ' 
 
 (p. 116, st. 43-45) 
 
 Innocence. 
 • O happy they that then the first are born, 
 While yet the world is in her vernall pride : 
 For old corruption quite away is worn 
 As metall pure so is her mold well-tride. 
 Sweet dews, cool breathing airs, and spaces wide 
 Of precious spicery wafted with soft wind : 
 Fair comely bodies, goodly beautifi'd, 
 Snow-limb'd, rose-cheek'd, ruby-lip'd, pearl-teeth'd, 
 star-eyn'd : 
 Their parts, each fair, in fit proportion all combin'd.' 
 
 (p. ioo, st. 99.) 
 
 The Stars. 
 ' Thus nothing's lost of Gods fecundity. 
 But stretching out himself in all degrees 
 His wisedome, goodnesse and due equity 
 Are rightly rank'd, in all the soul them sees. 
 O holy lamps of God ! O sacred eyes 
 Filled with love and wonder every where ! 
 Ye wandring tapers to whom God descryes 
 His secret paths, great Psyches darlings dear ! 
 Behold her works, but see your hearts close not too near. ' 
 
 (p. 120, st. 10.) 
 
 A Woodland Stream. 
 ' The labouring brook did break its toilsome way.' 
 (p. 170, col. 2, st. 2.) 
 
 Night. 
 ' It was the time when all things quiet lay 
 In silent rest ; and Night her rusty Carre 
 Drawn with black teem had drove above half way. 
 Her curbed steeds foaming out layering tarre 
 And finely trampling the soft misty air 
 With proner course toward the West did fare. ' 
 
 (p. 178, Ins. Phil. st. 1.) 
 
 The Eagle. 
 ' But above these birds of more sightly plume 
 With gold and purple feathers gayly dight 
 Are rank'd aloft. But th' Eagle doth assume 
 The highest sprig. For his it is by right. 
 Therefore in seemly sort he there is pight 
 Sitting aloft in his green Cabinet 
 From whence he all beholds with awfull sight, 
 Who ever in that solemne place were met, 
 At the West end for better view, right stately set. ' 
 
 (p. 24, st. 61.) 
 Birds' ways. 
 ' After a song loud chanted by that Quire 
 Tun'd to the whistling of the hollow winde 
 Comes out a gay Pye in his rich attire 
 The snowie white with the black sattin shin'd, 
 On's head a silken cap he wore unlin'd. 
 When he had hopped to the middle flore 
 His bowing head right lowly he inclin'd 
 As if some Deity he did adore, 
 And seemly gestures make courting the Heavenly powr. 
 
 ' Thus cring'd he toward th' East with shivering wings 
 With eyes on the square sod devoutly bent. 
 Then with short flight up to the Oak he springs 
 Where he thrice congied after his ascent 
 With posture chang'd from th' East to th' Occident. 
 Thrice bowed he down and easily thrice he rose ; 
 Bow'd down so low as if t had been's intent 
 On the green mosse to wipe his swarthy nose. 
 Anon he chatters loud, but why himself best knows. 
 
 ' There we him leave, impatient of stay 
 My self amaz'd such actions to see 
 And pretty gestures 'mongst those creatures gay : 
 So unexpected Uniformitie, 
 And such a semblance of due piety : 
 For every Crow as when he cries for rain 
 Did Eastward nod ; and every Daw we see 
 When they first entered this grassie Plain 
 With shaking wings and bended bills ador'd the sanu\ 
 
 (p. 25, st. 62-64.) 
 
 The Snail. 
 ' And that particular Lives that be yborn 
 Into this world, when their act doth dispear. 
 Do cease to be no more then the snails horn, 
 That she shrinks in because she cannot bear 
 The wanton boys rude touch, or heavie chcar 
 Of stormy winds. The secundary light 
 As surely shineth in the heavens clear. 
 
xliv 
 
 MEMORIAL-INTROD UCTION. 
 
 As do the first fair beams of Phoebus bright, 
 Lasting they are as they, though not of so great might.' 
 
 (p. 56, st. 5.) 
 
 Spider. 
 ' Beside the senses each one are restraind 
 To his own object : so is Phantasie. 
 That in the spirits compasse is containd ; 
 As likewise the low naturall memory. 
 But sooth to say, by a strong sympathy 
 We both are mov'd by these, and these do move. 
 As the light spider that makes at a fly, 
 Her selfe now moves the web she subt'ly wove, 
 Mov'd first by her own web, when here the fly did rove. 
 
 ' Like spider in her web, so do we sit 
 Within this spirit, and if ought do shake 
 This subtile loom we feel as it doth hit ; 
 Most part into adversion we awake, 
 Unlesse we chance into our selves betake 
 Our selves, and listen to the lucid voice 
 Of th' Intellect, which these low tumults slake : 
 But our own selves judge of whatere accloyes 
 Our muddied mind, or what lifts up to heavenly joyes. ' 
 
 (p. 75, st. 53-4.) 
 
 Fine Repetitions. 
 ' Therefore those different hews through all extend 
 So farre as light : Let light be every where : 
 And every where with light distinctly blend 
 Those different colours which I nam'd whilere 
 The Extremities of that farre shining sphear. 
 And that far shining sphear, which Centre was 
 Of all those different colours, and bright chear, 
 You must unfasten ; so o'respred it has, 
 Or rather deeply fill'd with Centrall sand each place.' 
 
 (p. 20, st. 11.) 
 
 The student will not neglect Yas, fantastique 
 of faith in tree-life so quaintly argued and 
 illustrated (p. 47, st. 14-15: P- 4 8 » st - 2 ^ '■ 
 p. 50, st. 49). Is this an anticipation of the 
 Telephone ? ' so the low Spirit of the Uni- 
 verse, though it go quite through the world, 
 yet it is not totally in every part of the 
 world ; Else we should heare our Antipodes, 
 if they did but whisper' (p. 10, col. 1). 
 
 (d) His Assurance of ' Fit Readers.' — 
 In his verse-address 'To the Reader' — 
 originally prefixed to the volume of 1642 — 
 More, — though when he wrote it he was 
 only in his twenty-sixth year, — claims the 
 purest and wisest for his readers. 
 
 He separates himself from the ' prevail- 
 ing ' Poets of the day : — 
 
 ' Expect from me no Teian strain, 
 No light, wanton, Lesbian vein : 
 Though well I wot the vulgar spright 
 Such Harmony doth more strongly smite.' 
 
 His is a moral purpose as well as intellec- 
 tual : — 
 
 ' Silent Secesse, wast Solitude 
 Deep searching thoughts often renew'd, 
 Stiffe conflict 'gainst importunate vice, 
 That daily doth the Soul entice 
 From her high throne of circuling light, 
 To plunge her in infernall Night : 
 Collection of the mind from stroke 
 Of this worlds Magick, that doth choke 
 Her with foul smothering mists and stench, 
 And in Lethsean waves her drench : 
 A daily Death ; drad Agony, 
 Privation, dry Sterility.' 
 
 The like-minded and like-experienced 
 alone would he have ' nearly view ' his ' open 
 Book : '— 
 
 ' Who is well entred in those wayes 
 Fitt'st man to read my lofty layes. 
 But whom lust, wrath, and fear controull, 
 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.' 
 
 All such are in grievous error, and he ' sings ' 
 not for them : — 
 
 ' Thus sing I to cragg'd clifts, and hils, 
 To sighing winds, to murmuring rills, 
 To wastefull woods, to empty groves : 
 Such things as my dear mind most loves. 
 But they heed not my heavenly passion, 
 Fast fixt on their own operation. 
 On chalky rocks hard by the Sea, 
 Safe guided by fair Cynthia, 
 I strike my silver-sounded lyre, 
 First struck my self by some strong fire ; 
 And all the while her wavering ray, 
 Reflected from fluid glasse doth play 
 On the white banks. But all are deaf 
 Vnto 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 rythmes fore thou them understand.' (p. 8.) 
 
 We have need of the same passionate 
 rebukes to-day ; for to-day while there is not 
 — as a rule — the earlier grossness, there is 
 
ME MORI A L- 1 NT ROD UCTION. 
 
 xlv 
 
 a deplorable abundance of Verse that has no 
 ' inward sense,' no message, no apocalypse, 
 mere word-art, and bearing no higher rela- 
 tion to true poetry than the trivialities of 
 Sevres or other porcelain-painting to nature, 
 or to painting itself. I am thankful to have 
 More's avowal of a ' purpose ' and disavowal 
 of purpose-less-ness. His manly words 
 come across our mephitic atmosphere with 
 the freshness of a salt wind blown across the 
 sea. That he should win such Readers as 
 he coveted, and not be forgotten, he was 
 tranquilly assured. He tells his honoured 
 father — ' I am not indeed much solicitous 
 how every particle of these poems may please 
 you. In the meantime, I am sure that 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' (p. 4). Elsewhere he declares 
 that that on which the ' wizards of old time ' 
 had ' divers conceits, ' and that he himself 
 was to ' inquire ' after, he ' would set forth 
 in an eternal rhyme ' (p. 47, st. 10). And so 
 when he has demolished his antagonists in 
 controversy, he recalls himself : — 
 
 ' But I'll break off ; My Muse her self forgot, 
 Her own great strength and her foes feeblenesse. ' 
 
 (p. 66, st. 29.) 
 
 With a self-respect — again reminding of 
 Wordsworth — that partakes of grandeur, he 
 looks around on the men and ways of the 
 Present into the Future : — 
 
 ' To cleanse the soule from sinn, and still diffide 
 Whether our reasons eye be clear enough 
 To intromit true light, that fain would glide 
 Into purg'd hearts, this way's too harsh and rough : 
 Therefore the clearest truths may well seem dark 
 When sloathfull men have eyes so dimme and stark. 
 
 ' These be our times. But if my minds presage 
 Bear any moment, they can ne're last long ; 
 A three branch'd Flame will soon sweep clean the stage 
 Of this old dirty drosse and all wex young. 
 My words into this frozen air I throw 
 Will then grow vocall at that gener all thaw.' 
 
 While he had this calm confidence in and 
 for himself, his was no absurd magnifying of 
 
 his poetic gift. He had sung because he 
 must sing. Interrogated how it was his 
 'busie Muse' was moved 'such fruitlesse 
 pains to prove ' — fruitless by the world's 
 verdict — he answers : — 
 
 ' No pains but pleasure to do th' dictates dear 
 Of inward living nature. What doth move 
 The Nightingall to sing so sweet and clear ? 
 The Thrush, or Lark that mounting high above 
 Chants her shrill notes to heedlesse ears of corn 
 Heavily hanging in the dewy Morn.' (p. 173 b, st 5.) 
 
 Finelier still — and on the same level, not 
 height — is his opening of 'Psychathanasia': — 
 
 ' Whatever man he be that dares to deem 
 True Poets skill to spring of earthly race, 
 I must him tell, that he doth misesteem 
 Their strange estate, and eke himselfe disgrace 
 By his rude ignorance. For there 's no place 
 For forced labour, or slow industry 
 Of flagging wits, in that high fiery chace : 
 So soon as of the Muse they quickned be, 
 At once they rise, and lively nng like Lark in skie.' 
 
 (p. 43, st. 1.) 
 
 That is his highest claim ; ' rais'd upon ' 
 the Muse's ' spreaden wing,' he — 
 
 . . . ' softly playes, and warbles in the wind, 
 And carols out the inward life and spring 
 Of overflowing joy.' (p. 43, St. 3.) 
 
 There is nothing of the spasmodic or 
 ambitious in all this. He knows that he 
 sang ' true ' alike to himself and the truth ; 
 and in his lowly sphere, he recognises his 
 Verse as having the stuff of imperishableness 
 in it ; and so as with the Meteor — according 
 to the old belief — ' whose materiall is low 
 unwieldy earth, base unctuous slime,' but 
 having ' its inward spright ' fired of ' great 
 Phoebus lamp : ' — 
 
 . . . ' then even of it self doth climb ; 
 
 That earst was dark becomes all eye, all sight.' 
 
 he sees his Poetry as a — 
 
 1 Bright starre, that to the wise, of future things gives 
 light.' (P- 43- st. 2.) 
 
 And now I ask for the Poetry of Henry 
 More new and sympathetic Readers and 
 Students. I have no hesitation in affirming 
 
xlvi 
 
 MEMORIA L- IN TROD UCTION. 
 
 substantive additions to philosophic thought 
 and opinion in his Prose. Were it for no 
 more than his strenuous assertion of the 
 ethical, as well as intellectual, side of all 
 truth, and his wise scorn of any attempt to 
 ' intermeddle ' with either ethical or divine 
 things without a clear and purified spiritual 
 vision, and his co-equal rejection of any 
 religion that rested on mere dogma and 
 creed and untouched of aspiration as of 
 action, and above all, his self-introspection as 
 an exemplar of a human soul — as lovingly 
 and lingeringly as anything in ' The Prelude ' 
 itself — I should so regard his Prose. Be- 
 cause of this, your Historians of Ethical- 
 metaphysical Philosophy must imitate Whe- 
 well's and Coleridge's and Maurice's ap- 
 preciation, not Mackintosh's and Lewes' 
 and Bain's, and others' neglect. But as 
 furnishing his complete Poems, I am natu- 
 rally most of all concerned to win readers 
 for them. Granted that there is much bar- 
 barous and uncouth wording, recondite 
 and obscurant speculation, hard and barren 
 controversy, and all too often absence of 
 finished art and consequent discords — 
 granted every abatement, there nevertheless 
 remains in these Poems — in nearly all the 
 minor, and in well-nigh every page of the 
 larger — ample to vindicate their revival, and 
 to reinscribe the venerable name of Henry 
 More among our real Makers and Singers to 
 the full extent of his own modest claim. It 
 will fitly close this Memorial-Introduction 
 to read John Norris's • Ode to Dr. More' 1 — 
 as follows : — 
 
 To Dr. MORE ; An ODE Written by the 
 
 Ingenious and Learned Mr. Norris. 
 
 I. 
 
 GO Muse, go hasten to the Cell of Fame, 
 (Thou know'st her reverend aweful Seat ; 
 It stands hard by your Blest Retreat) 
 Go with a brisk Alarm, assault her Ear ; 
 
 1 Collection of Miscell. consisting of Poems, &c, p. 73 : 
 quoted in Ward's Life after the Preface. 
 
 Bid her her loudest Trump prepare, 
 To sound a more than Humane Name, 
 A Name more Excellent and Great 
 Than She could ever publish yet : 
 
 Tell her ; She need not stay till Fate shall give 
 
 A License to his Works, and bid them live ; 
 
 His Worth now shines through Envy's base Alloy ; 
 
 'Twill/// her widest Trump, and all her Breath employ. 
 
 II. 
 
 Learning, which long, like an Enchanted Land, 
 
 Did Human Force and Art defie, 
 And stood the Virtuoso's best Artillery, 
 
 Which nothing mortal could subdue, 
 Has yielded to this Hero's Fatal hand ; 
 By him is conquer d, lield, and peopled too. 
 
 Like Seas that border on the Shore, 
 The Muses Suburbs some Possession knew ; 
 But like the deep Abyss their inner Store 
 Lay unpossess'd, till seiz'd and own'd by You : 
 
 Truth's Outer Courts were trod before ; 
 Sacred was her Recess ; that Fate reserv'd for MORE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Others in Learning's C/iorus bear their part ; 
 
 And the great Work distinctly share : 
 Thou our great Catholick Professor art ; 
 All Science is annexed to thy unerring Chair. 
 
 Some lesser Synods of the Wise 
 The Muses kept in Universities ; 
 
 But never yet, till in thy Soul, 
 Had they a Council Oecumenical. 
 
 An Abstract they'd a mind to see 
 Of all their scatter d Gifts, and summ'd them up in Thee. 
 
 Thou hast the Arts whole Zodiack run ; 
 
 And fathom'st all that here is known. 
 
 Strange restless Curiosity 1 
 
 Adam himself came short of Thee. 
 He tasted of the Fruit, Thou bear'st away the Tree. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Whilst to be Great the most aspire, 
 Or with low Souls to raise their Fortunes higher ; 
 Knowledge the chiefest Treasure of the Blest, 
 
 Knowledge, the Wise Man's best Request, 
 Was made thy Choice: For this thou hast declin'd 
 A Life of Noise, Impertinence and State ; 
 
 And whater'e else the Muses hate ; 
 And mad'st it thy own Business to Enrich thy Mind. 
 How Calm thy Life, how Easie, how Secure, 
 
 Thou Intellectual Epicure I 
 Thou, as another Solomon, hast try'd 
 All Nature through ; and nothing thy Soul deny'd. 
 
 Who can two such Examples shew ? 
 He All things try'd t' enjoy, and you All things to know. 
 
 V. 
 By Babel's Curse, and our Contracted Span, 
 Heaven thought to check the swift Career of Man : 
 
MEM0RIAL-1NTR0D UCTION. 
 
 xlvii 
 
 And so it prov'd till no w ; Our Age 
 Is much too short to run so long a Stage : 
 And to learn Words is such a vast Delay, 
 That we're benighted e're we come half way. 
 
 Thou with unusual Hast driv'st on ; 
 
 And dost even Time it self out-run. 
 
 No Hindrance can retard thy Course, 
 
 Thou rid'st the Muses winged Horse ; 
 Thy Stage of Learning ends e're that of Life be done. 
 There is now no Work left for thy Accomplish'd Mind, 
 But to survey thy Conquests, and inform Mankind. ' 
 
 I cannot close this Introduction without 
 returning publicly my heartfelt thanks to 
 G. H. White, Esq. of Glenthorne, St. 
 Mary Church, Torquay, for his most pains- 
 
 taking co-operation with me in preparing 
 the full Glossarial Index; and which I re- 
 joice to announce he is continuing for 
 Davies of Hereford, and Nicholas Breton. 
 I have also to thank my manifold-gifted 
 friend, the Rev. J. W. Ebsworth, M.A., of 
 Molash Vicarage, for his engraving of the 
 plate of diagrams. 
 
 Alexander B. Grosart. 
 
 Tremynfa, 
 Penmaenmawr, 
 North Wales, 
 16th July 1878. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 A. — Chappell, More's Tutor. P. xv. 
 
 Chappell was Milton's first tutor, and according to 
 Aubrey, quarrelled with and ' flogged ' him. He would 
 please More as anti-Calvinist, e.g. , ' Lately there sprung 
 up a new brood of such as did assist Arminianism, as 
 Dutch Tompson of Clare Hall, and Mr. William Chap- 
 pell, Fellow of Christ's College ; as the many pupils 
 that were arminianized under his tuition show ' (Quoted 
 (from whom ?) in Masson's Life of Milton, vol. i. p. 105). 
 Chappell was Provost of Trinity College, Dublin (Pro- 
 fessor Dowden to me). 
 
 B.— P. xvii. 
 
 From 'Carmen Natalitium ad Cunas Illustrissimae 
 
 Principis Elisabethae.' 1635. 
 
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 "'EKpvfiev, 7) x'fo'os Xeipi' dp.ei\]/ap&>7j. 
 
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 HavTodcurwv 8' dvOCbv Kal xapirwi/ weblov. 
 
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 *H Kaipoiis Kplvau, Kal fipi<pos bv, Svvacai ; 
 
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 Tdv &p<f>vav CKebdffai Saba i-mcrx^pefos. 
 
 AirrdpKTis povds evri, Kal &Wuv dp%d dpiOp&v. 
 *Q ras dpxaluv Oecnrecrlo} <ro(pla$ ! 
 
 "Evri pouds Kpiaawv bvdbos, Tpidbos 5vds, ?J»Tt 
 IIe/U7rT<£5o5 a rerpds, ras rerpdbos be rpids. 
 
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 TIkts be <r<f> yap^T-Q pvpidbas povdbwv. 
 
 ''EppiKos b MopoO, iK Xpurrov. 
 
 In tepidam humida?nque tempestatem circa natalitia 
 Sermissimae Principis natae 5 Cal. Jan. 
 
 Quae vis repressit flamina Thracia ? 
 
 Aut quse, Decembris tristia frigora 
 
 Compescuit ? non mitis imber 
 
 Jane tuas decuit Calendas. 
 
 Die, Qui tepores Caucasias nives, 
 Quinam fugarunt Sarmaticum gelu ? 
 Crystallinas quinam calores 
 Tam subitd soluere gemmas ? 
 
 Gemmam stupendis artibus omnium 
 Mater polivit molliter, & suam 
 Pulcherrimam mirata prolem 
 Pectore sollicitam favillam 
 
 Concepit ; arsit ; jussaque nubibus 
 Vultu severo dixit. At illius 
 Parebat universa moles 
 Legibus, atque operi favebat. 
 
 Sudabat aer, quod sacra pignora 
 Algore posset laedere : quod nive 
 Possent sua nocere, densse 
 In lacrymas abiere nubes. 
 
 Casleste germen, machina cui favet 
 Immensa, quantam Cynthia circuit, 
 Laetare, gaude, vive ; Xatpe 
 Quae populo sine voce dixti. 
 
 Hen. More, e Christi. 
 

I.-PHILOSOPHICAL POEMS. 
 
 >9 
 
NOTE. 
 
 Of the original and later editions of the ' Philosophical Poems ' of 
 More, see the Memorial-Introduction. Our text is the second edition of 
 1647, whose general and separate title-pages are given in their respective 
 places. The only change made is one of a slightly differing arrangement 
 of the Author's Notes and Commentaries. These we remove collec- 
 tively to the close of the Poems to which they refer, rather than to the 
 end of the volume. The Greek and Latin quotations are extended from 
 their somewhat curious contractions, and very many errors have been 
 corrected. Our own Notes and Illustrations and Glossarial Index will 
 be added at the conclusion of the whole of the Poems. Throughout, the 
 Author's own orthography and capitals and italics and punctuation have 
 been reproduced in integrity, save in obvious errors, over and above the 
 considerable errata-list drawn up by himself. — G. 
 
y 
 

PHILOSOPHICAL!. 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY MORE: 
 
 Mafter of Arts, and Fellow of 
 
 Christs Colledge 
 
 IN 
 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 Hi/ic • Lvcem ' et ' Pocvla ' Sacra. 
 
 A via Pieridum peragro /oca, nullius ante 
 Trita solo,juvat integros accedere fontcs. Lucr. 
 
 CA MBRIDGE, 
 Printed by Roger Daniel 
 
 Printer to the University. 
 1647. 
 
To his dear Father 
 
 ALEXANDER MORE 
 
 ESQUIRE. 
 SIR, 
 
 Know at first sight youUl 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 complement 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 
 intend this an act of worldly discretion and advantage, but of fustice and Gratitude. For I cannot 
 hope that ever any man shall deserve so well of me as your self has done. Besides what hath hitherto 
 commended you to all that know you; your Faithfulnesse, Uprightnesse, Sedulity for the ptiblick 
 Welfare of the place wherein you live, your generous Opennesse and Veracity. Nor can ever that 
 thick cloud you are now enveloped with, of melancholized old Age, and tmdeserved Adversity, either 
 dark the remembrance of your pristine Lustre, or hide from me the sight of your present Worth. Sir, 
 / could wish my self a stranger to your bloud, that L might with the better decorum set out the noble- 
 nesse of your spirit. But to speak modestly; You deserve the Patronage of better Poems then these, 
 though you may lay a more proper claim to these then to any. You having from my childhood 
 tuned mine ears to Spencers rhymes, entertaining us on winter nights, with that incomparable Peice 
 of his, The Fairy Queen, a Poem as richly fraught with divine Morality as Phansy. 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 with- 
 out Riches, and what a piece of Unmanncrlinesse and Lncivility it would be held to seem wiser then 
 them that are more wealthy and powerfull, 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 lesse just. Nor will you, L hope, esteem me the lesse 
 duty full, that without your cognoscence L become thus thankfull. For L never held my self bound to 
 ask leave of any man to exercise an act of Virtue. A nd yet am L conscious to my self, there may 
 have some juvenile Extravagancies passed my pen, which your judgement and gray hairs will more 
 slowly allow of and my self may haply dislike by that time L 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. L am not indeed much solicitous, how every particle of these Poems may please 
 you. In the mean time I am sure that I please my self in the main; which is, The embalming of 
 his name to Lmmortality, that next under God, is the Authour of my Life and Being. 
 
 Your affectionate Sonne, 
 
 Henry More. 
 
A 
 
 $ latontcft long 
 
 of the 
 
 SOUL; 
 
 Treating 
 
 The Life of the Soul, 
 Her Immortalitie, 
 Of \ The Sleep of the Soul, 
 The Vnitie of Souls, and 
 ^Memorie after Death. 
 
 N til lam major em afferre so let ignaris inscitia voluptatem 
 quam expedition fastidiosumq ; contemptum. Seal. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel Printer 
 
 to the Universitie. 1647. 
 
1 : ' 'X- ( & w % '^- %"& && ■&&&&& %. 
 
 To the Reader. 
 
 Upon this second Edition. 
 
 Reader, 
 
 F I seem too bold in presenting my self again 
 so suddenly to publick view, let it excuse me, 
 at least in part, that there is not so much 
 boldnesse in this, as in my first adventure. 
 For whereas I had then no encouragement but mine own 
 well meaning, and carelessenesse of the opinions of men ; 
 I have now (beside that resolv'd neglect of mens hasty cen- 
 sures) the experience (though unexpected) of the favour- 
 able acceptance of the bravest and best improved spirits. 
 For whose sakes, and as many else as are at leasure a 
 while to lay aside the pleasure or trouble of the world, 
 and entertain their minds with thoughts of a greater 
 compasse then 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 smoothnesse. For I must confesse such was 
 the present haste and heat that I was then hurried in 
 (dispatching them in fewer moneths then 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 repre- 
 sentation of things, that it was even necessary to forget 
 the ceconomie of words, and leave them behind me 
 aloft, to float and run together at randome (like chaff 
 and straws on the surface of the water) that it could not 
 but send them out in so uneven and rude a dresse. Nor 
 yet can I, (I professe) ever hope to find leasure or pa- 
 tience so exquisitely 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 compos'd as their own hair, or as smooth as their 
 Mistresses Looking-glasse. But may these emendations 
 prove but acceptable to the more generous and manly 
 Genius : I shall please my self enough, if I prove but 
 tolerable to those female phansies. 
 
 But as I would not industriously neglect these, so I 
 hope I have more solidly gratifi'd the other, by the en- 
 largement of this Poem. For besides the Canto of the 
 INFINITY of WORLDS, I have also added another 
 of xhePRAzEXISTENCYof the SOUL, where I have 
 
 set out the nature of SPIRITS and given an account of 
 APPARITIONS and WITCH-CRAFT, very answer- 
 able I conceive to experience and story, invited to that 
 task by the frequent discoveries of this very Age. Which 
 if they were publickly recorded, and that course con- 
 tinued in euery Parish, it would prove one of the best 
 Antidotes against that earthly and cold disease of Sad- 
 ducisme and Atheisme, 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 PS YCHO- 
 ZOIA, and have added (that I might avoid all suspicion 
 of partiality) to Psittaco and Pithecus diverse other per- 
 sons, Pico, Corvino, Graculo, and Glaucis, but am so 
 sensible of that sober precept in Josephus, which he 
 affirms to be out of Moses, Mr)8els f5\a.<T<py)iJ,eiTW ods 
 fiXXat ir6\eis vonlfovcri Qeoiis, that I would be very loth 
 to be so farre mistaken as to be thought a Censurer or 
 Contemner of other mens Religions or Opinions, if they 
 serve God in them in the simplicity and sincerity of their 
 hearts, and have some more precious substratum with- 
 in, then inveterate custome or naturall 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 acutenesse 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 Gods Spirit, it 
 is like running quicksilver in the back of a sword, and 
 will enable us to strike to utter destruction and ruine. 
 But it would prevent a great deal of bloud and bitter- 
 nesse in the Christian world, if we reserved the flower 
 and strength of our zeal for the undoubted Truth of God 
 and His immutable Righteousnesse, and were more mildly 
 and moderately affected concerning the Traditions and 
 determinations of the Elders. 
 
TO THE READER UPON THIS SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Furthermore, I have added Notes for the better under- 
 standing, not onely of my Psychozoia, but of the Prin- 
 ciples of Plato's Philosophy. In both which I would be 
 so understood, as a Representer of the Wisdome of the 
 Ancients rather then a warranter of the same. Contem- 
 plations concerning the dry essence of the Deity are very 
 consuming and unsatisfactory. Tis better to drink of 
 the bloud of the grape, then bite 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 successefull in the latter. And the lesse, because 
 the reports of them that have busied themselves that 
 way, have not onely seem'd strange to the vulgar, but 
 even repugnant with one another. But I should in 
 charity referre this to the nature of the pigeons neck, 
 rather then to mistake or contradiction. One and the 
 same Object in Nature affords many and different 
 <f>aiv6fi€va.. 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 par- 
 ticular 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 subtil considerations concerning A TOMS 
 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 
 FLVX and REFLVX of the SEA. Which two con- 
 templations are not inferiour to any, for either pleasant- 
 nesse in themselves, or conduciblenesse for the finding 
 out of the right frame of Nature. 
 
 Finally, I have cast into this second Edition severall 
 smaller Poems, of which together with all the rest that I 
 have published I would give this generall Advertisement, 
 
 Est pictura Poesis. 
 Every poem is an Idyllium. And a Poet no more sings 
 himself, then a Painter draws his own picture. Nor can 
 I by these assume to my self the honour of being a Plato- 
 nist, no more then Virgil incurre 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 deferre it, till I find 
 the thing it self of more consequence, and my self 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 sensuall immersion or the dead- 
 nesse of Melancholy have more deeply seiz'd upon, I 
 must acknowledge that in my own judgement I can 
 seem no better to them then a piece of highly inacted 
 
 folly, they obstinately preferring that sad ground of in- 
 credulity before any thing lesse then a Demonstration. 
 For whose satisfaction Mounsieur des Chartes hath 
 attempted bravely, but yet methinks on this side of 
 Mathematicall evidence. He and that learned Knight 
 our own Countryman had done a great deal more if 
 they had promised lesse. So high confidence might be- 
 come the heat and scheme of Poetry much better then 
 sober Philosophy. Yet he has not done nothing, though 
 not so much as he raiseth mens expectations to. And if 
 he had performed lesse, it had been enough to souls that 
 have well recovered that divine sagacity and quick sent 
 of their own Interest. If this sweet ethereall gale of 
 divine breathing do not quicken and enliven the sent 
 and relish of such arguments as Reason, Nature, and 
 story will afford, they will all prove weak and uselesse : 
 Especially to exercised Wits that have so WTithen and 
 wrested their phansies that they can imagine or dis- 
 imagine any thing, so weakened it that it is born down 
 as wel with the smallest as greatest weight : so crusted 
 and made hard their inward Kpirr/piov by overmuch and 
 triviall 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 
 Countrey idiots concerning the force of Arguments for 
 Gods existence or the Souls immortality, then 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 easie hints and pointings will be found no 
 fallacious directions. And true opinion is as faithfull a 
 Guide, as Necessity and Demonstration. 
 
 That obvious conceit of the nature of light and colours, 
 though perhaps false in it self, yet is an easie and safe 
 conductour to that grand Truth of the divine Hypostases 
 held up by the whole Christian world for these many 
 hundred years and by more then 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 sportfull or over officious spirit puts himself 
 in the form and fashion of the deceased party? But 
 what was the first and most easie suggestion, is such a 
 truth as all Ages and Nations without intermission have 
 embraced it. Nor yet will this be for a Demonstration 
 and winne undoubted assent with austere and melan- 
 cholick tempers. Nor is reason unback'd 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 en- 
 dangering of Cleombrotus neck, or too forcibly driving 
 men to obedience if they had their immortality as demon- 
 strable as ; That the three angles in a triangle areequall 
 to two right angles. Besides it would prevent that fit- 
 ting triall of the soul, how she would be affected if there 
 were nothing to come ; whence she would not be able so 
 
8 
 
 TO THE READER UPON THIS SECOND EDITION. 
 
 sensibly to discover to her self her own Hypocrisie or 
 sinceritie. Lastly, that loving adherence and affec- 
 tionate cleaving to God by Faith and divine sense, would 
 be forestall'd by such undeniable evidence of Reason and 
 Nature. Which though it would very much gratifie the 
 naturall 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 freedome from worldly 
 care and sorrow, and the grosser pleasures of the body 
 (otherwise her ethereall vehicle will drink in so much of 
 earthy and mortall dregs, that the sense of the soul will 
 be changed), and being outvoted as it were by the over- 
 swaying number of terrene particles, which that ethereal 
 nature hath so plentifully imbib'd and incorporated with, 
 
 she will become in a manner corporeall, ffv/xiraOovffa Ka.i 
 ofJLoSo^ovffa rip <rwfjiaTi, as Jamblichus speaks, and in the 
 extremity of this weaknesse and dotage will be easily 
 drawn off to pronounce her self such as the body is, (dis- 
 solvable and mortall) ; therefore it is better for us that we 
 become doubtfull of our immortall condition when we 
 stray from that virgin-purity and unspottednesse, that 
 we may withdraw our feet from these paths of death, 
 then that Demonstration and Infallibility should permit 
 us to proceed so farre, that our immortality would prove 
 an heavy disadvantage. But this is meant onely 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 dis- 
 quieting truth ; that they bear about with them so pre- 
 cious a charge as an immortall Spirit. 
 
 Co t&e iffeaDer* 
 
 j Eader, sith it is the fashion 
 To bestoiv some salutation , 
 I greet thee ; give free leave to look 
 And nearly view my open Book. 
 But see then that thine eyes be clear 
 If ought thou wouldst discover there. 
 Expect from me no Teian strain, 
 No light wanton Lesbian vein : 
 Though well I wot the vulgar spright 
 Such Harmony doth more strongly smite. 
 Silent Secesse, wast Solitude 
 Deep searching thoughts often renew 'd, 
 Stiffe conflict 'gainst importunate vice, 
 That daily doth the Soul entice 
 From her high throne of circuling light 
 To plunge her in inf email Night : 
 Collection of the mind from stroke 
 Of this worlds Magick, that doth choke 
 Her with foul smothering mists and stench, 
 And in Lethaan waves her drench : 
 A daily Death, drad Agony, 
 Privation, dry Sterility ; 
 Who is well entred in those wayes 
 Fitt'st man to read my lofty layes. 
 But whom lust, wrath and fear controule. 
 
 Scarce know their body from their soul. 
 If any such chance hear my verse. 
 Dark numerous Nothings I rehearse 
 To them : measure out an idle sound, 
 In which no inward sense is found. 
 Thus sing I to cragg'd clifts, and hits, 
 To sighing winds, to murmuring rills, 
 To wastefull woods, to empty groves : 
 Such things as my dear mind most loves. 
 But they heed not my heavenly passion, 
 Fastfixt on their own operation. 
 On chalky rocks hard by the Sea, 
 Safe guided by fair Cynthia, 
 I strike my silver-sounded lyre, 
 First struck my self by some strong fire ; 
 And all the while her wavering ray. 
 Reflected from fluid glasse doth play 
 On the white banks. But all are deaf 
 Vnto my Muse, that is most lief 
 To mine own self. So they nor blame 
 My pleasant notes, nor praise the sa?ne. 
 Nor do thou, Reader, rashly brand 
 My rythmes fore thou them understand. 
 
 H. M. 
 
PSYCHOZOIA, 
 
 OR 
 
 The firft part of the Song 
 
 of the 
 
 SOUL, 
 
 Containing 
 
 A Chriftiano-Platonicall difplay of 
 LIFE. 
 
 By H. M. Matter of Arts, and Fellow of Chrifts 
 Colledge in Cambridge. 
 
 Tot vita? gradus cognoscimus, quot in nobis met- 
 ipsis expedinws. Mars. Ficin. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the 
 
 Universitie. 1647. 
 
 19 
 
TO THE READER, 
 
 Upon the firft Canto of 
 
 PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 His first Canto, as you may judge by the 
 names therein, was intended for a mere 
 Platonicall description of Universall life, or 
 life that is omnipresent, though not alike 
 omnipresent. As in Noahs 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 
 heare our Antipodes, if they did but whisper : Because 
 our lower man is a part of the inferiour Spirit of the 
 Universe. 
 
 Ahad, Aion, 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 Platonicall Triad : which though 
 they that slight the Christian Trinity do take for a fig- 
 ment ; 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 professe 
 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 Platonicall Triad, in a Chris- 
 tian and Poeticall 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 Sonne 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 Eternall life I sing of, even in the middest 
 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 witnesse 
 of himself. Whose doctrine might strike our adulterate 
 Christian Professors with shame and astonishment ; 
 their lives falling so exceeding short of the better 
 Heathen. How far short are they then of that admir- 
 able and transcendent high mystery of true Christian - 
 isme? 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. <paiv6(i.eva. 
 
 Hdvrri Si Aids Kexp^^Oa iravret' 
 ToC yhp Kal yivos efffiiv. 
 
 Those latter words he gives to the Christian God, whom 
 he himself preached. I will omit the usuall 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 correspon- 
 dency of Names, which should imply agreement of 
 nature ; I have thought good to exhibite to the Readers 
 eye the grounds of this my deviation founded in this 
 Parallelisme of Titles, belonging to the second Unity of 
 each Triad. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 Platonic. 
 The Sonne of the Good. 
 
 To avTOKaAbv to <£<Jjs. 
 
 To yap etSos (puis. Plotin. 
 
 A070S >cac etioi 
 
 'ISe'a 
 
 ' O vovs i\ <70<pia 
 
 Mon. 
 
 To ov, j) aAjjfliiTj <ro<pia ovo-i'a 
 
 <cai -q oAijOutj ovtria GtypLa.. 
 
 Plot. />. 547. 
 
 1 r 
 
 Christian. 
 The Sonne of God. 
 
 'An-aifyaoTta Trjt Sofjjv toO 
 
 TTOTpd?. 
 
 Aoyos. John 1. 
 
 'H aArjSeia 
 
 'H (rcxpia. Proverbs. 8. 
 
 Etemall Life. 
 
 "O iy »cai 6 ijr, Kai 6 
 
 epxoftcot- 
 ° r HUT 
 
 For indeed the Greek 6 t/p, km 6 (5v /ca2 6 ipxbp-evos 
 is but a Periphrasis of ,11 fP which contains in ,"| \ » 
 
 t : t 
 
 the future present, and time past, as Criticks observe. 
 
 I might adde further correspondencies betwixt the 
 Platonick Triad, and diverse passages of Scripture 
 according to the interpretations of no contemptible 
 Authours. As Gods making the World by his Word, 
 which is very reasonable, He being the wisedome of God 
 or the Intellectuall World ; the Idea of the visible and 
 naturall Creature. And that he is the Redeemer of the 
 laps'd World, vis. Mankind, while he reduceth the 
 right shape and image again into man, wisedome and 
 righteousnesse. 
 
 Take in the whole Trinity, you shall find a strange 
 concordance and harmony betwixt the nature of each 
 Hypostasis in either of their order. Atove or Ahad, is 
 simply the first Principle of all beings, the Father of 
 all existences, and the Universall Creation is but his 
 Family ; and therefore hath he a full right of imposing 
 Lawes on the whole Creature. 
 
 Oepucrevei Si ^Kaaros 
 
 HalSiiiv 175' a\6x^y- As Aristotle observes out of 
 the Poet. The naturall Creature (as David also bears 
 them witnesse) 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 horrour. 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 impresse 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 <p(irn.<rp.a rov v6p.ov, which is signified also 
 by Diana in the third Canto of Psychozoia. This 
 God vouchsafes sometime to second with the gift of 
 his Sonne, who is 6 dpdbt deov \6yos irpurrbyovos 
 vlbs 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 him- 
 self there worketh out from the very bottome all 
 corruption and filth, cleanseth us throughly from our 
 sins, and healeth us of our infirmities, shapes us from 
 an inward vitall Principle, (even as the Ratio scminalis 
 figures out a tree) into a new life and shape, even into 
 the Image of God ; that is, inward Living Righteous- 
 nesse and Truth, instructing us continually, and guiding 
 
 us with his eye : For he is properly Wisedome and 
 Intellect. And this may be termed <pwrio-p.a rov A6-you, 
 even of the Sonne of Righteousnesse. See Philo 
 Judceus, pag. 390. 391. 403, 407. as also in his irepi rov 
 Kdl'v. pag. 76. 
 
 Of this \byos Trismegisl calling him vovs, writeth 
 thus ouros Si 6 vovs iv p£v dvffpwirois debs iffri Sib nai 
 rives rCiv dvdpuiirwv deoi elct. The same w r hich John 
 intimates : As many as receive him become the sons of 
 God. And a little after, he tells us that this Universall 
 Intellect as it doth cvvepyetv cooperate with all things ; 
 so it doth also, dvrncpdaaeiv, resist and oppose the 
 souls of men hurried on to pleasure and passion by this 
 disadvantagious union with the body. 
 "Ovais av olv if/vxcus 6 vovs ^Tnararrjarj, ravrcus (palvei 
 eavrov rb <f>4yyos, avrnrpdcrffuv avrCjv rols TrpoXrifj.pa.fft.i', 
 (bffirep iarpbs ayaObs Xinrei rb awp.a irpoei\rip.pJi>ov 
 virb vbcrov, kcxIuv t) ri/xvwv rbv avrbv rpbirov kox 6 
 vovs Tpirxjiv \virel i£v<j>atpQv avrijs ri)v i]Sovr)v a<f>' t}s 
 7ra<ra vbffos if'vXTJs yiverai' vbffos 5k p.eya\-q ipvxv* 
 d.0ebrr]s. — Trismeg. irepl vov koivou irpbs Tar. 
 
 But now being thus healed, purged, and illuminated 
 by this Baptisme of the living Word or Intellect, which 
 is Christ, we are no longer under the Law, nor the 
 terrour thereof, but serve willingly, as from a vitall 
 Principle in us, under Christ. Wherefore such ones as 
 are thus eminently good and virtuous in themselves, 
 even according to the judgement of Aristotle, Politic, 
 lib. 3. are not under the Law. Kara rwv roiovruv 
 ovk icri vbp.os, avroi yap etVt vbfios. 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, 
 'Qcrirep yap deov iv avdpilnrois (Ubs ttvai rbv 
 roiovrov" and therefore not to be under the Law, no 
 more then a Deity can be under their Law, Ylapair\-qo-<.ov 
 yap, Kav el rov Aids (Lpxeiv d^iotev, /xepi^ovres dpxds. 
 For 'tis as if they should take upon them to rule Jupiter 
 himself, and share his kingdome. See Aristot. Politic, 
 lib. 3. 
 
 The last accomplishment of all, and the highest per- 
 fection as the Apostle witnesseth, is Love, and this 
 is ever referr'd 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 
 Plot inns calls otpavtav d<ppo5LT7]v the celestiall 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 fitly agree to this purpose, viz. "Hpa xapa rov 
 ipdv, her name implying Love. And a further signe 
 that Juno and Venus are all one, is, that Astronomers 
 have noted one and the same Starre by both their 
 names. Med' 6v b rov $uo-<pbpov, bv 'A<ppo5ir-r)s ol 5t 
 "Hpay irpoo-ayopevovffiv. Aristot. de Mundo. See 
 Plotin. Ennead. 3 lib. 6. 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 So then the proper effect of this third Hypostasis in 
 either Trinity is Love, which completeth 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 Energie of the Soul, viz. divine Love : and this is 
 tpdrrur/xa rod 7rvev/j.aros, to be baptized with the Holy 
 Ghost. 
 
 This trinall effect or spirituall influence on the Soul is 
 experientially true : But this threefold Hypostasis, viz. 
 Ahad, s£on, and Psyche, cannot be known by experience, 
 but is rather concluded by collection of reason. Nor 
 indeed is reason it self able sufficiently to confirm or 
 confute it, sith it can conceive that one single Essence 
 can perform many and various functions as doth the 
 Soul, that being one, enfolds her self 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 confesse that that 
 mystery seems to me a thing of it self, 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 happiriesse of man is not the 
 Essence, but the Influence of the Divinity ; and to be 
 baptized 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 Divell : that is the 
 priviledge onely 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 subtile, yet well I wot 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 Sunnes 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 subtile and searching fire, that will sift all 
 the vanities of dreaming Philosophers, and burn up the 
 vain imaginations of false Christians, like stubble. 
 
 All this out of a tendernesse of mind, being exceeding 
 loth to give any man offence by my writings, For though 
 
 knowledge and theory be better then 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 dis- 
 cretion, and judgement. 
 
 Vpon 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 
 straitned being, as yet being made ; no earth or any 
 other Orb as yet kned together. All homogeneall, 
 simple, single, pure, pervious, unknotted, uncoacted, 
 nothing existing but those eight universall orders. 
 
 There God hath full command, builds and destroyes 
 what he lists. 
 
 That all our souls are free effluxes from his essence. 
 What follows is so plain that the Reader wants no 
 direction 
 
 Vpon 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 shew the abuse of those opinions there 
 touched, crouding a number of enormities together, that 
 easily shroud themselves there, where all sinfulnesse 
 surely may easily get harbour, if we be not yet well 
 aware of the Devil, that makes true opinions oftentimes 
 serve for mischief. 
 
 Nothing else can be now expected for the easie and 
 profitable understanding of this Poem, but the interpre- 
 tation of the names that frequently occurre 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 equall with the 
 best, onely they have not fed of husks and shels, as others 
 have been forced to do, the superficiary knowledge of 
 tongues. But it would be well, that neither the Linguist 
 would contemne the illiterate for his ignorance, nor the 
 ignorant condemn the learned for his knowledge, For it 
 is not unlearnednesse that God is so pleased withall, or 
 sillinesse and emptinesse of mind, but singlenesse and 
 simplicity of heart. 
 
 H. M. 
 
The Argument of 
 
 p s y c h o z o I A, 
 
 Or 
 
 The life of the Soul. 
 
 Cant. I. 
 
 This Song great Psyches parentage 
 
 With her fourefold array, 
 And that mysterious marriage, 
 
 To th' Reader doth display. 
 
 I 
 
 Or Ladies loves, nor Knights brave martiall 
 deeds, 
 Ywrapt in rolls of hid Antiquitie ; 
 But th' inward Fountain, and the unseen 
 Seeds, 
 From whence are these and what so under eye 
 Doth fall, or is record in memorie, 
 Psyche, I'll sing. Psyche I from thee they sprong. 
 O life of Time, and all Alterity ! 
 The life of lives instill his nectar strong, 
 My soul t' inebriate, while I sing Psyches song. 
 
 But thou, whoe're thou art that hear'st this strain, 
 Or read'st these rythmes which from Platonick rage 
 Do powerfully flow forth, dare not to blame 
 My forward pen of foul miscarriage ; 
 If all that's spoke, with thoughts more sadly sage 
 Doth not agree. My task is not to try 
 What's simply true. I onely do engage 
 My self to make a fit discovery, 
 Give some fair glimpse of Plato's hid Philosophy. 
 
 3 
 
 What man alive that hath but common wit 
 (When skilfull limmer 'suing his intent 
 Shall fairly well pourtray and wisely hit 
 The true proportion of each lineament, 
 And in right colours to the life depaint 
 The fulvid Eagle with her sun-bright eye) 
 Would wexen wroth with inward choler brent 
 Cause 'tis no Buzard or discolour'd Pie ? 
 Why men ? I meant it not : Cease thy fond obloquie. 
 
 So if what's consonant to Plato's school 
 (Which well agrees with learned Pythagore, 
 Egyptian Trismegist, and th' antique roll 
 Of Chaldee wisdome, all which time hath tore 
 But Plato and deep Plotin do restore) 
 Which is my scope, I sing out lustily : 
 If any twitten me for such strange lore, 
 And me all blamelesse brand with infamy, 
 God purge that man from fault of foul malignity. 
 
 Th' Ancient of dayes, Sire of Eternitie, 
 Sprung of himself, or rather no wise sprong : 
 Father of lights and everlasting glee, 
 Who puts to silence every daring tongue 
 And flies man's sight, shrowding himself among 
 His glorious rayes, good Atove, from whom came 
 All good that Pedia spies in thickest throng 
 Of most desireables, all's from that same, 
 That same, that Atove hight, and sweet Abinoam. 
 
 Now can I not with flowring phantasie 
 To drowsie sensuall souls such words impart, 
 Which in their sprights, may cause sweet agony, 
 And thrill their bodies through with pleasing dart, 
 And spread in flowing fire their close-twist heart, 
 All chearing fire, that nothing wont to burn 
 That Atove lists to save ; and his good Art 
 Is all to save that will to him return, 
 That all to him return, nought of him is forlorn : 
 
 For what can be forlorn, when his good hands 
 Hold all in life, that of life do partake ? 
 O surest confidence of Loves strong bands ! 
 Love loveth all that's made ; Love all did make : 
 And when false life doth fail, it's for the sake 
 
14 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Of better being. Riving tortures spight, 
 That life disjoynts, and makes the heart to quake, 
 To good the soul doth nearer reunite : 
 So ancient Atove hence all-joyning Ahad hight. 
 
 This A had of himself the sEon fair 
 Begot, the brightnesse of his father's grace : 
 No living wight in heav'n to him compare, 
 Ne work his goodly honour such disgrace, 
 Nor lose thy time in telling of his race. 
 His beauty and his race no man can tell : 
 His glory darkeneth the Sunnes bright face ; 
 Or if ought else the Sunnes bright face excell, 
 His splendour would it dim, and all that glory quell. 
 
 This is that ancient Eidos omniform, 
 Fount of all beauty, root of flowring glee, 
 Hyle old hag, foul, filthy, and deform, 
 Cannot come near. Joyfull Eternity 
 Admits no change or mutability, 
 No shade of change, no imminution, 
 No nor increase ; for what increase can be 
 To that that's all ? and where Hyl' hath no throne 
 Can ought decay? such is the state of great /Eon. 
 
 Farre otherwise it fares in this same Lond 
 Of Truth and Beauty, then in mortall brood 
 Of earthly lovers, who impassion'd 
 With outward forms (not rightly understood 
 From whence proceeds this amorous sweet flood, 
 And choice delight which in their spright they feel : 
 Can outward Idole yield so heavenly mood ?) 
 % This inward beauty unto that they deal 
 That little beauteous is : Thus into th' dirt they reel. 
 
 II 
 
 Like to Narcissus, on the grassie shore, 
 Viewing his outward face in watery glasse ; 
 Still as he looks, his looks adde evermore 
 New fire, new light, new love, new comely grace 
 To's inward form ; and it displayes apace 
 It's hidden rayes, and so new lustre sends 
 To that vain shadow : but the boy, alas ! 
 Unhappy boy ! the inward nought attends, 
 But in foul filthy mire, love, life, and form he blends. 
 
 And this I wot is the Souls excellence, 
 That from the hint of every painted glance 
 Of shadows sensible, she doth from hence 
 Her radiant life, and lovely hue advance 
 To higher pitch, and by good governance 
 May wained be from love of fading light 
 In outward forms, having true Cognizance, 
 That those vain shows are not the beauty bright 
 That takes men so, but what they cause inhumane spright. 
 
 13 
 
 Farre otherwise it fares in sEotis Realm , 
 O happy close of sight and that there's seen ! 
 That there is seen is good Abinoam, 
 Who Atove hight : And Atuvus I ween, 
 Cannot be lesse then he that sets his eyen 
 On that abysse of good eternally, 
 The youthfull /Eon, whose fair face doth shine 
 While he his Fathers glory doth espy, 
 Which waters his fine flowring forms with light from high. 
 
 14 
 
 Not that his forms increase, or that they die : 
 
 For /Eon-land, which men Idea call, 
 
 Is nought but life in full serenity, 
 
 Vigour of life is root, stock, branch, and all 
 
 Nought here increaseth, nought here hath it's fall : 
 
 For yEons Kingdomes alwayes perfect stand, 
 
 Birds, Beasts, Fields, Springs, Plants, Men and 
 
 Minerall, 
 To perfectnesse nought added be there can : 
 This /Eon also hight Autocalo?! and On. 
 
 15 
 
 This is the eldest sonne of Hattove hore : 
 But th' eldest daughter of this aged Sire, 
 That virgin wife of sEon, Vranore. 
 She Vranora hight, because the fire 
 Of ^Ethers essence she with bright attire, 
 And inward unseen golden hew doth dight, 
 And life of sense and phansie doth inspire. 
 ^Ether's the vehicle of touch, smell, sight, 
 Of taste, and hearing too, and of the plastick might. 
 
 16 
 
 Whilome me chanced (O my happy chance !) 
 To spie this spotlesse pure fair Uranore : 
 I spi'd her, but, alas ! with slighter glance 
 Beheld her on the Atuvesan shore : 
 She stood the last ; for her did stand before 
 The lovely Autocal. But first of all 
 Was mighty Atove, deeply covered o're 
 With unseen light. No might imaginall 
 May reach that vast profunditie, [or raise its pall. ] 
 
 17 
 
 Whiles thus they stood by that good lucid spring 
 Of liuing blisse, her fourefold ornament 
 I there observ'd ; and that's the onely thing 
 That I dare write with due advisement. 
 Fool-hardy man that purposeth intent 
 Far 'bove his reach, like the proud Phaeton, 
 Who clomb the fiery car and was ybrent 
 Through his fond juvenile ambition ; 
 Th' unruly flundring steeds wrought his confusion. 
 
 18 
 Now rise, my Muse, and straight thy self addresse 
 To write the pourtraiture of th' outward vest, 
 And to display its perfect comlinesse : 
 Begin and leave where it shall please thee best. 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 >5 
 
 Nor do assay to tell all, let the rest 
 Be understood. For no man can unfold 
 The many plicatures so closely prest 
 At lowest verge. Things 'fore our feet yrold, 
 If they be hard, how shall the highest things be told ? 
 
 «9 
 
 Its unseen figure I must here omit : 
 For thing so mighty vast no mortall eye 
 Can compasse ; and if eye not compasse it, 
 The extreme parts, at least some, hidden lie : 
 And if that they lie hid, who can descry 
 The truth of figure ? Bodies figured 
 Receive their shape from each extremity. 
 But if conjecture may stand in truths stead 
 The garment round or circular I do aread. 
 
 20 
 As for it's colour and materiall, 
 It silken seems, and of an azure hiew, 
 If hiew it have or colour naturall : 
 For much it may amaze mans erring view. 
 Those parts the eye is near give not the shew 
 Of any colour ; but the rurall Swains, 
 O easie ignorance ! would swear 'tis blew, 
 Such as their Phyllis would, when as she plains 
 
 Their Sunday-cloths, and the washt white with azure 
 stains. 
 
 21 
 But this fair azure colour's fouly stain'd * 
 
 By base comparison with that blew dust. 
 But you of Uranore are not disdain'd, 
 O silly Shepherds, if you hit not just 
 In your conceits, so that you'r put in trust 
 You duly do attend. If simple deed 
 Accord with simple life, then needs you must 
 From the great Uranore of favour speed, 
 
 Though you cannot unfold the nature of her weed. 
 
 For who can it unfold, and reade aright 
 The divers colours, and the tinctures fair, 
 Which in this various vesture changes write 
 Of light, of duskishnesse, of thick, of rare 
 Consistences : ever new changes marre 
 Former impressions. The dubious shine 
 Of changeable silk stuffs, this passeth farre. 
 Farre more variety, and farre more fine, 
 Then interwoven silk with gold or silver twine. 
 
 23 
 Lo what delightfull immutations 
 On her soft flowing vest we contemplate ! 
 The glory of the Court, their fashions, 
 And brave agguize with all their Princely state, 
 Which Poets or Historians relate 
 This farre excels, farther than pompous Court 
 Excels the homeliest garb of Countrey rate : 
 Unspeakable it is how great a sort 
 Of glorious glistring showes, in it themselves disport. 
 
 24 
 There you may see the eyelids of the Morn 
 With lofty silver arch displaid ith' East, 
 And in the midst the burnisht gold doth burn ; 
 A lucid purple mantle in the West 
 Doth close the day, and hap the Sun at rest . 
 Nor doth these lamping shewes the azur quell, 
 Or other colours : where 't beseemeth best 
 There they themselves dispose ; so seemly well 
 Doth light and changing tinctures deck this goodly veil. 
 
 25 
 But 'mongst these glaring glittering rows of light, 
 And flaming Circles, and the grisell gray, 
 And crudled clouds, with silver tippings dight, 
 And many other deckings wondrous gay, 
 As Iris and the Halo; there doth play 
 Still-pac'd Euphrona in her Conique tire ; 
 By stealth her steeple-cap she doth assay 
 To whelm on th' earth : So School-boyes do aspire 
 
 With coppell'd hat to quelme the Bee all arm'd with ire. 
 26 
 I saw pourtrai'd on this sky-coloured silk 
 Two lovely Lads, with wings fully dispread 
 Of silver plumes, their skins more white then milk, 
 Their lilly limbs I greatly admired, 
 Their cheary looks and lusty livelyhed : 
 Athwart their snowy brest, a scarf they wore 
 Of azur hew ; fairly bespangeled 
 Was the gold fringe. Like Doves so forth they fore ; 
 
 Some message they, I ween, to Xlonocardia bore. 
 
 O gentle Sprights, whose carefull oversight 
 Tends humane actions, sons of Solyma. 
 O heavenly Salems sons ! you fend the right. 
 You violence resist, and fraud bewray ; 
 The ill with ill, the good with good you pay. 
 And if you list to mortall eye appear, 
 You thick that veil, and so your selves array 
 With visibility : O myst'ry rare ! 
 
 That thickned veile should maken things appear more 
 bare ! 
 
 28 
 But well I wot that nothing's bare to sense, 
 For sense cannot arrive to th' inwardnesse 
 Of things, nor penetrate the crust y fence 
 O^constipated matter close compresse : 
 Or that were laid aside, yet nathelesse 
 Things thus unbar'd to sense be more obscure. 
 Therefore those sonnes of Love when they them dressc 
 For sight, they thick the vest of Vramare, 
 
 And from their centre overflow't with beauty pure. 
 
 29 
 Thus many goodly things have been unfold 
 Of Uranurcs fair changing ornament : 
 Yet farre more hidden lye as yet untold ; 
 For all to tell was never my intent, 
 
16 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Neither all could I tell if I so meant. 
 For her large robe all the wide world doth fill : 
 It's various largenesse no man can depaint : 
 My pen's from thence, my Book my Ink ; but skill 
 From Uranures own selfe down gently doth distill. 
 
 30 
 But yet one thing I saw that I'll not passe : 
 At the low hem of this large garment gay 
 Number of goodly balls there pendant was, 
 Some like the Sun, some like the Moones white ray, 
 Some like discoloured Tellus, when the day 
 Discries her painted coat : In wondrous wise 
 These coloured ones do circle, float and play, 
 As those farre shining Rounds in open skies : 
 Their course the best Astronomer might well aggrize. 
 
 31 
 
 These danc't about : but some I did espie 
 That steady stood, 'mongst which there shined one, 
 More fairly shineth not the worlds great eye, 
 Which from his plenteous store unto the Moon 
 Kindly imparteth light, that when he's gone, 
 She might supply his place, and well abate 
 The irksome uglinesse of that foul drone, 
 Sad heavie Night ; yet quick to work the fate 
 Of murd'red travellers, when they themselves belate. 
 
 32 
 
 gladsome life of sense that doth adore 
 
 The outward shape of the worlds curious frame 1 
 The proudest Prince that ever Sceptre bore 
 (Though he perhaps observeth not the same) 
 The lowest hem doth kisse of that we name, 
 The stole of Vranore, these parts that won 
 To drag in dirty earth (nor do him blame) 
 These doth he kisse : why should he be fordone ? 
 How sweet it is to live ! what joy to see the Sunne ! 
 
 33 
 But O what joy it is to see the Sun 
 Of sEons kingdomes, and th' eternall Day 
 That never night o'retakes ! the radiant throne 
 Of the great Queen, the Queen Vranura I 
 Then she gan first the Scepter for to sway, 
 And rule with wisdome, when Atuvus old ; 
 — Hence Ahad we him call, — did tie them tway 
 "With nuptiall charm and wedding-ring of gold ; 
 Then sagely he the case gan to them thus unfold : 
 
 34 
 My first born Sonne, and thou my Daughter dear, 
 Look on your aged Sire, the deep abysse, 
 In which and out of whicli you first appear ; 
 
 1 Ahad hight, and Ahad onenesse is : 
 Therefore be one (his words do never misse) 
 They one became. I Hattove also hight, 
 Said he ; and Hattove goodnesse is and blisse : 
 Therefore in goodnesse be ye fast unite : 
 
 Let Unity, Love, Good, be measures of your might. 
 
 35 
 They straight accord : then he put on the ring, 
 The ring of lasting gold on Uranure ; 
 Then gan the youthfull lads aloud to sing, 
 Hymen ! O Hymen ! O the Virgin pure ! 
 O holy Bride ! long may this joy indure. 
 After the song Atove his speech again 
 Renews. My Son, I unto thee assure 
 All judgement and authority soveraign ; 
 He spake as unto one : for one became those twain. 
 
 36 
 
 To thee each knee in Heaven and Earth shall bow, 
 And whatsoever wons in darker cell 
 Under the Earth : If thou thy awfull brow 
 Contract, those of the ^Ethiopian hell 
 Shall lout, and do thee homage ; they that dwell 
 In Tharsis, Tritons fry, the Ocean-god, 
 Iim and Ziim, all the Satyres fell 
 That in empse Hands maken their abode : 
 All those and all things else shall tremble at thy rod. 
 
 37 
 Thy rod thou thalt extend from sea to sea. 
 And thy Dominion to the worlds end ; 
 All Kings shall vow thee faithfull fealty, 
 Then peace and truth on all the earth I'll send : 
 Nor moody Mars my metalls may mispend, 
 Of Warlike instruments they plow-shares shall 
 And pruning hooks efform. All things shall wend 
 For th' best, and thou the head shalt be o're all : 
 Have I not sworn thee King ? true King Catholicall ! 
 
 33 
 Thus farre he spake, and then again respired ; 
 And all this time he held their hand in one ; 
 Then they with chearfull look one thing desired. 
 That he nould break this happy union : 
 I happy union breake ? quoth he anon : 
 I Ahad f 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, ^Eon, Uranore : 
 Ahad these three in one doth counite. 
 What so is done on earth, the self-same power 
 (Which is exert upon each mortall wight) 
 Is joyntly from all these. But she that hight 
 Fair Uranore, men also Psyche call. 
 Great Psyche men and Angels dear delight, 
 Invested in her stole aethereall, 
 Which though so high it be, down to the earth doth fall. 
 
 40 
 The externall form of this large flowing stole, 
 My Muse so as she might, above displaid : 
 But th' inward triple golden film to unroll, 
 Ah ! he me teach that triple film hath made, 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 17 
 
 And brought out light out of the deadly shade 
 Of darkest Chaos, and things that are seen 
 Made to appear out of the gloomy glade 
 Of unseen beings : Them we call unseen, 
 Not that they're so indeed, but so to mortall eyen. 
 
 41 
 The first of these fair films, we Physis name. 
 Nothing in Nature did you ever spy, 
 But there's pourtraid : all beasts both wild and tame, 
 Each bird is here, and every buzzing fly ; 
 All forrest-work is in this tapestry : 
 The Oke, the Holm, the Ash, the Aspine tree, 
 The lonesome Buzzard, th' Eagle and the Py, 
 The Buck, the Bear, the Boar, the Hare, the Bee, 
 The Brize, the black-arm'd Clock, the Gnat, the butterflie. 
 
 Snakes, Adders, Hydraes, Dragons, Toads and Frogs, 
 Th' own-litter-loving Ape, the Worm, and Snail, 
 Th' undaunted Lion, Horses, Men, and Dogs, 
 Their number's infinite, nought doth't avail 
 To reckon all, the time would surely fail : 
 And all besprinkled with centrall spots, 
 Dark little spots, is this hid inward veil : 
 But when the hot bright dart doth pierce these knots, 
 Each one dispreads it self according to their lots. 
 
 43 
 When they dispread themselves, then gins to swell 
 Dame Psyches outward vest, as th' inward wind 
 Softly gives forth, full softly doth it well 
 Forth from the centrall spot ; yet as confin'd 
 To certain shape, according to the mind 
 Of the first centre, not perfect circ'lar-wise, 
 It shoots it self : for so the outward kind 
 Of things were lost, and Natures good device 
 Of different forms would hiddenlie in one agguize. 
 
 44 
 But it according to the imprest Art 
 (That Arts impression's from Idea-Lond) 
 So drives it forth before it every part 
 According to true Symmetry : the bond 
 And just precinct (unlesse it be withstond) 
 It alwayes keeps. But that old Hag that hight 
 Foul Hyle mistresse of the miry strond, 
 Oft her withstands, and taketh great delight 
 To hinder Physis work, and work her all despight. 
 
 45 
 
 The self same envious witch with poyson'd dew, 
 From her foul eben-box, all tinctures stains, 
 Which fairly good be in hid Physis hew : 
 That film all tinctures fair in it contains ; 
 But she their goodly glory much restrains. 
 She colours dims ; clogs tastes ; and damps the sounds 
 Of sweetest musick ; touch to scorching pains 
 She turns, or baser tumults ; smels confounds. 
 O horrid womb of hell, that with such ill abounds. 
 
 19 
 
 46 
 From this first film all bulk in quantity 
 Doth bougen out, and figure thence obtain. 
 Here eke begins the life of Sympathy, 
 And hidden virtue of magnetick vein, 
 Where unknown spirits beat, and Psyches trane 
 Drag as they list, upon pursuit or flight ; 
 One part into another they constrain 
 Through strong desire, and then again remit. 
 Each outward form's a shrine of its magnetick spright. 
 
 The ripen d child breaks through his mothers womb, ) 
 The raving billows closely undermine / 
 
 The ragged rocks, and then the seas intomb S 
 
 Their heavy corse, and they their heads recline 
 On working sand : The Sunne and Moon combine, 
 Then they're at ods in site Diametrall : J 
 
 The former age to th' present place resigne : ' 
 
 And what's all this but wafts of winds centrall 
 
 That ruffle, touze, and tosse Dame Psyche's wrimpled 
 veil? 
 
 48 
 So Physis. Next is Arachnea thin, 
 The thinner of these two, but thinn'st of all 
 Is Semele, that's next to Psyches skin. 
 The second we thin Arachnea call, 
 Because the spider, that in Princes hall 
 Takes hold with her industrious hand, and weaves 
 Her dainty tender web ; far short doth fall 
 Of this soft yeilding vest ; this vest deceives 
 
 The spiders curious touch, and of her praise bereaves. 
 
 49 
 
 In midst of this fine web doth Haphe sit : 
 She is the centre from whence all the light 
 Dispreads, and goodly glorious Forms do flit 
 Hither and thither. Of this mirour bright 
 Haphe s the life and representing might, 
 Haphe 's the mother of sense-sympathy ; 
 Hence are both Hearing, Smelling, Taste, and Sight : 
 Haphe' s the root of felt vitality ; 
 But Haphe s mother hight all-spread Community. 
 
 50 
 In this clear shining mirour Psyche sees 
 All that falls under sense, what ere is done 
 Upon the Earth ; the Deserts shaken trees, 
 The mournfull winds, the solitary wonne 
 Of dreaded beasts, the Lybian Lyons moan, 
 When their hot 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 compasse all that in the wide world been. 
 
 51 
 He sees the weary traveller sit down 
 In the waste field oft-times with carefull chear : 
 His chafed feet, and the long way to town, 
 His burning thirst, faintnesse, and Panick fear, 
 
 C 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Because he sees not him that stands so near, 
 Fetch from his soul deep sighs with count'nance sad, 
 But he looks on to whom nought doth dispear : 
 O happy man that full persuasion had 
 Of this ! if right at home, nought of him were ydrad. 
 
 52 
 A many sparrows for small price be sold, 
 Vet none of them his wings on earth doth close 
 Lighting full soft, but that eye doth behold, 
 Their jets, their jumps, that mirour doth disclose. 
 Thrice happy he that putteth his repose 
 In his all-present God. That Africk rock 
 But touch't with heedlesse hand, Auster arose 
 With blust'ring rage, that with his irefull shock 
 And moody might he made the worlds frame nigh to rock. 
 
 53 
 
 And shall not He, when his Anointed be 
 111 handled, rise, and in his wrathfull stour 
 Disperse, and quell the haughty enemy, 
 Make their brisk sprights to lout and lowly lowr ? 
 Or else confound them quite with mighty power? 
 Touch not my Kings, my Prophets let alone, 
 Harm not my Priests ; or you shall ill endure 
 Your works sad payment and that deadly lone ; 
 Keep off your hand from that high holy Rock of stone. 
 
 54 
 Do not I see ? I slumber not nor sleep. 
 Do not I hear? each noise by shady night 
 My mirour represents : when mortals steep 
 Their languid limbs in Morpheus dull delight, 
 I hear such sounds as Adams brood would fright. 
 The dolefull echoes from the hollow hill 
 Mock howling wolves : the woods with black bedight 
 Answer rough Pan, his pipe and eke his skill, 
 And all the Satyr-routs rude whoops and shoutings shrill : 
 
 55 
 
 The night's no night to me : What? shall the Owl 
 And nimble Cat their courses truly steer, 
 And guide their feet and wings to every hole 
 So right, this on the ground, that in the air? 
 And shall not I by night see full as clear ? 
 All sense doth in proportion consist, 
 Arachnea doth all proportions bear ; 
 All sensible proportions that fine twist 
 Contains : all life of sense is in great Haphes list. 
 
 56 
 Sense and concent, and all abhorrency, 
 Be variously divided in each one 
 Partic'lar creature : But antipathy 
 Cannot be there where fit proportion 
 Strikes in with all things in harmonious tone. 
 Thus Haphe feels nought to her self contrair : 
 In her there's tun'd a just Diapason 
 For every outward stroke : withouten jarre 
 Thus each thing doth she feel, and each thing easly bear. 
 
 57 
 
 But Haphe and Arachne I'll dismisse, 
 And that fourth vest, rich Semele display : 
 The largest of all foure and loosest is 
 This floting flouring changeable array. 
 How fairly doth it shine, and nimbly play, 
 Whiles gentle winds of Paradise do blow, 
 And that bright Sun of the eternall day 
 Upon it glorious light and forms doth strow, 
 And A had it with love and joy doth overflow. 
 
 58 
 This all-spread Semele doth Bacchvs bear, 
 Impregn'd of Jove or On. He is the wine 
 That sad down-drooping senses wont to rear, 
 And chearlesse hearts to comfort in ill tine. 
 He 'flames chast Poets brains with fire divine ; 
 The stronger spright the weaker spright doth sway ; 
 No wonder then each phansie doth incline 
 To their great mother Semel, and obey 
 The vigourous impresse of her enforcing ray. 
 
 59 
 
 She is the mother of each Semele : 
 The daughters be divided one from one ; 
 But she grasps all. How can she then but see 
 Each Semels shadows by this union ? 
 She sees and swayes imagination 
 As she thinks good ; and if that she think good 
 She lets it play by't self, yet looketh on, 
 While she keeps in that large strong-beating floud 
 That makes the Poet write, and rave as he were wood. 
 
 6o 
 
 Prophets and Poets have their life from hence, 
 Like fire into their marrow it searcheth deep, 
 This flaming fiery flake doth choak all sense, 
 And binds the lower man with brazen sleep : 
 Corruption through all his bones doth creep, 
 And raging raptures do his soul outsnatch : 
 Round-turning whirlwinds on Olympus steep 
 Do cast the soul that earst they out did catch : 
 Then stiller whispering winds dark visions unlatch. 
 
 6i 
 
 But not too farre, thou bold Platonick Swain : 
 Strive not at once all myst'ries to discover 
 Of that strange School : More and more hard remain 
 As yet untold. But let us now recover 
 Strength to our selves by rest in duly houre. 
 Great Psyches Parentage, Marriage, and Weeds 
 We having song according to our power, 
 That we may rise more fresh for morning deeds, 
 Let's here take Inne and rest our weary sweating steeds. 
 
 
The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHOZOIA, 
 
 Or, 
 
 The life of the Soul. 
 
 Cant. II. 
 
 Here s taught how into Psychanie 
 Souls from their central! sourse 
 
 Go forth, Here Beirons ingeny 
 Old Mnemon doth discourse. 
 
 Sang great Psych* in my former song, 
 Old Atoves daughter, sister unto On, 
 Mother of all that nimble A tom-throng^ 
 Of winged Lives, and Generation. 
 When Psyche wedded to Autocdlon~ 
 They both to Ahad forthwith straight were wed : 
 For as you heard, all these became but one, 
 And so conjoyn'd they lie all in one bed, 
 And with that four-fold vest they be all overspred. 
 
 2 
 Here lies the inmost Centre of Creation, 
 From whence all inward forms and life proceed : 
 Here's that aereall stole, that to each fashion 
 Ofjsensiblgs js matter for their weed. 
 This is the ground where God doth sow his seed 
 And whilest he sows with whispering charms doth 
 
 bid 
 This flourish long, and that to make more speed, 
 And all in order by his Word doth rid : 
 So in their fatall round they "pear and then are hid. 
 
 3 
 Beginning, End, Form and Continuance 
 Th' impression of his Word to them doth deal, 
 Occurrences he sees, and mindeth chance : 
 But chance hath bounds. The Sea cannot o're swell 
 His just precincts. Or rocky shores repell 
 His foming force ; or else his inward life 
 And Centrall rains do fairly him compell 
 Within himself, and gently 'pease the strife, 
 Or makes him gnaw the bit with rore and rage full rife. 
 
 So fluid chance is set its certain bound, 
 Although witlTcircling winds it be y tost ; 
 And so the pilots skill doth quite confound 
 With unexpected storms, and men have lost 
 Their time, their labour, and their precious cost. 
 Yet ther's a Neptune Soveraign of this Sea, 
 Which those that in themselves put not their trust 
 To rude mischance did never yet betray : 
 It's He, whom both the winds and stormy Seas obey. 
 
 Now sith my wandring Bark so far is gone, 
 And flitten forth upon the Ocean main, 
 I thee beseech that just dominion 
 Hast of the Sea, and art true Soveraign 
 Of working phancie when it floats amain 
 With full impregned billows and strong rage 
 Enforceth way upon the boyling plain, 
 That thou wouldst steer my ship with wisdome sage. 
 That I with happy course may run my watery stage. 
 
 My mind is mov'd dark Parables to sing 
 Of Psyches progeny that from her came, 
 When she was married to that great King. 
 Great A*.on, who just title well may claim 
 To every soul, and brand them with his name. 
 Its He that made us, and not our own might : 
 But who, alas ! this work can well proclaim ? 
 We silly sheep cannot bleat out aright 
 The manner how : but that that giveth light is light. 
 
 7 
 Then let us borrow from the glorious Sun 
 A little light to illustrate this act. 
 Such as he is in his solstitial Noon, 
 When in the Welkin there's no cloudy tract 
 
20 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 For to make grosse his beams, and light refract. 
 Then sweep by all those Globes that by reflexion 
 His long small shafts do rudely beaten back, 
 And let his rayes have undenied projection, 
 And so we will pursue this mysteries retection. 
 
 8 
 Now think upon that gay discoloured Bow : 
 That part that is remotest from the light 
 Doth duskish hew to the beholder show ; 
 The nearer parts have colour farre more bright, 
 And next the brightest is the subtle light ; 
 Then colours seem but a distinct degree 
 Of light now failing ; such let be the sight 
 Of his farre spreaden beams that shines on high : 
 Let vast discoloured Orbs close his extremitie, 
 
 The last Extreme, the farthest off from light, 
 That's Natures deadly shadow, Hyle's cell. 
 O horrid cave, and womb of dreaded night ? 
 Mother of witchcraft, and the cursed spell, 
 Which nothing can avail 'gainst Israel. 
 No Magick can him hurt ; his portion 
 Is not divided Nature ; he doth dwell 
 In light, in holy love, in union ; 
 Not fast to this or that, but free communion. 
 
 io 
 Dependance 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 farre from his own reach : But he withall 
 More inward is, and farre more intimate 
 Then things are with themselves. His Ideall, 
 And Centrall presence is in every Atom-ball 
 
 II 
 
 Therefore those different hews through all extend 
 So farre as light : Let light be every where : 
 And every where with light distinctly blend 
 Those different colours which I nam'd whilere 
 The Extremities of that farre shining sphear. 
 And that far shining sphear, which Centre was 
 Of all those different colours, and bright chear, 
 You must unfasten ; so o'respred it has, 
 Or rather deeply fill'd with Centrall sand each place. 
 
 Now sith that this withouten penetrance 
 Of bodies may be done : we clearly see 
 (As well as that pendent subordinance) 
 The nearly couching of each Realtie, 
 And the Creatours close propinquitie 
 To ev'ry creature. This be understood 
 Of differentiall profunditie. 
 But for the overspreading Latitude ; 
 Why may't not equally be stretch'd with th' Ocean floud ? 
 
 13 
 
 There Proteus wonnes and fleet Idothea, 
 Where the lowest step of that profunditie 
 Is pight ; Next that is Psyche's out-array : 
 It Tasis hight : Physis is next degree : 
 There Psyche's feet impart a smaller fee 
 Of gentle warmth. Physis is the great womb 
 From whence all things in th' University 
 Yclad in divers forms do gaily bloom, 
 And after fade away, as Psyche gives the doom. 
 
 Next Physis is the tender Arach?iee. 
 There in her subtile loom doth Haphe sit : 
 But the last vest is changing Semele : 
 And next is Psyches self. These garments fit 
 Her sacred limbs full well, and are so knit 
 One part to other, that the strongest sway 
 Of sharpest axe, them no'te asunder smite. 
 The seaventh is Aloii with Eternall ray : 
 The eighth Atove, steddy Cube, all propping Adonai. 
 
 15 
 
 Upon this universall Ogdoas 
 Is founded every particularment : 
 From this same universall Diapase 
 Each harmony is fram'd and sweet concent. 
 But that I swerve not far from my intent, 
 This Ogdoas let 'be an Unitie 
 One mighty quickned Orb of vast extent, 
 Throughly possest of lifes community, 
 And so those vests be seats of Gods vitality. 
 
 16 
 
 Now deem this universall Round alone, 
 And rayes no rayes but a first all-spred light, 
 And centrick all like one pellucid Sun ; 
 A Sun that's free, not bound by Natures might, 
 That where he lists exerts his rayes outright, 
 Both when he lists, and what, and eke how long, 
 And then retracts so as he thinketh meet. 
 These rayes be that particular creature-throng : 
 Their number none can tell, but that all-making tongue. 
 
 17 
 
 Now blundring Naturalist behold the spring 
 Of thy deep-searching foul, that fain would know 
 Whether a mortall or immortall thing 
 It be, and whence at first it 'gan to flow ; 
 And that which chiefest is where it must go. 
 Some fixt necessity thou fain wouldst find : 
 But no necessity, where there's no law, 
 But the good pleasure of an unty'd mind : 
 Therefore thy God seek out, and leave Nature behind. 
 
 He kills, He makes alive ; the keys of Hell 
 And Death he hath. He can keep souls to wo 
 When cruell hands of Fate them hence expell : 
 Or He in Lethe's lake can drench them so, 
 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 That they no act of life or sense can show. 
 They march out at His word, and they retreat ; 
 March out with joy, retreat with footing slow 
 In gloomy shade, benumm'd with pallid sweat, 
 And with their feeble wings their fainting breasts they 
 beat. 
 
 19 
 But souls that of his own good life partake 
 He loves as his own self ; dear as His eye 
 They are to him : He'll never them forsake : 
 When they shall dye, then God himself shall die 
 They live, they live in blest Eternity. 
 The wicked are not so ; but like the dirt, 
 Trampled by man and beast, in grave they lye. 
 Filth and corruption is their rufull sort : 
 Themselves with death and wormes in darknesse they 
 disport. 
 
 Their rotten relicks lurk close under ground : 
 With living wight no sense or sympathy 
 They have at all ; nor hollow thundring sound 
 Of roring winds, that cold mortality 
 Can wake, ywrapt in sad Fatality. 
 To horses hoof that beats his grassie dore 
 He answers not : The Moon in silency, 
 Doth passe by night, and all bedew him or'e 
 With her cold humid rayes ; but he feels not Heavens 
 power. 
 
 21 
 
 O dolefull lot of disobedience ! 
 If God should souls thus drench in Lethe lake 
 But O unspeakable torture of sense, 
 When sinfull souls do life and sense partake, 
 That those damn'd Spirits may them anvils make 
 Of their fell cruelty, that lay such blows 
 That very ruth doth make my heart to quake 
 When I consider of the drery woes, 
 And tearing torment that each soul then undergoes. 
 
 22 
 
 Hence the souls nature we may plainly see : 
 A beam it is of th' Intellectuall Sun, 
 A ray indeed of that ^Eternity ; 
 But such a ray as when it first out shone, 
 From a free light its shining date begun. 
 And that same light when 't list can call it in ; 
 Yet that free light hath given a free wonne 
 To this dependent ray : Hence cometh sin ; 
 From sin dred Death and Hell these wages doth it win. 
 
 23 
 Each life a severall ray is from that Sphear 
 That Sphear doth every life in it contain. 
 Arachnee, Seme/, and the rest do bear 
 Their proper virtue, and with one joynt strain 
 
 And powerfull sway they make impression plain, 
 And all their rayes be ioyned into one 
 By Ahad : so this womb withouten pain 
 Doth flocks of souls send out that have their won 
 Where they list most to graze ; as I shall tell anon. 
 
 24 
 
 The countrey where they live Psychania hight, 
 Great Psychany, that hath so mighty bounds, 
 If bounds it_have at all. So infinite 
 It is of bignesse, that it me confounds 
 To think to what a vastnesse it amounds. 
 The Sun Saturnus, Saturn the Earth exceeds 
 The Earth the Moon ; but all those fixed Rounds ; 
 But Psychany, those fixed Rounds exceeds, 
 As farre as those fix'd Rounds excell small mustard-seeds. 
 
 25 
 
 Two mighty Kingdomes hath this Psychany, 
 
 The one self- feeling Autcesthcsia ; 
 
 The other hight god-like Theoprepy, 
 
 Autczsthesy' s divided into tway : 
 
 One province cleped is great Adamah 
 
 Which also hight Bcirah of brutish fashion ; 
 
 The other Providence is Dizoia ; 
 
 There you may see much mungrill transformation, 
 Such monstrous shapes proceed from Niles foul inunda- 
 tion. 
 
 26 
 
 Great Michael ruleth Theoprepia, 
 
 A mighty Prince. King of Autasthcsy 
 
 Is that great Giant who bears mighty sway, 
 
 Father of Discord, Falshood, Tyranny, 
 
 His name is Damon, 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 betide. 
 
 27 
 Or for that he himself is quite divided 
 Down to the belly ; there's some unity : 
 But head, and tongue, and heart be quite discided ; 
 Two heads, two tongues, and eke two hearts there be. 
 This head doth mischief plot, that head doth see 
 Wrong fairly to o'reguild. One tongue doth pray, 
 The other curse. The hearts do ne're agree 
 But felly one another do upbray 
 An ugly cloven foot this monster doth upstay. 
 
 28 
 Two sons great Dtzmon and Duessa hath : 
 Autophi/us the one ycleeped is ; 
 In Dizoie he worketh wondrous scath ; 
 He is the cause what so there goes amisse, 
 In Psyches stronger plumed progenies. 
 But Philosomatus rules Bcirah. 
 This proud puft Giant whilom did arise, 
 Bom of the slime of Autasthcsia, 
 And bred up these two sons yborn of Duessa. 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 29 
 Ducssa first invented magick lore, 
 And great skill hath to joyn and disunite ; 
 This herb makes love, that hearb makes hatred sore 
 And much she can against an Edomite ; 
 Rut nought she can against an Israelite, 
 Whose heart's upright and doth himself forsake. 
 For he that's one with God no magick might 
 Can draw or here or there through blind mistake. 
 Magick can onely quell natures DcBinoniake. 
 
 30 
 But that I may in time my self betake 
 To straighter course, few things I will relate, 
 Of which old Mnemon mention once did make. 
 A jolly swain he was in youthfull state, 
 When he mens natures gan to contemplate, 
 And kingdomes view : But he was aged then 
 When I him saw ; his years bore a great date ; 
 He numbred had full ten times ten times ten : 
 There's no Pythagorist but knows well what I mean. 
 
 31 
 
 Old Mnemons head and beard was hoary white, 
 But yet a chearfull countenance he had : 
 His vigorous eyes did shine like starres bright, 
 And in good decent freez he was yclad, 
 As blith and buxom as was any lad 
 Of one and twenty cloth'd in forrest green ; 
 Both blith he was, and eke of counsell sad : 
 Like winter-morn bedight with snow and rine 
 And sunny rayes, so did his goodly Eldship shine. 
 
 32 
 Of many famous towns in Bei'rak, 
 And many famous Laws and uncouth Rites 
 He spake : but vain it is for to assay 
 To reckon up such numbers infinite. 
 And much he spake where I had no insight, 
 But well I wot that some there present had ; 
 For words to speak to uncapable wight 
 Of foolishnesse proceeds or phrensie mad. 
 So, alwayes some, I wis, could trace his speeches pad. 
 
 33 
 
 But that which I do now remember best, 
 Is that which he of Psittacusa lond 
 Did speak. This Psittacuse is not the least, 
 Or the most obscure, Countrey, that is found 
 In wastefull Be'iron : it is renown'd 
 For famous Clerks yclad in greenest cloke, 
 Like Turkish Priests, if Amoritish ground 
 We call 't, no cause, that title to revoke. 
 But of this Land to this effect old Mtiemoti spoke. 
 
 34 
 I travelled in Psittacusa Lond : 
 Th' Inhabitants the lesser Adamah 
 Do call it ; but then Adam I have found 
 Itancienter, if so I safely may 
 
 Unfold th' antiquity. They by one day 
 Are elder then old Adam, and by one 
 At least are younger then Arcadia. 
 O' th' sixth day Adam had's creation ; 
 Those on the fifth, the Arcades before the Moon. 
 
 35 
 
 In this same Land as I was on the rode, 
 
 A nimble traveller me overtook : 
 
 Fairly together on the way we yode. 
 
 Tho I gan closely on his person look, 
 
 And eye his garb : He straight occasion took 
 
 To entertain discourse, though none I raught, 
 
 But unprovok'd he first me undertook : 
 
 So soon as he gan talk, then straight I laught : 
 
 The Sage himself represt, but thought me nigh dis- 
 traught. 
 
 36 
 His concave nose, great head, and grave aspect, 
 Affected tone, words without inward sense, 
 My inly tickled spright made me detect 
 By outward laughter ; but by best pretence 
 I purg'd my self, and gave due reverence. 
 Then he gan gravely treat of codicils, 
 And of Book-readings passing excellence, 
 And tri'd his wit in praysing gooses quills : 
 
 O happy age ! quoth he, the world Minerva fills. 
 
 37 
 I gave the talk to him, which pleas'd him well : 
 For then he seem'd a learned clerk to been, 
 When none contrary' d his uncontrolled spell, 
 But I, alas ! though unto him unseen, 
 Did flow with tears, as if that onyons keen 
 Had piere'd mine eyen. Strange vertue of fond joy : 
 They ought to weep that be in heavie teen. 
 But nought my lightsome heart did then annoy : 
 So light it lay, it mov'd at every windie toy. 
 
 33 
 As we yode softly on, a Yongster gent 
 With bever cock't, and arm set on one side 
 (His youthfull fire quickly our pace out-went) 
 Full fiercely pricked on in madcap pride, 
 The mettle of his horses heels he tri'd, 
 He hasted to his countrey Pithecuse. 
 Most haste, worst speed : still on our way we ride, 
 And him o'retake halting through haplesse bruize ; 
 We help him up again, our help he nould refuse. 
 
 39 
 Then gan the learn'd and ag'd Don Psittaco, 
 When he another auditour had got, 
 To spruse his plumes, and wisdome sage to show, 
 And with his sacred lore to wash the spot 
 Of youthfull blemishes ; but frequent jot 
 Of his hard setting jade did so confound 
 The words that he by paper-stealth had got, 
 That their lost sense the yongster could not sound, 
 Though he with mimicall attention did abound. 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 40 
 Yet some of those faint winged words came near, 
 Of God, of Adam, and the shape divine, 
 Which Adams children have ; (these pierc'd his eare) 
 And how that man is lord of every kind 
 Of beasts, of birds, and of each hidden mine 
 Of natures treasures. He to Adams sonne 
 The wide world for his kingdome doth designe : 
 And ever naming God, he lookd aboven : 
 Pithecus straight plac'd God a thought above the Moon. 
 
 41 
 Pithecus, so they call this gende wight, 
 The docible young man eas'ly could trace 
 His masters steps, most quick and expedite. 
 When Psittaco look'd up to holy place, 
 Pithecus straight with sanctimonious grace 
 Cast up his eyes ; and when the shape divine, 
 Which Adam had from God, he gan to praise, 
 Pithecus draws himself straight from that line, 
 And phansies his sweet face with heavenly hiew to shine. 
 
 42 
 He pincht his hat, and from his horses side 
 Stretcht forth his russet legs, himself inclin'd 
 Now here, now there, and most exactly eyed 
 His comely lineaments, that he might find 
 What ever beauty else he had not mind 
 As yet in his fair corse. But that full right 
 And vast prerogative did so vnbind 
 His straighted sprights, that with tyrannick might 
 He forc'd his feeble beast, and straight fled out of sight. 
 
 43 
 Then I and Psittaco were left alone ; 
 And which was strange, he deeply silent was : 
 Whether some inward grief he from that son, 
 Conceiv'd, and deemed it no small disgrace 
 That that bold youngster should so little passe 
 His learned speech ; or whether nought to sain 
 He had then left ; or whether a wild chase 
 Of flitting inconsistent thoughts he than 
 Pursu'd, which turn'd and toy'd in his confused brain. 
 
 44 
 Or whether he was woxen so discreet, 
 As not to speak till fit occasion. 
 (To judge the best, that Charity counts meet) 
 Therefore that Senior sad I gan anon 
 Thus to bespeak : Good Sir, I crave pardon 
 If so I chance to break that golden twist 
 You spin, by rude interpellation, 
 That twist of choicest thoughts. No whit I miss'd 
 The mark I aimed at ; to speak he had great list. 
 
 45 
 
 So then his spirits gan to come again, 
 And to enact his corps and impart might 
 Unto his languide tongue, and every vein 
 Received heat, when due conceived right 
 
 I did to him ; and weend he plainly see't 
 That I was toucht with admiration 
 Of his deep learning, and quick-shifting sight, 
 Then I gan quire of the wide Behiron. 
 Behiron, quoth that Sage, that hight Anthropion. 
 
 46 
 Anthropion we call't ; but th' holy tongue 
 (His learning lay in words) that Behiron 
 Which we Anthropion, calls, as I among 
 The Rabbins read : but sooth to say, no tone, 
 Nor tongue, or speech, so sweet as is our own, 
 Or so significant. For mark the sense : 
 From &vu adpeiv is Anthropion ; 
 And we are all of an upright presence ; 
 Nor I'll be drawn from this conceit by no pretence. 
 
 47 
 I prais'd his steddy faith and confidence, 
 That stood as fast as trunk or rock of stone ; 
 Yet nathelesse, said I, the excellence 
 Of stedfastnesse is not to yield to none, 
 But stiff to stand till mov'd by right reason ; 
 And then by yielding, part of victory 
 To gain. What fitnesse in Anthropion ? 
 Baboons, and Apes, as well as th' Anthropi 
 Do go upright, and beasts grown mad do view the sky. 
 
 48 
 Then marken well, what great affinitie 
 There is twixt Ape, mad Beast, and Satyrs wild, 
 And the Inhabitants of Anthropie, 
 When they are destitute of manners mild, 
 And th' inward man with brutishnesse defil'd 
 Hath life and love and lust and cogitation 
 Fixt in foul sense, or moving in false guile ; 
 That holy tongue the better nomination, 
 
 So farre, I know, may give : 'Tis ghesse, not full 
 perswasion. 
 
 49 
 Therefore, O learned Sir, aread aright, 
 What may this word Behiron signifie ? 
 He wondrous glad to shew his Grammar-might, 
 This same word Behiron doth signifie 
 The brutish nature, or brutallitie, 
 Said he : and with his voice lift up his front. 
 Then I his skill did gaily magnifie, 
 And blest me, I an idiot should light on't 
 
 So happily, that never was a scholar count ; 
 
 50 
 And said, Then holy tongue is on my side ; 
 And holy tongue is better then profane. 
 He angry at his courtesie, reply'd, 
 That learned men ought for to entertain 
 Discourse of learned tongues, and countrey swain 
 Of countrey 'fairs. But for to answer thee, 
 This I dare warrant surely to maintain, 
 If to contrair the holy tongue should be 
 Absurd, I find enough such contrariety. 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 5i 
 Then I in simple sort him answered thus, 
 I ken not the strange guize of learned Schools, 
 But if Gods thoughts be contrair unto us, 
 Let not deep wonderment possesse our souls, 
 If he call fools wisemen, and wisemen fools. 
 If rich he poore men term, if poore men rich, 
 If crafty States-men, silly countrey gulls, 
 Beasts men, men beasts, with many other such : 
 
 God seeth not as man seeth, God speaks not in mans 
 speech. 
 
 52 
 Straight he to higher pearch, like bird in cage, 
 Did skip, and sang of etern Destiny, 
 Of sight and foresight he with count'nance sage 
 Did speak, and did unfold Gods secresie, 
 And left untoucht no hidden mystery. 
 I lowly louting held my cap in hond : 
 He askt what meant that so sudden coursie. 
 I pardon crave, said I, for manners fond ; 
 
 You are Heavens Privy-Counsellour I understond, 
 
 53 
 
 Which I wist not before : so deep insight 
 Into the hidden things of God who can 
 Attain unto, without that quickning spright 
 Of the true God ? Who knows the mind of man 
 But that same spright that in his breast doth won ? 
 Therefore the key of Gods hid secresie 
 Is his own spright, that's proper to the Son, 
 And those of that second nativity, 
 Which holy Temples are of the Divinity. 
 
 54 
 Therefore as th' sacred Seat o' th' Deity, 
 I unto you seemly behaviour make, 
 If you be such as you may seem to be. 
 It is mans nature easily to mistake. 
 My words his mind did quite asunder break : 
 For he full forward was all to assume 
 That might him gild with glory, and pertake 
 With God ; and joyed greatly in vain fume, 
 And prided much himself in his purloined plume. 
 
 55 
 
 So that full loth he was for to undo 
 My fairly winded up conclusion ; 
 Yet inwardly did not assent unto 
 My premises : for foul presumption 
 He thought, if that a private idiot man 
 By his new birth should either equallize, 
 Or else outstrip the bookish nation. 
 Perhaps some foul deformities disguise 
 Their life : tush ! that to knowledge is no prejudice. 
 
 56 
 
 But he nould say so : for why ? he was bent 
 To keep the credit which he then had got, 
 As he conceiv'd : for it had been yblent ; 
 It might have hazarded half of his lot, 
 
 To wit his god-like hue withouten spot, 
 If so be such deep knowledge could consist 
 With wicked life : but he nould lose one jot 
 Of his so high esteem, nor me resist. 
 So I escap'd the souse of his contracted fist. 
 
 57 
 
 And here I think we both as dumb had been 
 As were the slow-foot beasts on which we rode 
 Had not Don Psittaco by fortune seen 
 A place which well he knew though disallow'd : 
 Which he to me with earnest countenance show'd 
 Histing me nearer ; nearer both we go 
 And closely under the thick hedges crowd, 
 Which were not yet so thick but they did show 
 
 Through their false sprays all the whole place and 
 persons too. 
 
 58 
 It was to weet, a trimly decked Close 
 Whose grassie pavement wrought with even line 
 Ran from the Morn upon the Evening-close. 
 The Eastern end by certain steps they climbe 
 To do their holy things, (O sight divine ! ) 
 There on the middle of the highest flore 
 A large green turf squar'd out, all fresh and fine 
 Not much unlike to Altars us'd of yore 
 
 Right fairly was adorn'd with every glittering flower. 
 
 59 
 
 At either end of this well raised sod 
 A stately stalk shot up of Torchwort high 
 Whose yellow flames small light did cast abroad 
 But yet a pleasant shew they yield the eye. 
 A pretty space from this we did descry 
 An hollow Oak, whose navell the rough saw 
 Long since had clove : so standing wet and dry 
 Around the stumped top soft mosse did grow 
 Whose velvet hue and verdure cushion-like did show. 
 
 60 
 
 Within the higher hedge of thickn'd trees 
 A lower rank on either side we saw 
 Of lesser shrubs even-set with artifice. 
 There the wood-queristers sat on a row 
 And sweetly sung while Boreas did blow 
 Above their heads, with various whistling, 
 As his blasts hap to break (now high, now low) 
 Against the branches of the waving Pines 
 And other neighbour plants, still rocking with the winds. 
 
 6l 
 
 But above these birds of more sightly plume 
 With gold and purple feathers gayly dight 
 Are rank'd aloft. But th' Eagle doth assume 
 The highest sprig. For his it is by right. 
 Therefore in seemly sort he there is pight 
 Sitting aloft in his green Cabinet 
 From whence he all beholds with awfull sight, 
 Who ever in that solemne place were met, 
 At the West end for better view, right stately set. 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 62 
 After a song loud chanted by that Quire 
 Tun'd to the whistling of the hollow winde 
 Comes out a gay Pye in his rich attire 
 The snowie white with the black sattin shin'd, 
 On's head a silken cap he wore unlin'd. 
 When he had hopped to the middle flore 
 His bowing head right lowly he inclin'd 
 As if some Deity he did adore, 
 And seemly gestures make courting the Heavenly powr. 
 
 63 
 Thus cring'd he toward th' East with shivering wings 
 With eyes on the square sod devoutly bent. 
 Then with short flight up to the Oak he springs 
 Where he thrice congied after his ascent 
 With posture chang'd from th' East to th' Occident, 
 Thrice bowed he down and easily thrice he rose ; 
 Bow'd down so low as if 't had been's intent 
 On the green mosse to wipe his swarthy nose. 
 Anon he chatters loud, but why himself best knows. 
 
 64 
 There we him leave, impatient of stay 
 My self amaz'd such actions to see 
 And pretty gestures 'mongst those creatures gay : 
 So unexpected Uniformitie, 
 And such a semblance of due piety : 
 For every Crow as when he cries for rain 
 Did Eastward nod ; and every Daw we see 
 When they first entered this grassie Plain 
 With shaking wings and bended bills ador'd the same. 
 
 65 
 O that the spirit of Pythagoras 
 Would now invade my breast, dear Psittaco ! 
 Said I. In nature he so cunning was 
 As both the mind of birds and beasts to know, 
 What meant their voyces and their gestures too. 
 So might we riddle out some mystery 
 Which lieth hid in this strange uncouth show ; 
 But thy grave self may be as wise as he 
 I wote. Aread then Psittaco what sights these be. 
 
 66 
 Certes, said he, thine eyes be waxen dim 
 These be the people of wide Adamah 
 These be no birds, 'tis true, they're sons of sin 
 And vessels of Heavens ire, for sooth to say 
 They have no faith, I fear nor ever may, 
 But be shap'd out for everlasting shame, 
 Though they deride us of Psittacusa : 
 Yet well I wot, we have the onely name 
 Above, and though all foul yet there devoyd of blame. 
 
 67 
 And that green spot which thou maist deem a Close 
 It is to them no Close but holy place 
 Ycleep'd a Church, whose sight doth well dispose 
 Approaching souls. The rest thy self maist trace 
 
 19 
 
 By true analogy, But I'll not passe 
 One thing remarkable, said he to me : 
 It was Don Pico took the preaching place 
 A man of mighty power in his own See ; 
 A man, no bird, as he did fondly seem to thee. 
 
 68 
 
 Mn. Tell then Don Psittaco, what Pico ment 
 By his three bowings to the setting Sun 
 And single obesance toward th' Orient. 
 What ! were they postures of Religion ? 
 If so ; why had those yellow flames but one ? 
 The Eagle three ? That th' Eagle was his God 
 It is, said he, a strong presumption, 
 Whom he first slightly in that holy sod 
 After ador'd more fully with a triple nod. 
 
 69 
 Certes, quoth I, such Majesty divine 
 And seemly graces in the Eagle be 
 That they the gentle heart may well incline 
 To all respect and due civility. 
 But if that worship civill be, said he, 
 Certes, Don Pico can not well excuse 
 Himself from fault of impious flattery 
 His holy gestures streightway thus to use 
 To mortall man, redoubling thrice the bold abuse. 
 
 70 
 But well observe, said I, the motion. 
 While he draws lowly back his demure bill 
 Making it touch the mossie cushion, 
 His moving Karkas shrinketh nearer still 
 Toward the sacred sod. 
 What then, quoth he, was it in Pico's mind 
 That solemn service with four ducks to fill 
 But one before, the other three behind. 
 My duller wit, said I, the mystery cannot find. 
 
 71 
 Ps. But I can find it. Superstition 
 
 And flattery, have made Don Pico blind. 
 
 These interfare in fond confusion. 
 
 But both conspire to hold up his swoln mind 
 
 In supercilious pride and wayes unkind. 
 
 For he doth dominere o're Psittacuse. 
 
 Dear Psittacuse ! when shalt thou once outwind 
 
 Thy self from this sad yoke ? who brings the news 
 Of Sions full release from scorn and foul abuse ? 
 
 O had we once the power in our hands 
 How carefully the youth wee'd catechise, 
 But bind Gods enemies in iron bands 
 (Such honour have his Saints) and would devise 
 Set forms of Truth, on Discipline advise 
 That unto both all men must 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. 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 73 
 
 Mn. Good reason too, said I. Don Pico grave 
 The self same doctrine preacheth as I hear. 
 But Reverend Psittaco, let me freedome crave 
 To ask one question, Is't because 't's so clear 
 That who so shall dissent shall pay so dear. 
 Or will you in those things you do not know 
 But be uncertain, certain mischief bear 
 To them that due assent cannot bestow ? 
 
 It is in such, said he, that we for certain know. 
 
 74 
 But how know you those things for certainty ? 
 By Reason, Scripture, or the Spirit divine, 
 Or lastly by Churches Authority ? 
 With that Don Psittaco cast up his eyen 
 Brim ful of thoughts to solve this knot of mine. 
 But in the fall of his high-gazing sight 
 He spide two on the rode he did divine 
 To be of his acquaintance, them we meet, 
 Forthwith Don Psittaco the strangers kindly greet. 
 
 75 
 And he them both seemly salutes again. 
 The one on a lean fiery jade did sit 
 And seem'd a wight of a right subtile brain. 
 Both cloth'd as black as jet. But he was fit 
 With a dry wall-nut shell to fence his wit. 
 Which like a quilted cap on's head he wore 
 Lin'd with white taffity, wherein were writ 
 More trimly than the Iliads of yore 
 The laws of Mood and Figure and many precepts more. 
 
 76 
 All the nice questions of the School-men old 
 And subtilties as thin as cobwebs bet, 
 Which he wore thinner in his thoughts yrold. 
 And his warm brains, they say, were closer set 
 With sharp distinctions than a cushionet 
 With pins and needles ; which he can shoot out 
 Like angry Porcupine, where e're they hit. 
 Certes a doughty Clerk and Champion stout 
 He seem'd and well appointed against every doubt. 
 
 77 
 f The other rod on a fat resty jade 
 
 That neighed loud. His rider was not lean. 
 1 His black plump belly fairly outward swai'd 
 
 And pressed somewhat hard on th' horses mane. 
 < Most like methought to a Cathedrall Dean. 
 
 / A man of prudence and great courtesie 
 I And wisely in the the world he knew to glean. 
 
 \ His sweaty neck did shine right greasily 
 \ Top heavy was his head with earthily policy. 
 
 78 
 This wight Corvino, Psittacus me told 
 Was named, and the other Graculo. 
 They both of his acquaintance were of old 
 Though so near freindship now they did not owe. 
 
 But yet in generalls agreed, I trow, 
 For they all dearly hug dominion, 
 And love to hold mens consciences in awe 
 Each standing stiff for his opinion 
 In holy things, against all contradiction. 
 
 79 
 But most of all Corvin and Psittaco 
 Prudentiall men and of a mighty reach 
 Who through their wisdome sage th' events foreknow 
 Of future things ; and confidently preach 
 Unlesse there be a form which men must teach 
 Of sound opinions (each meaning his own) 
 But t' be left free to doubt and counter-speech 
 Authority is lost, our trade is gone 
 Our Tyrian wares forsaken, we, alas ! shall mone. 
 
 8o 
 Or at the best our life will bitter be : 
 For we must toyle to make our doctrine good. 
 Which will empair the flesh and weak the knee. 
 Our mind cannot attend our trencher-food, 
 Nor be let loose to sue the worldly good. 
 All's our dear wives, poore wenches ! they alone 
 Must ly long part of night when we withstood 
 By scrupulous wits must watch to nights high Noon 
 Till all our members grow as cold as any stone. 
 
 8l 
 Heaps of such inconveniences arise 
 From Conscience-freedome, Christian liberty. 
 Beside our office all men will despise 
 Unlesse our lives gain us Autority. 
 Which in good sooth a harder task will be. 
 Dear brethren ! sacred souls of Behiron ! 
 Help, help as you desire to liven free 
 To ease, to wealth, to honour, and renown 
 And sway th' affrighted world with your disguized frown. 
 
 82 
 This is the Genius of Corvino sage 
 And Psittaco falls little short in wit, 
 Though short he fall of old Corvino' s age, 
 His steppings with the other footsteps fit. 
 And heavens bright eye it will aware of it, 
 But now me lists few passages to show 
 Amongst us foure when we together met 
 Occasion'd first by hardy Psittaco 
 Who Corvin did accost and nutshell Graculo. 
 
 83 
 Brethren ! said he, (and held by holy belt 
 Corvino grave, ne did his hands abhor't 
 When he the black silk rope soft fimbling felt 
 And with his fingers milked evermore 
 The hanging frienge) one thing perplexeth sore 
 My reason weak and puzled thoughts, said he. 
 Tell then, ye learned Clerks, which of these foure 
 To weet, from Scripture, Church authority, 
 Gods Spirit, or mans Reason is Faiths Certainty. 
 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 For, well I wot, our selves must fully assent 
 
 To points of Faith we rigidly obtrude 
 
 On others, else there is no punishment 
 
 Due to gainsayers. Corvin here indewd 
 
 With singular gravity this point pursu'd, 
 
 Saying that all belief is solv'd at last 
 
 Into the Church, ne may the people rude 
 
 Nor learned wit her honour dare to blast 
 Nor scrupulous thoughts, nor doubtfull queres out to 
 cast. 
 
 «5 
 
 Strait Graculo with eyes as fierce as Ferrit 
 
 Reply'd : If all mens faith resolved be 
 
 Into each Church, all nations shall inherit 
 
 For ever their Ancestours Idolatry. 
 
 An Indian ever shall an Indian be 
 
 A Turk a Turk. To this Corvin anon ; 
 
 I give not this infallibility 
 
 To every Church, but onely to our own 
 Full witnesse to her self of all the truths she'll own. 
 
 86 
 Gr. That then is truth what she will say is true. 
 
 But not unlesse her the true Church thou hold. 
 
 How knowst thou then her such, good Corvin shew. 
 
 Friend Graculo in talk we be too bold. 
 
 Let's go, I fear my self and horse take cold. 
 
 But t' answer to that question, 'fore we go 
 
 The Church is true as she her self me told. 
 
 A goodly answer said Don Graculo. 
 You dispute in a Circle as all Logicians know. 
 
 87 
 Here Psittaco could not but inly smile 
 To see how Graculo Corvin did orecrow, 
 And fair replying with demeanance mild, 
 The truth, said he, the Scriptures onely show. 
 Streight nimble Graculus ; But who can know 
 The sense of Scripture without reason found ? 
 The Scripture is both key and treasure too 
 It opes it self (so said that Clerk profound) 
 
 This place with that compar'd. This is the strongest 
 ground. 
 
 88 
 
 Gr. But what with judgement doth them both compare ? 
 Is't reason or unreasonablenesse, I pray. 
 To which grave Psittacus, you so subtill are, 
 I list not with such cunning wits to play. 
 Here I stept in and thus began to say 
 Right worthy Clerks, for so you be I ween, 
 Your queint discourse your breedings doth bewray, 
 Long time you have at learned Athens been 
 
 And all the dainty tricks of Art and Science seen. 
 
 89 
 If me a stranger wight it may beseem 
 But homely bred, as yet unripe in years, 
 Who conscious of his weaknesses doth deem 
 Himself unfit to speak among his peers, 
 
 Much more unfit for your judicious ears 
 Whom Age and Arts do equally adorn 
 And solemne habit no small semblance bears 
 Of highest knowledge, might I be but born 
 A word or two to speak, now would I take my turn. 
 
 90 
 
 Say on said Psittaco. There's a third, said I, 
 Xor reason nor unreasonablenesse hight. 
 Here Graccus. The disjunction you deny. 
 Then I, there is a third ycleep'd Gods spright 
 Nor reason nor unreasonablenesse hight. 
 Corvino straight foam'd like his champing jade 
 And said I was a very silly wight, 
 And how through melancholy I was mad 
 And unto private spirits all holy truth betray'd. 
 
 91 
 But I nould with like fury him invade 
 But mildly as I mought made this reply. 
 Gods Spirit is no private empty shade 
 But that great Ghost that fills both earth and sky, 
 And through the boundlesse Universe doth ly, 
 Shining through purged hearts and simple minds 
 When doubling clouds of thick hypocrisie 
 Be blown away with strongly brushing winds ; 
 Who first this tempest feels the Sun he after finds. 
 
 92 
 Thus wise and godly men I hear to teach, 
 And know no hurt this doctrine to believe. 
 Certes it much occasion doth reach 
 To leave the world and holily to live. 
 All due observance to Gods laws to give. 
 With care and diligence to maken pure 
 Those vessels that this heavenly dew receive. 
 But most in point of faith sleep too secure 
 And want this bait their souls to goodnesse to allure. 
 
 93 
 For they believen as the Church believes 
 Never expecting any other light, 
 And hence it is, each one so loosely lives, 
 Hopelesse of help from that internall spright. 
 Enough ! said Graculo, Corvino' s right. 
 Lets hear, dispute in figure and in mood. 
 And siifly with smart syllogismes fight 
 That what thou wouldst may wel be understood, 
 But now thou rovest out, and rav'st as thou wert wood. 
 
 94 
 Reason I say all Scripture sense must judge 
 Do thou one reason 'gainst this truth produce : 
 Reason, said I, in humane things may drudge 
 But in divine thy soul it may seduce. 
 
 Gr. Prove that, Mn. I prove it thus. For reaso: 
 Back'd with advantage of all sciences, 
 Of Arts, of tongues, cannot such light transfuse 
 But that most learned men do think amisse 
 
 In highest points divided as well you know, I wissc. 
 
28 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 95 
 Here Graculo tearing up with one eye 
 View'd the broad Heavens long resting in a pause 
 And all the while he held his neck awry 
 Like listning daw, turning his nimble nose, 
 At last these words his silent tongue did loose. 
 What is this spirit, say what's this spirit, man ! 
 Who has it, answer'd I, he onely knows. 
 Tis the hid Manna and the graven stone. 
 
 He canteth, said Corvino, come Grac, let's be gone. 
 96 
 But Grac stayd still this question to move. 
 Doth not, said he, reason to us descry 
 What things soever reasonable prove? 
 Xot so. For the whole world that ope doth lie 
 Unto our sight, not reason but our eye 
 Discovers first, but upon that fair view 
 Our reason takes occasion to trie 
 Her proper skill and curiously pursue 
 
 The Art and sweet contrivance Heauen and Earth do 
 shew. 
 
 r 97 
 
 I There's no man colour smels, or sees a sound, 
 \ Nor sucks the labour of the hony-bee 
 ( With's hungry lugs, nor binds a gaping wound 
 VVVith's slippery ey-balls. Every faculty 
 And object have their due Analogy, 
 ,jNor can reach further than it's proper sphear. 
 jWho divine sense by reason would descry 
 <Unto the Sun-shine listens with his ear. 
 So plain this truth to me, Don Graco, doth appear. 
 
 98 
 How then, said Graco, is the spirit known 
 If not by reason : To this I replyde, 
 Onely the spirit can the spirit own. 
 But this, said he, is back again to slide 
 And in an idle Circle round to ride. 
 Why so, said I, Is not light seen by light? 
 Streight Graculo did skilfully divide 
 All knowledge into sense and reason right. 
 Bet so, said I, Don Graco, what's this reasons might. 
 
 99 
 If then, said he, the spirit may not be 
 Right reason, surely we must deem it sense. 
 Yes, sense it is, this 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 wayes, as he dotli ope the ey'n 
 Of our dark souls and in our hearts his light enshrine. 
 
 IOO 
 Here Graculus did seem exceeding glad 
 On any terms to hear but reason nam'd, 
 And w ith great joy and jollity he bad 
 Adew to me as if that he had gain'd 
 
 The victory. Besides Corvino blam'd 
 His too long stay. Wherefore he forward goes 
 Now more confirm'd his Nutshell-cap contain'd 
 What ever any living mortall knows. 
 Ne longer would he stay this sweet conceit to loose. 
 
 Thus Psittaco and I alone were left 
 In sober silence holding on our way. 
 His musing skull, poor man ! was well nigh cleft 
 By strong distracting thoughts drove either way ; 
 Whom pittying I thus began to say. 
 Dear Psittaco what anxious thoughts oppresse 
 Thy carefull heart and musing mind dismay ? 
 I am perplexed much I must confesse 
 Said he, and thou art authour of my heavinesse. 
 
 I02 
 My self Corvino 's Church-Autority 
 No certain ground of holy truth do deem. 
 And Scripture the next ground alledg'd by me 
 By Graco was confuted well, I ween. 
 But thou as in these points farre deeper seen 
 Than either Corvin or Don Graculo 
 Yea than my self, assent doth almost win 
 That Church nor Scripture, cast in reason too 
 Can to our searching minds truth's hidden treasures show. 
 
 103 
 
 Wherefore a fourth, sole ground of certainty 
 Thou didst produce, to weet, the Spirit divine. 
 But now, alas ! here is the misery, 
 That left to doubt we cannot well enjoyn 
 Nor this nor that, nor Faith-forms freely coyn 
 And make the trembling conscience swear thereto, 
 For we our selves do but ghesse and divine 
 What we force other men to swear is true, 
 Untill the day-star rise our eyes with light t' embew. 
 
 104 
 
 Which gift though it be given to me and you, 
 Mn. (Not unto me, courteous Don Psittaco!) 
 Ps. Yet certainly there be but very few 
 
 That so sublime a pitch ascend unto. 
 Mn. My self, alas ! a silly Swain I know 
 
 So far from solving these hard knots, said I, 
 
 That more and harder my ranck brain o'regrow 
 
 And wonder that thy quick sagacity 
 Doth not winde out a further inconveniency. 
 
 105 
 
 If light divine we know by divine light 
 
 Nor can by any other means it see 
 
 This ties their hands from force that have the spirit. 
 
 How can, said Psittaco, these things agree ? 
 
 For without force vain is Church-Polity ; 
 Mn. But to use force 'gainst men that thing to do 
 
 In which they've not the least ability 
 
 May seem unjust and violent ; I trow, 
 'Gainst reason, 'gainst Religion, 'gainst all sence and law. 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 106 
 
 For 'tis as if the King of Arragon 
 Who was well skilled in Astronomy, 
 Should by decree deprive each Countrey Clown 
 Of life, of lands, or of sweet liberty 
 That would not fully avow each star in sky 
 Were bigger then the Earth. Here Psittaco 
 Though what I said did not well satisfie 
 His grave judicious self, yet he did know 
 Of whom this talk much 'plause would gain and kind- 
 nesse too : 
 
 107 
 
 And straight gan say, Dear Glaucis! hadst thou been 
 At this discourse, how would thy joyous spright 
 Have danc'd along. For thou art or well seen 
 In these queint points, or dost at least delight 
 Exceeding much to hear them open'd right. 
 And, well I wot, on earth scarce can be found 
 So witty girl, so wily female wight 
 As this my Glaucis, over all renown'd ; 
 I mean for quicker parts, if not for judgment sound. 
 
 108 
 
 How fit an Auditour would she then prov'd 
 To thee, young Mnemon ? how had she admired 
 Thy sifting wit, thy speech and person lov'd, 
 Clove to that mouth with melting zeal all fired, 
 And hung upon those lips so highly inspired ? 
 Mm. Certes she'd been a bold immodest wight 
 To come so near when not at all desired. 
 Ps. Alas ! good Mnemon you mistake me quite 
 I meant no fond salutes, but what is just and right ; 
 
 109 
 
 Her due attention on thy wise discourse, 
 
 Though what thou deemst, and more then thou didst 
 
 deem 
 May fit you too. For why ? by Natures course 
 Like joyn with like : wherefore, right well I ween, 
 Mought I but make the match't would well beseem. 
 For your conspiring minds exactly agree 
 In points, which the wide world through wrath and teen 
 Rudely divide, I mean free Liberty. 
 Be't so, said I, yet may our grounds farre different be. 
 
 For might I but repeat without offence 
 What I have heard, ill symtomes men descry 
 In this thy Glaucis, though the nimble wench 
 So dexterously can pray and prophecy, 
 And lectures read of drad mortality, 
 Clasping her palms with fatall noise and shreeks, 
 Inculcating approching misery 
 To sad afflicted houses, when she strikes 
 With brushing strokes the glassie doors and entrance 
 seeks. 
 
 Nor doth her solemne looks much like her Sire 
 Or native zeal which she did once derive 
 From thee grave Psittaco ! exalt her higher 
 Then Earth and Nature : For men do conceive 
 Black sanguine fumes my spouse do thus deceive 
 Translating her into fools Paradise 
 And so of sense and reason her bereave, 
 And that that melting love which doth so please 
 Her gulled soul, the thawing is of her own grease. 
 
 112 
 
 The naturall spright it self doth sweetly hug 
 In false conceit and ill-deceiving guile, 
 Sucking fond solace from it's own dear dug, 
 Like the mistaken Cat that lick'd the file 
 And drawing bloud, uncessantly did toyl 
 To suck that sweet, as if there Moses rock 
 Had swet new milk. Thus Glaucis doth beguil 
 Her likorish taste, als' doth delude her flock, 
 
 Teaching them suck themselves, their empty souls to 
 mock. 
 
 113 
 Thus they intoxicate with their own bloud 
 Mistaken Elves ! deem it no worse a thing 
 Then pure Ambrosian Nectar fresh and good, 
 In golden streams that from great Jove did spring : 
 And count themselves His onely choice Ofspring 
 Upon no count but that their count is so. 
 O sweet conceit ! full joy ! Soul-ravishing 
 Delight ! Pure faith ! Self-love keep close thereto. 
 Allow but this to us, we'll any thing allow. 
 
 114 
 Besides the fixednesse of th' eternall Fates 
 And Adamantine laws of Gods decree 
 Whereby immutably he loves and hates 
 May prove new grounds of Glaucis liberty. 
 No danger then nor detriment can be 
 To his own people whom of old he chose 
 From the out-goings of Eternity. 
 No infecting poyson may them ill dispose. 
 
 What worthlesse wit of man this puzling knot may loose. 
 
 "5 
 
 Did not I tell thee what a wily lasse, 
 Said Psittaco, my daughter Glaux would prove ? 
 And well perceiving how averse I was 
 From her strange manners, left all suits of love, 
 And straight gan show me how she did improve 
 Her principles to lewdnesse and excesse : 
 Secure, no fault, no filth can ever move 
 Her Maker to dislike, no unrighteousnesse 
 Can hurt her soul, ne sorrow needs she to expresse. 
 Il6 
 Thus in the wicked wench rank fields do grow 
 Of Rapine, Riot, Lust, and Covetize, 
 Of Pride, of Sacriledge, and a thousand moe 
 Disorders, which no mortal] can devise, 
 
3° 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Said I, from ought, but that mistake t' arise 
 Of naked Faith disjoyn'd from Purity. 
 So with full bitter words he did chastise 
 His absent child ; but whether zeal it be, 
 Or deep conceived hatred, I no'te well descry. 
 
 117 
 Nor stopt he here, but told me all her guise 
 How law-lesse quite and out of shape she's grown 
 Affecting still wilde contrarieties, 
 Averse from what for good all others own. 
 Preposterous Girl ! how often hast thou thrown 
 Thy self into dark corners at Mid-day, 
 And then at dead of Night away art flown 
 To some old barn, thereon to preach and pray 
 Ending thy dark devotions just at Break of day. 
 
 Il8 
 When others sleep or weep, then dost thou sing 
 In frosty night on neighbours chimney set, 
 When others fast 'ginst thou thy revelling ; 
 Thy lustfull sparrows greedily dost eat, 
 Which thou by bloud and violence dost get. 
 When others eyes plainly can nothing see, 
 Then thy prodigious lamps by night unwet 
 And unblown-out, can read right readily 
 Withouten spectacles, the smallest prints that be. 
 
 119 
 
 If chance or free election ever brings 
 
 Thee to our Churches, then with hooting wild, 
 
 Thou causest uproars, and our holy things 
 
 Font, Table, Pulpit, they be all defil'd 
 
 With thy broad mutings and large squirtings vilde. 
 
 Mn. Phy ; Psittaco ! hide such infirmities 
 
 From stranger wight : Who would his own dear child 
 Thus shamefully disgrace? With mine own eyes 
 
 Have I thy Glaticis seen, and better things surmise. 
 
 Good sooth, methinks, she is not so defac'd 
 And all mishapen, and grown out of square, 
 But that my self most evidently trac'd 
 Thy comely feature in her visage bare. 
 Spare then thy self, if her thou wilt not spare. 
 Ill may it seem what thine own strength begot 
 With foul reproach and shame thus to besmear, 
 And through thy zeal thine owne great name to blot 
 To two so worthy wights befall some better lot. 
 
 121 
 
 Thus in my youth, said Mticmon, did I use 
 With Reverend Ignorance to sport and toy, 
 Aud slily would obnoxius Age abuse ; 
 For I was a crank wit, a brisk young boy ; 
 But naturally abhorr'd hypocrisie, 
 And craft the upshot of experienc'd Age ; 
 And more then life I lov'd my liberty, 
 And much suspected all that would engage 
 My heart to their own sect, and free-born soul encage. 
 
 For I ev'n at those years was well aware 
 Of mans false friendship, and grown subtilty, 
 Which made me snuf the wind, drink the free aire 
 Like a young Colt upon the mountains high, 
 And turning tail my hunters all defie. 
 Ne took I any guide but th' innate light 
 Of my true Conscience, whose voice to deny, 
 Was the sole sting of my offended spright : 
 Thus God and Nature taught their rude Cosmopolite. 
 
 123 
 I mean not Natures harsh obdurate light, 
 The shamelesse eye-brows of the Serpent old, 
 That arm'd with custome will not stick to fight 
 With God and him affront with courage bold : 
 But that sweet temper we may oft behold 
 In virgin Youth as yet immaculate, 
 And unto drudging Policy unfold, 
 Who do without designe, now love, now hate 
 And freely give and take withouten price or rate. 
 
 124 
 Dear lads ! How do I love your harmelesse years 
 And melt in heart while I the Morning-shine 
 Do view of rising virtue which appears 
 In your sweet faces, and mild modest eyne. 
 Adore that God that doth himself enshrine 
 In your untainted breasts ; and give no eare 
 To wicked voice that may your souls encline 
 Unto false peace, or unto fruitlesse fear, 
 Least loosened from your selves Harpyes away you bear. 
 
 125 
 Abstain from censure, seek and you shall find, 
 Drink your own waters drawn from living well, 
 Mend in your selves what ill elsewhere you mind, 
 Deal so with men as you would have them deal, 
 Honour the Aged that it may go well 
 With you in Age : For I my self indeed 
 Have born much scorn for these pranks, I you tell, 
 By boyes oft bearded, which I deem the meed 
 Of my abusive youth. But now I will proceed. 
 
 126 
 
 By this we came into a way that did 
 Divide it self into three parts ; the one 
 To Leontopolis ; that in the mid 
 Did lead straight forth out of wide Beiron, 
 That was the way that I mought take alone ; 
 The third way led unto Onopolis, 
 And thitherward Don Psittaco put on. 
 With both these towns Alopecopolis 
 Is in firm league, and golden Myrmecopolis. 
 
 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 shake the civil jar, 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 3i 
 
 Nor take up private wrongs, nor plead at bar, 
 Nor Temples consecrate, nor Mattins say ; 
 They nought begin divine or secular, 
 But they advisen with those Cities tway. 
 O potent Citizens that bear so great a sway ! 
 
 128 
 No truth of justice in Be'irah lond : 
 No sincere faith void of she subtility, 
 That alwayes seeks it self, is to be found ; 
 But law delusion and false Polity, 
 False Polity that into Tyrannie 
 Would quickly wend, did not stern Fear restrain 
 And keep in awe. Th' Onites Democracy 
 Is nought but a large hungry tyrant-train : 
 Oppression from the poore is an all-sweeping rain. 
 
 129 
 
 A sweeping torrent that beats down the corn, 
 And wasts the oxens labour, head-long throws 
 The tallest trees up by the root ytorn, 
 Its ranging force in all the land it shows ; 
 Woods rent from hence, its rowling rage bestows 
 In other places that were bare before, 
 With muddied arms of trees the earth it strows ; 
 The list'ning shepherd is amazed sore, 
 
 While it with swift descent so hideously doth rore. 
 130 
 Such is the out-rage of Democracie, 
 When fearlesse it doth rule in Be'irah : 
 And little better is false Monarchy, 
 When it in this same countrey bears the sway. 
 (Is't not a part of AutcestJusia f) 
 So to an inward sucking whirlpools close 
 They change this swelling torrents surquedry, 
 Much treasure it draws in, and doth inclose 
 
 In 'ts winding mouth, but whither then, there's no man 
 knows. 
 
 131 
 O falsest Beironites, what gars you plain 
 One of another, and vainly accuse, 
 Of foul offence ? when you all entertain 
 Tyrannick thoughts. You all alike do muse 
 Of your own private good, though with abuse 
 Of those you can tread down with safety, 
 No way to wealth or honour you refuse. 
 False Onople doth grudge, and grone, and cry, 
 
 Because she is denied a greater tyranny. 
 
 132 
 Two of that City whylom on the way, 
 With languid lugs, and count'nance gravely sad, 
 Did deeply sigh, and rudely rough did bray 
 'Gainst Leontopolis. The equall pad 
 Of justice now, alas ! is seldome trad, 
 Said they ; The Lions might is law and right. 
 Where's love or mercy now ? with that out strad 
 A little dog, his dames onely delight, 
 And ran near to their tails, and bark'd with all his might. 
 
 133 
 
 The surly irefull Onopolitan 
 Without all mercy kickt with yron heel 
 The little bawling curre, that at him ran ; 
 It made his feeble corse to th' earth to reel, 
 That was so pierc'd with the imprinted steel, 
 That it might grieve a heart of flinty stone. 
 No herbs, no salves the breach could ever heal ; 
 The good old wife did then keep house alone, 
 False hearted carles, is this your great compassion ? 
 
 134 
 
 There's no society in Behirah 
 But beastlike grazing in one pasture ground. 
 No love but of the animated clay 
 With beauties fading flowers trimly crown'd, 
 Or from strong sympathies heart-striking stound, 
 No order but what riches strength and wit 
 Prescribe. So bad the good eas'ly confound. 
 Is Honesty in such unruly fit 
 That it's held in no rank? they 'steem it not awhit. 
 
 135 
 
 But I am weary of this uncouth place ; 
 If any man their bad condition 
 And brutish manners listeth for to trace ; 
 We may them read in the creation 
 Of this wide Sensible ; where every passion 
 Of birds and beasts distinctly do display 
 To but an ord'nary imagination, 
 The life and soul of them in Behirah : 
 This Behirah that hight the greater Adamah. 
 
 136 
 
 The swelling hatefull Toad, industrious Ant, 
 Lascivious Goat, Parrot, or prating Py, 
 The kingly Lion, docil Elephant, 
 All-imitating Ape, gay Butterfly, 
 The crafty Fox famous for subtilty, 
 Majestick Horse, the beast that twixt two trees 
 (A fit resemblance of foul gluttonny) 
 When he hath fil'd his gorge, himself doth squeeze 
 To feed afresh, Court Spaniels, and politick Bees ; 
 
 137 
 With many more which I list not repeat ; 
 Some foul, some fair : to th' fair the name they give 
 Of holy virtues ; but 'tis but deceit, 
 None in Beiron virtuously do live ; 
 None in that land so much as ever strive 
 For truth of virtue, though sometimes they wont, 
 As Swine do Swine, their own blood to relieve. 
 Beiron s all bruits, the true manhood they want, 
 If outward form you pierce with phansie fulminant. 
 
 138 
 So having got experience enough 
 Of this ill land, for nothing there was new, 
 My purpose I held on, and rode quite through 
 That middle way, and did th' extremes eschew. 
 
32 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUE 
 
 When I came near the end there was in view 
 No passage : for the wall was very high, 
 But there no doore to me it self did shew : 
 Looking about at length I did espy 
 A lively youth, to whom I presently gan cry. 
 
 139 
 More willing he's to come then I to call : 
 Simon he hight, who also's cal'd a Rock : 
 Simon is that obediential! 
 
 Nature, who boysterous seas and winds doth mock ; 
 No tempest can him move with fiercest shock ; 
 The house that's thereon built doth surely stand : 
 Nor blustring storm, nor rapid torrents stroke 
 Can make it fall ; it easily doth withstand 
 The gates of Death and Hell, and all the Stygian band. 
 
 140 
 
 When I gan call, forthwith in seemly sort 
 He me approch'd in decent russet clad, 
 More fit for labour then the flaunting Court. 
 When he came near, in chearfull wise he bad 
 Tell what I would : then I unto the lad 
 Gan thus reply ; alas ! too long astray 
 Here have I trampled foul Behirons pad : 
 Out of this land I thought this the next way, 
 But I no gate can find, so vain is mine assay. 
 
 141 
 
 Then the wise youth, Good Sir, you look too high : 
 The wall aloft is rais'd ; but that same doore 
 Where you must passe in deep descent doth lie : 
 But he bad follow, he would go before. 
 Hard by there was a place, all covered o're 
 With stinging nettles and such weedery, 
 The pricking thistles the hard'st legs would gore, 
 Under the wall a straight doore we descry ; 
 The wall hight Self-conceit ; the doore Humility. 
 
 142 
 When we came at the doore fast lockt it was, 
 And Simon had the key, but he nould grant 
 That I into that other land should passe, 
 Without I made him my Concomitant. 
 It pleas'd me well, I mus'd not much upon't, 
 But straight accord : for why? a jolly Swain 
 Mi thought he was ; meek, chearfull, and pleasant. 
 When he saw this, he thus to me again, 
 Sir, See you that sad couple ? Then I ; I see those 
 twain. 
 
 '43 
 
 A sorry couple certainly they be. 
 
 The man a bloudy knife holds at his heart 
 
 With chearlesse countenance, as sad is she. 
 
 Or eld, or else intolerable smart, 
 
 Which she can not decline by any Art, 
 
 Doth thus distort and writh her wrinkled face ; 
 
 A leaden Quadrate swayes hard on that part 
 That's fit for burdens ; foulnesse doth deface 
 Her aged looks ; with a strait staff her steps she stayes. 
 
 144 
 Right well you say, then said that lusty Swain : 
 Yet this poore couple be my Parents dear ; 
 Nor can I hence depart without these twain : 
 These twain give life to me, though void of chear 
 They be themselves. Then let's all go yfere. 
 The young mans speech caus'd sad perplexity 
 Within my brest, but yet I did forbear, 
 And fairly ask'd their names. He answered me : 
 He Autapames hight ; but she Hypomone. 
 
 H5 
 
 I Simon am the son of this sad pair, 
 Who though full harsh they seem to outward sight ; 
 Yet when to Dizoie men forth do fare, 
 No company in all the land so meet 
 They find as these. Their pace full well I weet, 
 Is very slow, and so to youthfull haste 
 Displeasing, and their counsels nothing sweet 
 To any Beironite : but sweetest taste 
 Doth bitter choler breed, and haste doth maken waste. 
 
 146 
 
 Nor let that breast impierc'd with weeping wound, 
 An uncouth spectacle, disturb your mind. 
 His blood's my food : If he his life effund 
 To utmost death, the high God hath design'd 
 That we both live. He in my heart shall find 
 A seat for his transfused soul to dwell ; 
 And when that's done, this death doth eke unbind 
 That heavie weight that doth Hypom'ne quell, 
 Then I Anautoesthetus hight, which seems me well. 
 
 147 
 So both their lives do vanish into mine, 
 And mine into Aiuvus life doth melt, 
 Which fading flux of time doth not define, 
 Nor is by any A utcesthesian felt. 
 This life to On the good Aftivus delt ; 
 In it's all Joy, Truth, Knowledge, Love and Force ; 
 Such force no weight created can repel't. 
 All strength and livelyhood is from this sourse, 
 All Lives to this first spring have circular recourse. 
 
 148 
 
 A lecture strange he seem'd to read to me ; 
 And though I did not rightly understand 
 His meaning, yet I deemed it to be 
 Some goodly thing, and weary of that land 
 Where then I stood, I did not him withstand 
 In his request, although full loth I were 
 Slow-footed eld the journey should command ; 
 Yet we were guided by that sorry pair, 
 And so to Dizoie full softly we do fare. 
 
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 drad dale of Ain. 
 
 Ut now new Stories I 'gin to relate, 
 Which aged Mnemon unto us did tell, 
 Whiles we on grassie bed did lie prostrate 
 Under a shady Beach, which did repell 
 The fiery scorching shafts which Uriel 
 From Southern quarter darted with strong hand. 
 No other help we had ; for Gabriel 
 His wholesome cooling blasts then quite restrain'd : 
 The Lions flaming breath with heat parch'd all the Land. 
 
 Here seemly sitting down, thus gan that Sage, 
 Last time we were together here ymet, 
 Beirah wall, that was the utmost stage 
 Of our discourse, if I do not forget. 
 When we departed thence the Sun was set, 
 Yet nathelesse we past that lofty wall 
 That very Evening. The Nights nimble net 
 That doth encompasse every opake ball, 
 That swim's in liquid aire, did Simon nought apall. 
 
 When we that stately wall had undercrept, 
 We straightway found our selves in Dizoie : 
 The melting clouds chill drizzeling teares then wept 
 The mistie aire swet for deep agony, 
 Swet a cold sweat, and loose frigiditie 
 Fill'd all with a white smoke ; pale Cynthia 
 Did foul her silver limbs with filthy die, 
 Whiles wading on she measured out her way, 
 And cut the muddy heavens defil'd with whitish clay. 
 
 19 
 
 No light to guide but the Moons pallid ray, 
 And that even lost in mistie troubled aire : 
 No tract to take, there was no beaten way ; 
 No chearing strength, but that which might appear 
 From Dians face ; her face then shin'd not clear, 
 And when it shineth clearest, little might 
 She yieldeth, yet the goddesse is severe. 
 Hence wrathfull dogs do bark at her dead light : 
 Christ help the man thus clos'd and prison'd in drad 
 Night. 
 
 5 
 O'rewhelm'd with irksome toyl of strange annoyes 
 In stony stound like senselesse stake I stood, 
 Till the vast thumps of massie hammers noise. 
 That on the groning steel laid on such lode, 
 Empierc'd mine ears in that sad stupid mood. 
 I weening then some harbour to be nigh, 
 In sory pace thitherward slowly yode, 
 By eare directed more then by mine eye, 
 But here, alas ! I found small hospitality . 
 
 6 
 Foure grisly Black-smiths stoutly did their task 
 Upon an anvile form'd in Conick wise. 
 They neither minded who, nor what I ask, 
 But with stern grimy look do still avise 
 Upon their works ; but I my first emprise 
 Would not forsake, and therefore venture in. 
 Or none hath list to speak, or none espies, 
 Or hears ; the heavy hammers never blin ; 
 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 
 
34 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 But when with hovering wings she 'proch'd, e'remore 
 The mighty souses those foul knaves laid on. 
 And those huge bellows that aloud did rore, 
 Chac'd her away that she was ever gone 
 Before she came, on pitchy plumes, for fear yflone. 
 
 8 
 
 The first of those rude rascals Lypon hight, 
 A foul great stooping slouch with heavie eyes, 
 And hanging lip : the second ugly sight 
 Pale Plwbon, with his hedghog-hairs disguise. 
 AelpOK is the third, he the false skies 
 No longer trusts ; The fourth of furious fashion 
 Phrenition hight, fraught with impatiencies, 
 The bellows be ycleep'd deep Suspiration : 
 Each knave these bellows blow in mutual circulation. 
 
 There is a number of these lonesome forges 
 In Bacha vale (this was in Bacha vale) 
 There be no Innes but these, and these but scourges 
 In stead of ease they work much deadly bale 
 To those that in this lowly trench do trale 
 Their feeble loins. Ah me ! who here would fare ? 
 Sad ghosts oft crosse the way with visage pale, 
 Sharp thorns and thistles wound their feeten bare : 
 Yet happy is the man that here doth bear a share. 
 
 10 
 
 When I in this sad vale no little time 
 Had measured, and oft had taken Inne, 
 And by long penance paid for mine ill crime ; 
 Methought the Sunne it self began to shine, 
 And that I'd past Diana s discipline. 
 But day was not yet come, 'twas perfect night : 
 I Phcebus head from Ida hill had seen ; 
 For Ida hill doth give to men the sight, 
 Of Phcebus form, before Aurora's silver light. 
 
 But Phcebus form from that high hill's not clear 
 Nor figure perfect. It's inveloped 
 In purple cloudy veil ; and if't appear 
 In rounder shape with skouling dreryhed, 
 A glowing face it shows, ne rayes doth shed 
 Of lights serenity, yet duller eyes 
 With gazing on this irefull sight be fed 
 Best to their pleasing ; small things they will prise 
 That never better saw, nor better can devise. 
 
 12 
 
 On Ida hill there stands a Castle strong, 
 They that it built call it Pantheothen. 
 (Hither resort a rascall rabble throng 
 Of miscreant wights ;) but if that wiser men 
 May name that Fort, Pandcemoniothen 
 They would it deep. It is the strong'st delusion 
 That ever Dcemon wrought ; the safest pen 
 That e're held silly sheep for their confusion : 
 111 life and want of love, hence springs each false con- 
 clusion. 
 
 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-A/b^j-body-ought-reveal- 
 Which-their-dull-skonses cannot-eas'ly-reach, 
 Love-of-the-carkas, An Inept appeal- 
 T' uncertain papyrs, a-False-formall-fetch- 
 Of-feigned-sighs, Contempt-of-poore-and-sinfull-wretch. 
 
 14 
 A deep self-love, Want of true sympathy- 
 With all mankind, Th' admiring their own heard, 
 Fond pride, a sanctimonious cruelty 
 'Gainst those by whom their wrathfull minds be stird 
 By strangling reason, and are so afeard 
 To lose their credit with the vulgar sort ; 
 Opinion and long speech 'fore life preferr'd, 
 Lesse reverence of God then of the Court, 
 Fear, and despair, Evill surmises, False report. 
 
 Oppression-of-the-poore, Fell-rigourousnesse, 
 Contempt-of-Government, Fiercenesse, Fleshly lust, 
 The-measuring-of-all-true righteousnesse 
 By-their own-modell, Cleaving unto-dust, 
 Rash-censure, and despising-of the just- 
 That-are-not-of-their-sect, False-reasoning- 
 Concerning-God, Vain-hope, needlesse mistrust, 
 Strutting-in knowledge, Egre slavering- 
 After hid-skill, with every inward uncouth thing. 
 
 16 
 
 These and such like be that rude Regiment, 
 That from the glittering sword of Michael fly : 
 They fly his outstrech'd arm, else were they shent 
 If they unto this Castle did not hie, 
 Strongly within its walls to fortifie 
 Themselves : Great Dcemon hath no stronger hold 
 Then this high Tower. When the good Majesty 
 Shines forth in love and light, a vapour cold 
 And a black hellish smoke from hence doth all infold. 
 
 17 
 
 And all that love and light and offer'd might 
 Is thus chok'd up in that foul Stygian steem : 
 If Hells dark jawes should open in despight, 
 And breath its inmost breath, which foul'st I deem ; 
 Yet this more deadly foul I do esteem, 
 And more contagious, which this charmed tower 
 Ever spues forth, like that fell Dragons steem 
 Which he from poyson'd mouth in rage did poure 
 At her, whose first-born child his chaps might not 
 devour. 
 
 18 
 But lest the rasher wit my Muse should blame, 
 As if she did those faults appropriate 
 (Which I even now in that black list did name) 
 Unto Pantheothen ; The self same state 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 35 
 
 I dare avouch you'll find, where ever Hate 
 Back'd with rough zeal, and bold for want of skill, 
 All sects besides its own doth execrate. 
 This peevish spright with wo the world doth fill, 
 While each man all would bind to his fierce furious will. 
 
 19 
 O Hate ! the fulsome daughter of fell Pride, 
 Sister to surly Superstition, 
 That clear out-shining Truth cannot abide, 
 That loves it self and large Dominion, 
 And in false show of a fair Union 
 Would all encroch to 't self, would purchase all 
 At a cheap rate, for slight Opinion. 
 Thus cram they their wide-gaping Crumenall : 
 But now to Ida hill me lists my feet recall. 
 
 No such enchantment in all Dizoie 
 As on this hill ; nor sadder sight was seen 
 Then you may in this rufull place espy. 
 'Twixt two huge walls on solitary Green, 
 Of funerall Cypresse many groves there been, 
 And eke of Ewe, Eben, and Poppy trees : 
 And in their gloomy shade foul grisly fiend 
 Use to resort, and busily to seize 
 The darker phansied souls that live in ill disease. 
 
 21 
 Hence you may see, if that you dare to mind, 
 Upon the side of this accursed hil, 
 Many a dreadfull corse ytost in wind, 
 Which with hard halter their loathd life did spill. 
 There lives another which himself did kill 
 With rusty knife, all roll'd in his own blood, 
 And ever and anon a dolefull knill 
 Comes from the fatall Owl, that in sad mood 
 With drery sound doth pierce through the death- 
 shadowed wood. 
 
 22 
 
 Who can expresse with pen the irksome state 
 Of those that be in this strong Castle thrall ? 
 Yet hard it is this Fort to ruinate, 
 It is so strongly fenc'd with double wall. 
 The fiercest but of Ram no'te make them fall : 
 The first Inevitable Destiny 
 Of Gods Decree ; the other they do call 
 Invincible fieshie Infirmitie : 
 But Keeper of the Tower's unfelt Hypocrisie. 
 
 23 
 What Poets phancies fain'd to be in Hell 
 Are truly here, A Vulture Tytius heart 
 Still gnaws, yet death doth never Tityus quell : 
 Sad Sisyphus a stone with toylsome smart 
 Doth roul up hill, but it transcends his art, 
 To get it to the top, where it may lye, 
 On steddy Plain, and never backward start : 
 His course is stopt by strong Infirmity, 
 His roul comes to this wall, but then back it doth fly. 
 
 24 
 Here fifty Sisters in a sieve do draw 
 Thorough-siping water : Tantalus is here, 
 Who though the glory of the Lord ore-flow 
 The earth, and doth incompasse him so near, 
 Yet waters, he in waters doth requere. 
 Stoop Tantalus and take those waters in ! 
 What strength of witchcraft thus blinds all yfere 
 Twixt these two massie walls, this hold of sinne ? 
 Aye me ! who shall this Fort so strongly fenced win ! 
 
 25 
 I hear the clattering of an armed troup. 
 My ears do ring with the strong prancers heels. 
 (My soul get up out of thy drowsie droop, 
 And look unto the everlasting Hills) 
 The hollow ground, ah ! how my sense it fills 
 With sound of solid horses hoofs. A wonder 
 It is, to think how cold my spirit thrills, 
 With strange amaze. Who can this strength dis- 
 
 sunder ? 
 Hark how the warlike Steeds do neigh, their necks do 
 
 thunder. 
 
 26 
 All Milkwhite Steeds in trappings goodly gay, 
 On which in golden letters be ywrit 
 These words (even he that runs it readen may) 
 True righteousnesse unto the Lord of might. 
 O comely spectacle ! O glorious sight ! 
 'Twould easily ravish the beholders eye 
 To see such beasts, so fair so full of spright, 
 All in due ranks to prance so gallantly, 
 Bearing their riders arm'd with perfect panoply. 
 
 27 
 In perfect silver glistring panoply 
 They ride, the army of the highest God. 
 Ten thousands of his Saints approchen nie, 
 To judge the world, and rule it with his rod. 
 They leave all plain whereever they have trod. 
 Each rider on his shield doth bear the Sun 
 With golden shining beams dispread abroad, 
 The Sun of righteousnesse at high-day noon, 
 By this same strength, I ween, this Fort is easily wonne. 
 
 28 
 They that but hear thereof shall straight obey ; 
 But the strange children shall false semblance make, 
 But all hypocrisie shall soon decay, 
 All wickednesse into that deadly lake, 
 All darknesse thither shall it self betake. 
 That false brood shall in their close places fade. 
 The glory of the Lord shall ne're forsake 
 The earth again, nor shall deaths dreadfull shade 
 Return againe. Him praise that this great day hath 
 made. 
 
36 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 29 
 
 This is the mighty warlick Michaels host, 
 That easily shall wade through that foul spue 
 Which the false Dragon casts in every coast, 
 That the moonrtrampling woman much doth rue 
 His deadly spaul ; but no hurt doth accrew 
 To this strong army from this filthy steam. 
 Nor horse nor man doth fear its lurid hew. 
 They safely both can swim in this foul stream ; 
 This stream the earth sups up cleft ope by Michaels 
 beam. 
 
 30 
 But whiles it beareth sway, this poysons might 
 Is to make sterill or prolong the birth, 
 To cause cold palsies, and to dull the sight 
 By sleepy sloth ; the melancholic earth 
 It doth increase, that hinders all good mirth. 
 Yet this dead liquor dull Pantheothen 
 Before the nectar of the Gods preferr'th. 
 But it so weakens and disables men, 
 That they of manhood give no goodly specimen. 
 
 31 
 Here one of us began to interpeal 
 Old Mnemon. Tharrhon that young ladkin hight, 
 He prayed this aged Sire for to reveal 
 What way this Dragons poysonous despight, 
 And strong Pantheothens inwalling might, 
 We may escape. Then Mnemon thus gan say ; 
 Some strange devise, I know, each youthfull wight 
 Would here expect, or lofty brave assay : 
 But I'll the simple truth, in simple wise convey. 
 
 32 
 Good Conscience, kept with all the strength and might 
 That God already unto us hath given ; 
 A presse pursuit of that foregoing light 
 That egs us on 'cording to what we have liven, 
 And helps us on 'cording to what we have striven, 
 To shaken off the bonds of prejudice, 
 Nor dote too much of that we have first conceiven ; 
 By hearty prayer to beg the sweet delice 
 Of Gods all-loving spright : such things I you advise. 
 
 33 
 Can pity move the hearts of parents dear, 
 When that their haplesse child in heavie plight 
 Doth grieve and moan ! whiles pinching tortures tear 
 His fainting life, and doth not that sad sight 
 Of Gods own Sonne empassion his good spright 
 With deeper sorrow ? The tender babe lies torn 
 In us by cruell wounds from hostile might : 
 Is Gods own life of God himself forlorn ? 
 Or was he to continuall pain of God yborn ? 
 
 34 
 
 Or will you say if this be Gods own Sonne, 
 Let him descend the Crosse : for well we ween 
 That he'll not suffer him to be fordonne 
 By wicked hand, if Gods own Sonne he been. 
 
 But you have not those sacred mysteries seen, 
 True-crucifying Jews 1 The weaker thing 
 Is held in great contempt in worldly eyen : 
 But time may come when deep impierced sting 
 Shall prick your heart, and it shall melt with sorrowing. 
 
 35 
 Then you shall view him whom with cruell spear 
 You had transfix'd, true crucified Sonne 
 Of the true God, unto his Father dear, 
 And dear to you, nought dearer under Sun : 
 Through this strong love and deep compassion, 
 How vastly God his Kingdome would enlarge 
 You'll easily see, and how with strong iron 
 He'll quite subdue the utmost earthly verge. 
 O foolish men ! the heavens why do you fondly charge ? 
 
 36 
 
 Subtimidus, when Tharrhon sped so well, 
 Took courage to himself, and thus gan say 
 To Mnemon ; Pray you Sir vouchsafe to tell 
 What Autaparnes and Hypomone 
 And Simon do this while in Dizoie. 
 With that his face shone like the rosie Morn 
 With maiden blush from inward modesty, 
 Which wicked wights do holden in such scorn : 
 Sweet harmlesse Modesty a rose withouten thorn ! 
 
 37 
 
 Old Mnemon lov'd the Lad even from his face, 
 Which blamelesse blush with sanguin light had dyed ; 
 His harmlesse lucid spright with flouring grace 
 His outward form so seemly beautified. 
 So the old man him highly magnified 
 For his so fit inquiry of those three ; 
 And to his question thus anon replyed, 
 There's small recourse (till that Fort passed be) 
 To Simon Autaparnes or Hypomone. 
 
 38 
 For all that space from Behirons high wall 
 Unto Pantheothen, none dares arise 
 From his base dunghill warmth ; such Magicall 
 Attraction his flagging soul down ties 
 To his foul flesh : 'mongst which, alas ! there lyes 
 A little spark of Gods vitality, 
 But smoreing filth so close it doth comprize 
 That it cannot flame out nor get on high : 
 This Province hence is hight earth-groveling Aptery. 
 
 39 
 
 But yet fair semblances these Apterites 
 Do make of good, and sighen very sore, 
 That God no stronger is : False hypocrites ! 
 You make no use of that great plenteous store 
 Of Gods good strength which he doth on you pour. 
 But you fast friends of foul carnality, 
 And false to God, his tender sonne do gore, 
 And plaud your selves, if t be not mortally 
 Nor let you him live in ease, nor let you him fairly dy. 
 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 37 
 
 40 
 Like faithlesse wife that by her frampared guize, 
 Peevish demeanour, sullen sad disdain, 
 Doth inly deep the spright melancholize 
 Of her aggrieved husband, and long pain 
 At last to some sharp sicknesse doth constrain 
 His weakned nature to yield victory : 
 His scorching torture then counts death a gain. 
 But when Death comes, in womanish phrensie 
 That froward femall wretch doth shreek and loudly cry. 
 
 41 
 So through her moody importunity 
 From downright death she rescues the poore man : 
 Self favouring sense ; not that due loyaltie 
 Doth wring from her this false compassion, 
 Compassion that no cruelty can 
 Well equalize. Her husband lies agast ; 
 Death on his horrid face so pale and wan 
 Doth creep with ashy wings. He thus embrac'd 
 
 Perforce too many dayes in deadly wo doth wast. 
 42 
 This is the love that's found in Aptery 
 To Gods dear life. If they his Son present 
 Half live, half dead, handled despightfully, 
 Or sunk in sicknesse, or with deep wound rent, 
 So be he's not quite dead they'r well content, 
 And hope sure favour of his Sire to have. 
 They have the signes how can they then be shent ? 
 The God of love for his dear life us save 
 
 From such conceits, which men to sin do us inslave. 
 
 43 
 But when from Aptery we were ygone, 
 And past Pantheothens inthralling power ; 
 Then from the East chearfull Eous shone, 
 And drave away the Nights dead lumpish stour : 
 He took by th' hand Aurora's vernall hour ; 
 These freshly tripp'd it on the silver hills, 
 And thorow all the fields sweet life did shower : 
 Then gan the joyfull birds to try their skills ; 
 
 They skipt, they chirpt amain, they pip'd, they danc'd 
 their fills. 
 
 44 
 This other Province of Dizoia 
 Hight Pieroessa. On the flowry side 
 Of a green bank, as I went on my way 
 Strong youthfull Gabriel I there espide, 
 Courting a Nymph all in her maiden pride, 
 Not for himself : His strife was her to win 
 To Michael, in wedlock to be tide : 
 He promised she should be Michaels Queen, 
 
 And greater things then eare hath heard, or eye hath seen : 
 
 45 
 
 This lovely Maid to Gabriel thus replide, 
 Thanks, Sir, for your good news ; but may I know 
 Who Michael is, that would have me his Bride ? 
 Its Michael, said he, that works such woe 
 
 To all that fry of Hell ; and on his foe 
 Those fiends of darknesse such great triumphs hath : 
 The powers of sin and death he down doth mow. 
 In this strong Arm of God have thou but faith, 
 That in great Dcemons troups doth work so wondrous 
 scath. 
 
 46 
 
 The simple Girl believed every word, 
 Nor did by subtile querks elude the might 
 And proferr'd strength of the soul-loving Lord ; 
 But answered thus. Good Sir, but reade aright 
 When shall I then appear in Michaels sight ? 
 When Gabriel had won her full assent, 
 And well observ'd how he had flam'd her spright, 
 He answered, After the complishment 
 Of his behests, and so her told what hests he ment. 
 
 47 
 She willingly took the condition, 
 And pliable she promised to be ; 
 And Gabriel sware he would wait upon 
 Her Virginship, whiles in simplicity 
 His masters will with all good industry 
 She would fullfill. So here the simple Maid 
 Strove for her self in all fidelity, 
 Nor took her self for nothing ; but she plaid 
 Her part, she thought, as if Indentures had been made. 
 
 48 
 For she did not with her own self gin think 
 So curiously, that it is God alone 
 That gives both strengths when ever we do swink : 
 Graces and Natures might be both from one, 
 Who is our lifes strong sustentation. 
 Impossible it is therefore to merit, 
 When we poore men have nothing of our own : 
 Certes by him alone she stands upright ; 
 And surely falls without his help in per'lous fight : 
 
 49 
 But we went on in Pteroessa lond : 
 The fresh bright Morning was no small repast 
 After the toil in Aptery we found, 
 So that with merry chear we went full fast : 
 But I observed well that in this haste 
 Simon wax'd faint, and feeble, and decay' d 
 In strength and life before we far had past : 
 And by how much his youthfull flower did fade, 
 So much more vigour to his parents was repai'd. 
 
 50 
 
 For that old crumpled wight gan go upstraight, 
 And Autaparnes face recovered blood ! 
 But Simon looked pale withouten might, 
 Withouten chear, or joy, or livelyhood : 
 Cause of all this at last I understood. 
 For Autaparn that knife had from him cast, 
 And almost clos'd the passage of that flood. 
 That flood, that blood, was that which Simons taste 
 Alone could fit ; if that were gone the lad did waste. 
 
33 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Si 
 
 And his old mother, call'd Hypomone, 
 Did ease her back from that down-swaying weight, 
 That leaden Quadrate, which did miserably 
 Annoy her crasie corse ; but that more light 
 She might fare on, she in her husbands sight 
 Threw down her load, where he threw down his blade, 
 And from that time began the pitious plight 
 Of sickly Simon : so we them perswade 
 Back to retreat, and do their dying son some aid. 
 
 52 
 Though loth, yet at the length they do assent : 
 So we return unto the place where lay 
 The heavy Quadrate, and that instrument 
 Of bleeding smart. It would a man dismay 
 To think how that square lead her back did sway ; 
 And how the half-clos'd wound was open tore 
 With that sharp-pointed knife : and sooth to say 
 Simon himself was inly grieved sore, 
 Seeing the deadly smart that his dear parents bore. 
 
 S3 
 
 So we remeasure the way we had gone, 
 
 Still fareing on towards Theoprepy. 
 
 Great strength and comfort 'twas to think upon 
 
 Our good escape from listlesse Aptery, 
 
 And from the thraldome of Infirmity. 
 
 Now nought perplex'd our stronger plumed spright, 
 
 But what may be the blamelesse verity : 
 
 Oft we conceiv'd things were transacted right : 
 And oft we found our selves guld with strong passions 
 might. 
 
 54 
 
 But now more feeble farre we find their force 
 
 Then erst it was, when as in Aptery 
 
 To strong Pantheothen they had recourse : 
 
 For then a plain impossibility 
 
 It was to overcome their cruelty. 
 
 But here encouraged by Gabriel 
 
 We strongly trust to have the victory. 
 
 And if by chance they do our forces quell ; 
 It's not by strength of armes, but by some misty spell. 
 
 55 
 
 So bravely we went on withouten dread, 
 Till at the last we came whereas a hill 
 With steep ascent highly lift up his head : 
 To th' aged hoof it worken would much ill 
 To climb this cliff ; with weary ach 't would fill 
 His drier bones. But yet it's smoooth and plain 
 Upon the top. It passeth farre my skill 
 The springs, the bowers, the walks, the goodly train 
 Of faire chaste Nymphs that haunt that place, for to 
 explain. 
 
 56 
 I saw three sisters there in seemly wise 
 Together walking on the flowry Green, 
 Yclad in snowy stoles of fair agguize. 
 The glistring streams of silver waving shine, 
 
 Skilfully interwove with silken line, 
 So variously did play in that fair vest, 
 That much it did delight my wondring eyne : 
 Their face with Love and Vigour was ydrest, 
 With Modesty and Joy ; their tongue with just behest : 
 
 57 
 Their locks hung loose, A triple coronet 
 Of flaming gold and star-like twinkling stone 
 Of highest price, was on their temples set : 
 The Amethist, the radiant Diamond, 
 The Jasper, enemy to spirits won, 
 With many other glorious for to see. 
 These three enameld rimmes of that fair Crown 
 Be these : the first hight Diccsosyne, 
 Philosophy the next, the last stiff Apathy. 
 
 58 
 I gaz'd and mus'd and was well nigh distraught 
 With admiration of those three maids, 
 And could no further get, ne further saught ; 
 Down on the hill my weary limbs I laid, 
 And fed my feeble eyes, which me betray'd 
 Unto Loves bondage. Simon lik'd it not 
 To see me so bewitch'd, and thus assay'd 
 By wisest speech to loose this Magick knot : 
 Great pity things so fair should have so foul a spot : 
 
 59 
 What spot, said I, can in these fair be found? 
 Both spot in those white vests, and eke a flaw 
 In those bright gems wherewith these Maids be 
 
 crown'd, 
 If you'll but lift to see, I'll eas'ly show. 
 Then I, both Love of man and holy law 
 Exactly 's kept upon this sacred hill ; 
 True fortitude that truest foes doth awe, 
 Justice and Abstinence from sweetest ill, 
 And Wisedome like the Sun doth all with light ore 
 
 spill. 
 
 60 
 
 Thanks be to God we are so well arriv'd 
 To the long-sought for land, Theoprepy. 
 Nay soft good Sir, said Simon, you'r deceiv'd, 
 You are not yet past through Autossthesy : 
 With that the spot and flaw he bad me see 
 Which he descry'd in that goodly array. 
 The spot and flaw self-sens'd Autopathy 
 Was hight, the eldest Nymph Pythagorissa, 
 Next Platonissa hight ; the last hight Stoicissa. 
 
 6l 
 
 But this high Mount where these three sisters wonne, 
 
 Said Simon, cleeped is, Har-Eloim. 
 
 To these it's said, Do worship to my Sonne : 
 
 It's right, that all the Gods do worship him, 
 
 There's none exempt : those that the highest climbe 
 
 Are but his Ministers, their turns they take 
 
THE LIFE OF THE SOUL. 
 
 39 
 
 To serve as well as those of lower slime. 
 What so is not of Christ but doth partake 
 Of th' Auteesthesian soil, is life Dcemoniake. 
 
 62 
 
 , His words did strangely work upon my spright, 
 And wean'd my mind from that I dearly lov'd ; 
 So I nould dwell on this so pleasing sight, 
 But down descended, as it me behov'd, 
 And as my trusty guide me friendly mov"d. 
 So when we down had come, and thence did passe 
 On the low plain, Simon more clearly prov'd, 
 That though much beauty there and goodnesse was, 
 Yet that in Theoprepia did farre surpasse. 
 
 63 
 
 So forward on we fare, and leave that hill, 
 And presse still further, the further we go, 
 Simon more strength, more life and godly will, 
 More vigour he and livelyhood did show ; 
 But Autapames wox more wan and wo : 
 He faints, he sinks, ready to give up ghost. 
 And ag'd Hypom'ne trod with footing slow, 
 And stagger'd with her load ; so ill dispos'd 
 Their fading spirits were, that life was well nigh lost. 
 
 64 
 By this, in sight of that black wall we came, 
 A wall by stone-artificer not made : 
 For it is nought but smoke from duskish flame, 
 Which in that low deep valleys pitchy shade 
 Doth fiercely th' Autopathian life invade, 
 With glowing heat, and eateth out that spot. 
 This dreadfull triall many hath dismaid ; 
 When Autaparnes saw this was his lot, 
 Fear did his sense benum, he wox like earthly clot. 
 
 65 
 In solem silency this vapour rose 
 From this drad Dale, and hid the Eastern sky 
 With its deep darknesse, and the Evening-close 
 Forestall'd with Stygian obscurity ; 
 Yet was't not thick, nor thin, nor moist, nor dry ; 
 Nor stank it ill, nor yet gave fragrant smell, 
 Nor did't take in through pellucidity 
 The penetrating light, nor did't repell 
 Through grosse opacity the beams of Michael. 
 
 66 
 Yet terrible it is to Psyches brood, 
 That still retain the life Dcemoniake ; 
 Constraining fear calls in their vitall flood, 
 When the drad Magus once doth mention make 
 Of the deep dark Abysse ; for fear they quake 
 At that strong-awing word : But they that die 
 Unto self-feeling life, naught shall them shake ; 
 Base fear proceeds from weak Autopathy. 
 This dale hight A in, the fumes hight Anautcesthesy . 
 
 67 
 Into this dismall Dale we all descend, 
 Here Autaparnes and Hypomone 
 Their languid life with that dark vapour blend. 
 Thus perished fading vitality, 
 But nought did fade of Lifes reality. 
 When these two old ones their last gasp had fet, 
 In this drad valley their dead corps did he ; 
 But what could well be sav'd to Simon flet. 
 Here Simon first became spotlesse Anautcesthet. 
 
 68 
 
 When we had waded quite through this deep shade, 
 We then appear'd in bright Theoprepy : 
 Here Phoebus ray in straightest line was laid. 
 That erst lay broke in grosse consistency 
 Of cloudy substance. For strong sympathy 
 Of the divided natures Magick band 
 Was burnt to dust in Anautcesihesie : 
 Now there's no fear of Death's dart-holding hand : 
 Fast love, fix'd life, firm peace in Theoprepia land. 
 
 69 
 
 When Mnemon hither came, he leaned back : 
 Upon his seat, and a long time respired. 
 When I perceiv'd this holy Sage so slack 
 To speak (well as I might) I him desired 
 Still to hold on, if so he were not tired ; 
 And tell what fell in blest Theoprepy ; 
 But he nould do the thing that I required : 
 Too hard it is, said he, that kingdomes glee 
 To show ; who list to know himself must come and see. 
 
 70 
 
 This story under the cool shadowing Beach 
 Old Mnemon told of famous Dizoie : 
 To set down all he said passeth my reach, 
 That all would reach even to infinity. 
 Strange things he spake of the biformity 
 Of the Dizoians ; What mongrill sort 
 Of living wights ; how monstrous shap'd they be, 
 And how that man and beast in one consort ; 
 Goats britch, mans tongue, goose head, with monki's 
 mouth distort. 
 
 71 
 
 Of Centaures, Cynocephals, walking trees, 
 Tritons, and Mermayds, and such uncouth things ; 
 Of weeping Serpents with fair womans eyes, 
 Mad-making waters, sex-transforming springs ; 
 Of foul Circean swine with golden rings, 
 With many such like falshoods ; but the streight 
 Will easily judge all crooked wanderings. 
 Suffice it then we have taught that ruling Right, 
 The Good is uniform, the Evil infinite. 
 
PSYCHATHANASIA 
 
 OR 
 
 The fecond part of the Song 
 
 of the 
 
 SOUL, 
 
 Treating 
 
 Of the Immortality of Souls, efpecially 
 MANS SOUL. 
 
 By H. M. Matter of Arts, and Fellow of Chrifts 
 Colledge in Cambridge. 
 
 ^ixris ot'Sevos «ttiv 
 
 'AAAd \iovov /xi£is tc 8id\\a£i<s re jiiykvTdiV , 
 
 Empedocles. 
 
 Ovinia mutantur, nihil intent, 
 Ovid. 
 
 Ilav dpa ££>ov dddvarov iravriav Se [xdWov 6 avOpunros 6 ko.1 tov Oeov 
 Scktikos, Kttl tw dew a-vvova-iacrTos. Trismegist. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the 
 
 Univerfitie. 1647. 
 
 19 
 
The Preface to the Reader. 
 
 He very nerves and sinews of Religion is hope 
 of immortality. What greater incitement to 
 virtue and justice then eternall happinesse ? 
 what greater terrour from wickednesse, then 
 a full perswasion of after-judgement and continuall tor- 
 ture of spirit? But my labour is superfluous, Men from 
 their very childhood are perswaded of these things. 
 Verily, I fear how they are perswaded of them when 
 they become men. Else would not they whom the fear 
 of hell doth not afright, 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 melancholick temper (which 
 commonly distrust and suspicion do accompany) though 
 otherwise pious, yet out of an exceeding desire of eternall 
 being, think they can never have security enough for this 
 so pleasing hope and expectation, and so even with 
 anxiety of mind busie 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 it 
 self, judgeth it self 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 tyed in most intimate 
 love and sympathy. So a tender mother, if she see a 
 knife struck to her childs heart, would shreek and swound 
 as if her selfe had been smit ; whenas 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 ecstasie, 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 continuall commerce with this 
 frail body, it is not to be expected, but that we shall be 
 assaulted with the fear of death and darknesse. 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 ciim semel occidit brevis lux 
 
 Nox est perpetua una dormienda. 
 
 The Sunne may set and rise again ; 
 
 If once sets our short light, 
 
 Deep sleep us binds with iron chain, 
 
 Wrapt in eternall Night. 
 But I would not be so injurious, as to make men worse 
 then they are, that my little work may seem of greater 
 use and worth then it is. 
 
 Admit then that men are mostwhat perswaded of the 
 souls immortality, yet here they may read reasons to 
 confirm that perswasion, and be put in mind, as they 
 reade, of their end, and future condition, which cannot 
 be but profitable at least. 
 
 For the pleasure they '11 reap from this Poem, it will 
 be according as their Genius is fitted for it. For as Plato 
 speaks in his Io, '0 /x£i> tGiv ttoititQv £% &X\r)s Moi/o^s, 
 6 5k i% AWrjs {trjprrjTat., or according to the more usuall 
 
 phrase Kar^x eTa h & c - The spirit of every Poet is not 
 alike, nor his writings alike suitable to all dispositions. 
 As Io, the reciter of Homers verses, professeth himself 
 to be snatcht away with an extraordinary fury or ecstasie 
 at the repeating of Homers Poesie, but others so little to 
 move him that he could even fall asleep. So that no 
 man is rashly to condemn another mans labour in this 
 kind, because he is not taken with it. As wise or wiser 
 then himselfe may. 
 
 But this is a main piece of idolatry and injustice in the 
 world, that every man would make his private Genius 
 an universall God ; and would devour all mens appre- 
 hensions by his own fire, that glowes 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 
 cV Sylvis to the waste woods and solitary mountains. 
 For all men are so full of their own phansies and idio- 
 pathies, that they scarce have the civility to interchange 
 any words with a stranger. If they chance to hear his 
 exotick tone, they entertain it with laughter, a passion 
 very incident upon that occasion, to children and clowns. 
 But it were much better neither to embosome 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 write, 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 exprest my diffidence in the very tractates them- 
 selves, had been languid and ridiculous. 
 
 It were a piece of injustice to expect of others, that 
 which I could never indure to stoop to my self. That 
 knowledge which is built upon humane authority, is 
 no better then a Castle in the Aire. For what man is 
 avrbiTHTTos 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, then any 
 true understanding that the thing is so indeed. 
 
 Whatever may seeme strange in this Poem, condemne 
 it not, till thou findest it dissonant to Plato's School, or 
 not deducible from it. But there be many arguments, 
 that have no strangenesse 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 confesse 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 other- 
 wise. 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 Gods good wi 11 
 
 The immortality 
 Of Souls I sing ; Praise with my quill 
 
 Plato's Philosophy, 
 
 I 
 
 Hatever man he be that dares to deem 
 True Poets skill to spring of earthly race, 
 I must him tell, that he doth misesteem 
 Their strange estate, and eke himselfe dis- 
 grace 
 By his rude ignorance. For there's no place 
 For forced labour, or slow industry 
 Of flagging wits, in that high fiery chace : 
 So soon as of the Muse they quickned be, 
 At once they rise, and lively sing like Lark in skie. 
 
 2 
 / Like to a Meteor, whose materiall 
 \ Is low unwieldy earth, base unctuous slime, 
 J Whose inward hidden parts ethereall 
 \ Ly close upwrapt in that dull sluggish sime, 
 I Ly fast asleep, till at some fatall time 
 I Great Phoebus lamp has fir'd its inward spright, 
 VAnd then even of it self on high doth climb ; 
 
 That earst was dark becomes all eye, all sight, 
 Bright starre, that to the wise of future things gives light. 
 
 Even so the weaker mind, that languid lies 
 Knit up in rags of dirt, dark, cold, and blind, 
 So soon that purer flame of Love unties 
 Her clogging chains, and doth her spright unbind, 
 Shee sores aloft ; for shee her self doth find 
 Well plum'd ; so rais'd upon her spreaden wing, 
 She softly playes, and warbles in the wind, 
 And carols out her inward life and spring 
 Of overflowing joy, and of pure love doth sing. 
 
 She sings of purest love, not that base passion 
 That fouls the soul with filth of lawlesse lust, 
 And Circe-like her shape doth all misfashion ; 
 But that bright flame that's proper to the just, 
 And eats away all drosse and cankred rust 
 With its refining heat, unites the mind 
 With Gods own spright, who raiseth from the dust 
 The slumbring soul, and with his usage kind 
 Makes t' breath after that life that time hath not define!. 
 
 So hath he rais'd my soul, and so possest 
 My inward spright, with that unfained will 
 He bears to Psyche's brood, that I nere rest 
 But ruth or ragefull indignation fill 
 My troubled veins, that I my life near spill 
 With sorrow and disdain, for that foul lore 
 That crept from dismall shades of Night, and quill 
 Steep'd in sad Styx, and fed with stinking gore 
 Suckt from corrupted corse, that God and men abhorre. 
 
 Such is thy putid muse, Lucretius, 
 That fain would teach that souls all mortall be : 
 The dusty Atoms of Democritus 
 Certes have fall'n into thy feeble eye, 
 And thee bereft of perspicacity. 
 Others through the strong steem of their dull bloud, 
 Without the help of that Philosophy, 
 Have with more ease the truth not understood, 
 And the same thing conclude in some sad drooping mood . 
 
 But most of all my soul doth them refuse 
 That have extinguish'd natures awfull light 
 By evil custome, and unkind abuse 
 Of Gods young tender work, that in their spright 
 
44 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 He first gins frame. But they with hedcly might 
 Of over-whelming liquour that life drownd, 
 And reasons eye swell up or put out quite. 
 Hence horrid darknesse doth their souls confound ; 
 And foul blasphemous belch from their furd mouth re- 
 sounds. 
 
 8 
 
 Thus while false way they take to large their spirit 
 By vaster cups of Bacchus, they get fire 
 Without true light, and 'cording to demerit 
 Infernall blasts blind confidence inspire : 
 Bold heat to uncouth thoughts is their bad hire. 
 Which they then dearly hug, and ween their feet 
 Have clombe, whither vulgar men dare not aspire. 
 But its the fruit of their burnt sootie spright : 
 Thus dream they of drad death, and an eternall night. 
 
 Now in the covert of dame Natures cell 
 They think they'r shrowded, and the mystery 
 Of her deep secrets they can wisely spell ; 
 And 'pprove that art above true piety ; 
 Laugh at religion as a mockery, 
 A thing found out to aw the simpler sort : 
 But they, brave sparks, have broke from this dark tie : 
 The light of nature yields more sure comfort. 
 Alas ! too many souls in this fond thought consort. 
 
 10 
 
 Like men new made contriv'd into a cave 
 That ne're saw light, but in that shadowing pit, 
 Some uncouth might them hoodwink hither drave, 
 Now with their backs to the dens mouth they sit, 
 Yet shoulder not all light from the dern pit : 
 So much gets in as Optick art counts meet 
 To shew the forms that hard without do flit. 
 With learned qucere each other here they greet : 
 True moving substances they deem each shadow slight 
 
 II 
 
 When fowls flie by, and with their swapping wings 
 Beat the inconstant air, and mournfull noise 
 Stirre up with their continuall chastisings 
 In the soft yielding penitent ; the voice 
 These solemn Sages nought at all accoyes. 
 'Tis common ; onely they philosophize, 
 Busying their brains in the mysterious toyes 
 Of flittie motion, warie well advize 
 On'ts inward principles the hid Entdcchies : 
 
 And whereabout that inward life is seated, 
 
 That moves the living creature, they espie 
 
 Passing in their dim world. So they'r defeated, 
 
 Calling thin shadows true realitie, 
 
 And deeply doubt if corporalitie, 
 
 (For so they term those visibles) were stroy'd 
 
 Whether that inward first vitalitie 
 Could then subsist. But they are ill accloy'd 
 With cloddie earth, and with blind duskishnesse annoy'd. 
 
 13 
 
 If roaring Lion or the neighing Horse, 
 With frisking tail to brush off busie flies, 
 Approch their den, then haply they discourse 
 From what part of these creatures may arise 
 Those greater sounds. Together they advise, 
 And gravely do conclude that from the thing 
 That we would term the tail, those thund'ring neyes 
 Do issue forth : tail of that shadowing 
 They see then moved most, while he is whinneying. 
 
 14 
 And so the Lions huge and hideous roar 
 They think proceeds from his rugg'd flowing mane, 
 Which the fierce winds do tosse and tousell sore ; 
 Unlesse perhaps he stirre his bushie train : 
 For then the tail will carrie it again. 
 Thus upon each occasion their frail wit 
 Bestirres itself to find out errours vain 
 And uselesse theories in this dark pit : 
 Fond reasoning they have, seldome or never hit. 
 
 15 
 
 So soon new shadows enter in the cave, 
 
 J. New entelechias they then conceive 
 
 Brought forth of nature : when they passed have 
 
 Their gloomy orb (false shades eas'ly deceive) 
 
 Not onely they that visible bereave 
 
 Of life and being, but the hidden might 
 
 And moving root, unliv'd, unbeen'd they leave 
 
 In their vain thoughts : for they those shadows slight 
 
 Do deem sole prop and stay of th' hidden motive spright. 
 
 16 
 
 This is that awfull cell where Naturalists 
 
 Brood deep opinion, as themselves conceit ; 
 
 This Errours den wherein a magick mist 
 
 Men hatch their own delusion and deceit, 
 
 And grasp vain shows. Here their bold brains they 
 
 beat, 
 And dig full deep, as deep as Hyle's hell, 
 Unbare the root of life (O searching wit !) 
 But root of life in Hyles shade no'te dwell. 
 For God's the root of all, as I elsewhere shall tell. 
 
 17 
 This is the stupid state of drooping soul, 
 That loves the body and false forms admires ; 
 Slave to base sense, fierce 'gainst reasons controul, 
 That still itself with lower lust bemires ; 
 That nought believeth and much lesse desires 
 Things of that unseen world and inward life, 
 Nor unto height of purer truth aspires : 
 But cowardly declines the noble strife 
 'Gainst vice and ignorance ; so gets it no relief. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 45 
 
 From this default, the lustfull Epicure 
 Democrite, or th' unthankfull Stagarite, 
 Most men preferre 'fore holy Pythagore, 
 Divinest Plato, and grave Epictete : 
 But I am so inflam'd with the sweet sight 
 And goodly beauty seen on Eloim-hill, 
 That maugre all mens clamours in despight 
 I'll praise my Platonissa with loud quill ; 
 My strong intended voice all the wide world shall fill. 
 
 19 
 
 O sacred Nymph begot of highest Jove ! 
 Queen of Philosophic and virtuous lear ! 
 That firest the nobler heart with spotlesse love, 
 And sadder minds with Nectar drops dost chear, 
 That oft bedrencht with sorrows while we're here 
 Exil'd from our dear home, that heavenly soil. 
 Through wandring wayes thou safely dost us bear 
 Into the land of truth, from dirtie foil 
 Thou keepst our slipping feet oft wearied with long toil. 
 
 20 
 
 When I with other beauties thine compare, 
 O lovely maid, all others I must scorn. 
 For why ? they all rude and deform'd appear : 
 Certes they be ill thew'd and baser born : 
 Yet thou, alas ! of men art more forlorn. 
 For like will to its like : but few can see 
 Thy worth ; so night-birds flie the glorious morn. 
 Thou art a beam shot from the Deitie, 
 And nearest art ally'd to Christianitie. 
 
 But they be sprung of sturdie Giants race, 
 Ally'd to Night and the foul Earthy clay. 
 Love of the carcase, Envie, Spight, Disgrace, 
 Contention, Pride, that unto th" highest doth bray, 
 Rash labour, a Titanicall assjy 
 To pluck down wisdome from her radiant seat, 
 With mirie arms to bear her quite away. 
 But thy dear mother Thorough-cleansing virtue hight : 
 Here will true wisdome lodge, here will she deigne to 
 light. 
 
 Come, Gentle Virgin, take me by the hand, 
 To yonder grove with speedie pace we'll hie : 
 (Its not farre off from Alcthea land) 
 Swift as the levin from the sneezing skie, 
 So swift we'll go, before an envious eye 
 Can reach us. There I'll purge out the strong steem 
 Of prepossessing prejudice, that I 
 Perhaps may have contract in common stream ; 
 And warie well wash out my old conceived dream. 
 
 23 
 
 And when I've breath'd awhile in that free air, 
 And clear'd my self from tinctures took before, 
 Then deigne thou to thy novice to declare 
 Thy secret skill, and hid mysterious lore, 
 And I due thanks shall plenteously down poure. 
 But well I wote thou'lt not envassall me : 
 That law were rudenesse. I may not adore 
 Ought but the lasting spotlesse veritie. 
 Well thewed minds the mind do alwayes setten free. 
 
 24 
 Free to that inward awfull Majestie 
 Hight Logos, whom they term great sonne of God, 
 Who fram'd the world by his deep sciency, 
 The greater world. Als' makes his near abode 
 In the lesse world : so he can trace the trod 
 Of that hid ancient path, whenas he made 
 This stately Fabrick of the world so broad. 
 He plainly doth unfold his skilfull trade, 
 When he doth harmlesse hearts by his good spright 
 invade. 
 
 O thou eternall Spright, cleave ope the skie, 
 And take thy flight into my feeble breast, 
 Enlarge my thoughts, enlight my dimmer eye, 
 That wisely of that burthen closely prest 
 In my strait mind, I may be dispossest : 
 My Muse must sing of things of mickle weight ; 
 The souls eternity is my great quest : 
 Do thou me guide, that art the souls sure light, 
 Grant that I never erre, but ever wend aright. 
 
The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA, 
 
 Or, 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book I. Cant. 2. 
 What a soul is here / define, 
 
 After I have compared 
 All powers of life : That stamp divine 
 
 Show that brutes never shared. 
 
 Ow I'll addresse me to my mighty task, 
 
 So mighty task that makes my heart to 
 
 shrink, 
 While I compute the labour it will ask, 
 And on my own frail weaknesse I gin think. 
 Like tender Lad that on the rivers brink, 
 That fain would wash him, while the Evening keen 
 With sharper air doth make his pores to wink, 
 Shakes all his body, nips his naked skin, 
 At first makes some delay but after skippeth in : 
 
 2 
 So I upon a wary due debate 
 With my perplexed mind, after perswade 
 My softer heart. I need no longer wait. 
 Lo ! now new strength my vitals doth invade 
 And rear again, that earst began to fade, 
 My life, my light, my senses all revive 
 That fearfull doubts before had ill apaid. 
 Leap in, my soul, and strongly 'fore thee drive 
 The fleeting waves, and when thee list to th' bottome 
 dive. 
 
 3 
 For thou canst dive full well, and flote aloft, 
 Dive down as deep as the old Hyle's shade, 
 Through that slight darknesse glid'st thou sly and soft, 
 Through pitchy cumbring fogs strongly canst wade, 
 Nor in thy flight could'st thou be ever staid, 
 If in thy flight thou flewest not from him, 
 That for himself thine excellent might hath made. 
 Contract desire, repulse strong Magick steem, 
 Then even in foul Cocytus thou mayest fearlesse swim. 
 
 Like that strange uncouth fish Lucerna hight, 
 Whose wonne is in the brackish Seas, yet fire 
 She eas'ly carries and clear native light 
 In her close mouth : and the more to admire, 
 In darkest night when she lists to aspire 
 To th' utmost surface of the wat'ry Main, 
 And opes her jawes, that light doth not expire, 
 But lively shines till she shut up again : 
 Nor liquid Sea, nor moistned Aire this light restrain. 
 
 Or like a lamp arm'd with pellucid horn, 
 Which ruffling winds about do rudely tosse, 
 And felly lash with injury and scorn, 
 But her mild light they cannot easily crosse ; 
 She shines to her own foes withouten losse : 
 Even so the soul into her self collected, 
 Or in her native hew withouten drosse, 
 In midst of bitter storms is not dejected, 
 Nor her eternall state is any whit suspected. 
 
 As Cynthia in her stouping Perigee, 
 That deeper wades in the earths duskish Cone, 
 Yet safely wallows through in silency 
 Till she again her silver face hath shown, 
 And tells the world that she's the self-same Moon 
 Not now more listlesse then I was whileare 
 When I was hid in my Apogeon, 
 For I my self alike do alwayes bear 
 In every circling race : blind ignorance breeds fear. 
 
 Nor being hid after my monthly wane, 
 Long keppen back from your expecting sight, 
 Dull damps and darknesse do my beauty stain ; 
 When none I show then have I the most light, 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 47 
 
 Nearer to Phoebus more I am bedight 
 With his fair rayes. And better to confute, 
 All vain suspicion of my worser plight, 
 Mark aye my face, after my close salute 
 With that sharp-witted God, seem I not more acute ? 
 
 8 
 
 This is the state of th' evermoving soul, 
 Whirling about upon her circling wheel ; 
 Certes to sight she variously doth roll, 
 And as men deem full dangerously doth reel, 
 But oft when men fear most, her self doth feel 
 In happiest plight conjoy'nd with that great Sun 
 Of lasting blisse, that doth himself reveal 
 More fully then, by that close union, 
 Though men, that misse her here, do think her quite 
 undone. 
 
 But lest we rashly wander out too farre, 
 And be yblown about with wanton wind, 
 Withouten stern, or card, or Polar starre, 
 In its round little list so close confin'd : 
 Let the souls nature first be well defin'd : 
 Then we'll proceed. But all the while I crave 
 When e're I speak 'cording to Plato's mind, 
 That you my faultlesse drift do not deprave, 
 For I the free-born soul to no sect would inslave. 
 
 IO 
 
 Divers conceits the wizards of old time 
 Have had concerning that we here inquire, 
 And would set forth in an eternall rhyme ; 
 But we list not our dainty Muse to tire 
 In such foul wayes, and plunge her in the mire. 
 Strange dreams their drowsie scholars they have taught, 
 The heart, the heart-bloud, brains fleet aire, hot f re 
 To be the thing that they so prestly sought, 
 Some have defin'd, some temper, some atonies, some 
 nought. 
 
 But I must needs decline this wandring path ; 
 For well I wote errour is infinite, 
 But he that simple truth once reached hath 
 Needs not with every single shade to fight : 
 One stroke will put all falsities to flight. 
 So soon as Sol his fiery head doth rear 
 Above the eastern waves his glowing sight 
 As angry darknesse so long rule did bear, 
 Straight all night-trifling sprights doth chase away with 
 fear. 
 
 12 
 
 Long have I swonk with anxious assay 
 To finden out what this hid soul may be, 
 That doth her self so variously bewray 
 In different motions. Other we her see 
 
 When she so fairly spreads the branching tree ; 
 Other when as sh' hath loos'd her self from ground, 
 And opes her root, and breaths in heaven free, 
 And doth her wants in the wide air resound, 
 Speaks out her joy, no longer whispers under-ground. 
 
 13 
 
 Such is the noise of chearfull chirping birds, 
 That tell the sweet impressions of the spring ; 
 Or 'fore some storm, when their quick sprights be stird 
 With nearer strong appulse and hid heaving, 
 That fills their little souls, and makes them sing, 
 Puft up with joy and o'rflowing delight : 
 Eftsoons with ratling winds the air doth ring, 
 The sturdy storm doth make them take their flight 
 Into thick bush orhedgeto save them from heavens spight. 
 
 U 
 
 From this same sourse of sense are murmuring moans 
 Of bellowing bullocks, when sharp hunger bites ; 
 Hence whining dog so pittifully groans 
 Whenas with knotted whip his Lord him smites ; 
 And every beast when with Deaths pangs he fights. 
 But senslesse trees nor feel the bleaker wind, 
 That nip their sides, nor the Suns scorching might, 
 Nor the sharp ax piercing their ruggid rind ; 
 Yet have they soul, whose life in their sweet growth we 
 find. 
 
 15 
 
 So plants spring up, flourish and fade away, 
 Not marking their own state : they never found 
 Themselves, when first they 'pear'd in sunny day ; 
 Nor ever sought themselves, though in the ground 
 They search full deep : Nor are they wak'd by wound 
 Of biting iron ; to nought are attent 
 That them befalls, when cold humours abound 
 And clog their vitall heat, or when they're brent 
 With Sirius flame, or when through eld they waxen faint. 
 
 16 
 Or whatsoever diseases them betide 
 That hasten death, they nought at all regard : 
 But when to plantall life quick sense is ti'd, 
 And progging phansie, then upon her guard 
 She gins to stand, and well her self to ward 
 From foes she plainly feels, pursues her joy, 
 Remembers where she well or ill hath far'd, 
 Or swiftly flies from that that doth annoy, 
 Or stoutly strives her fierce destroyer to destroy. 
 
 17 
 Thus have we run thorow these two degrees 
 Of the souls working seen in beast and plant ; 
 Reason's the third, of common qualities 
 The best. Of this the humane race doth vaunt 
 As proper to themselves ; But if we skan't 
 Sans prejudice, it's not in them alone ; 
 The Dog, the Horse, the Ape, the Elephant, 
 Will all rush in striving to make up one, 
 And sternly claim their share in use of right reason. 
 
4S 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 iS 
 
 But whether brutes do reason and reflect 
 Upon their reasoning, I'll not dispute ; 
 Nor care I what brisk boyes will here object : 
 Long task it were all fondlings to confute. 
 But I'll lay down that which will better sute 
 With that high heavenly spark, the soul of man ; 
 His proper character (I would he knew't) 
 Is that which Adam lost by wily train 
 Of th' old sly snake that Eve beguil'd with speeches vain. 
 
 19 
 This was the Image of the highest God, 
 Which brutes partake not of. This Image hight 
 True Justice, that keeps ever th' even trod, 
 True Piety that yields to man the sight 
 Of heavenly beauty, those fair beams so bright 
 Of th' everlasting Deity, that shed 
 Their sacred fire within the purer spright, 
 The fruit of Eden wherewith souls be fed, 
 Mans awfull majesty of every beast ydred. 
 
 20 
 
 Xor is that radiant force in humane kind 
 Extinguisht quite, he that did them create 
 Can those dull rusty chains of sleep unbind, 
 And rear the soul unto her pristin state 
 He can them so inlarge and elevate 
 And spreaden out, that they can compasse all, 
 When they no longer be incarcerate 
 In this dark dungeon, this foul fleshly wall, 
 Xor be no longer wedg'd in things corporeall : 
 
 21 
 But rais'd aloft into their proper sphere, 
 That sphere that hight th' Orb Intellectuall, 
 They quiet sit, as when the flitting fire 
 That Natures mighty Magic down did call 
 Into the oyly wood, at its own fall 
 Grows full of wrath and rage, and gins to fume, 
 And roars and strives 'gainst its disquietall, 
 Like troubled Ghost forc'd some shape to assume ; 
 But it its holding foe at last doth quite consume. 
 
 And then like gliding spright doth straight dispear, 
 That earst was forc'd to take a fiery form : 
 Full lightly it ascends into the clear 
 And subtile aire devoid of cloudy storm, 
 Where it doth steddy stand, all-uniform, 
 Pure, pervious, immixt, innocuous, mild, 
 Nought scorching, nought glowing, nothing enorm, 
 Nought destroying, not destroy'd not defil'd ; 
 Foul fume being spent, just 'fore its flight it fairly smil'd. 
 
 23 
 Thus have I trac'd the soul in all her works, 
 And severall conditions have displaid, 
 And show'd all places where so e'r she lurks, 
 Even her own lurking's of her self bewray'd, 
 
 In plants, in beasts, in men, while here she staid : 
 
 And freed from earth how then she spreads on high 
 
 Her heavenly rayes, that also hath been said. 
 
 Look now, my Muse, and cast thy piercing eye 
 On every kind, and tell wherein all souls agree. 
 24 ^ 
 
 Here dare I not define't, th' Entelechie 
 
 Of organized bodies. For this life, 
 
 This centrall life, which men take souls to be, 
 
 Is not among the beings relative ; 
 
 And sure some souls at least are self-active 
 
 Withouten body having Energie. 
 
 Many put out their force informative 
 
 In their ethereall corporeity, 
 Devoid of heterogeneall organity. 
 
 Self-moving substance, that be th' definition 
 Of souls, that 'longs to them in generall : 
 This well expresseth that common condition 
 Of every vitall centre creaturall. 
 For why ? both what hight form spermaiicall 
 Hath here a share, as also that we term 
 Soul sensitive, I'll call't form bestiall, 
 It makes a beast added to plantall sperm ; 
 Adde rationall form, it makes a man, as men affirm. 
 
 26 
 All these be substances self-moveable : 
 And that we call virtue magneticall 
 (That what's defin'd be irreprovable) 
 I comprehend it in the life plantall : 
 Mongst trees ther's found life Sympathcticall ; 
 Though trees have not animadversive sense. 
 Therefore the soul's Autokineticall 
 Alone. Whatere's in this defining sense 
 Is soul, what ere's not soul is driven far from hence. 
 
 27 
 But that each soul's Autokineticall, 
 Is easly shown by sifting all degrees 
 Of souls. The first are forms Spcrmaticall, 
 That best be seen in shaping armed trees, 
 Which if they want their fixt Ccntrcitics, 
 By which they fairly every part extend, 
 And gently inact with spred vitalities 
 The flowring boughs. How Natures work doth wend 
 Who knows ? or from what inward stay it doth depend ? 
 
 28 
 Forthy let first an inward centre hid 
 Be put. That's nought but Natures fancie ti'd 
 In closer knot, shut up into the mid 
 Of its own self: so our own spirits gride 
 With piercing wind in storming Winter tide, 
 Contract themselves and shrivell up together, 
 Like snake the countrey man in snow espi'd. 
 Whose spright was quite shrunk in by nipping weather. 
 From whence things come, by fo-man forc'd they back- 
 ward thither. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL, 
 
 49 
 
 29 
 The rigid cold had forc'd into its centre 
 This serpents life ; but when the rurall Swain 
 Plac'd her upon warm hearth, and heat did enter 
 Into her nummed corps, she gan to strain 
 And stretch herself, and her host entertain 
 With scornfull hisse, shooting her anchor'd tongue, 
 Threatning her venom'd teeth ; so straight again 
 She prov'd a living snake, when she along 
 Her corse free life had drove from centre steddie strong. 
 
 So doth the gentle warmth of solar heat 
 Eas'ly awake the centre seminall, 
 That makes it softly streak on its own seat, 
 And fairly forward force its life internall. 
 That inward life's th' impresse imaginall 
 Of Natures Art, which sweetly flowreth out 
 From that is cleep'd the Sphere spermaticall : 
 For there is plac'd the never fading root 
 Of every flower or herb that into th' air doth shoot. 
 
 31 
 Fairly invited by Sols piercing ray 
 And inward tickled with his chearing spright, 
 All plants break thorough into open day, 
 Rend the thick curtain of cold cloying night, 
 The earths opakenes, enemy to light, 
 And crown themselves in sign of victory 
 VVfth shining leaves, and goodly blossomes bright. 
 Thus called out by friendly sympathy 
 Their souls move of themselves on their Centreitie. 
 
 32 
 But it's more plain in animalitie, 
 When fiery coursers strike the grassie ground 
 With swift tempestuous feet, that farre and nigh 
 They fill mens ears with a broad 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 hast ? 
 With eager steps they quickly mete the forrest wast. 
 
 34 
 That outward form is but a neurospast ; 
 The soul it is that on her subtile ray, 
 That she shoots out, the limbs of moving beast 
 Doth stretch straight forth, so straightly as she may. 
 Bones joynts and sinews shap'd of stubborn clay 
 Cannot so eas'ly lie in one straight line 
 With her projected might, much lesse obey 
 Direct retractions of these beames fine : 
 Of force, so straight retreat they ever must decline. 
 
 35 
 
 But yet they follow in a course oblique, 
 With angular doublings, as the joynts permit : 
 So go they up together, not unlike 
 An iron candle-stick the smith hath fit 
 
 19 
 
 With many junctures, whom in studious fit 
 Some scholar set awork : but to return, 
 Lest what we aim'd at we unwares omit ; 
 If souls of beasts their bodies move and turn, 
 And wield at phansies beck, as we describ'd beforn ; 
 
 36 
 
 Then be the souls of beasts self-moving forms, 
 Bearing their bodies as themselves think meet, 
 Invited or provok'd, so they transform 
 At first themselves within, then straight in sight 
 Those motions come, which suddenly do light 
 Upon the bodies visible, which move 
 According to the will of th' inward spright. 
 In th' inward spright be anger, hate and love : 
 Hence claws, horns, hoofs they use the pinching ill 
 t' amove. 
 
 37 
 Thus have I plainly prov'd that souls of beasts 
 And plants do move themselves. That souls of men 
 Should be more stupid, and farre lesse releast 
 From matters bondage, surely there's none can 
 Admit of, though but slightly they do scan 
 The cause. But for to put all out of doubt, 
 Let's take again the same way we have ran, 
 Break down all obstacles that hinder mought 
 Our future course to make all plain all clear throughout. 
 
 38 
 If there be no self-motion in mans soul, 
 That she nor this nor that way can propend 
 Of her own self, nor can no whit controll 
 Nor will of her own self, who can offend ? 
 For no mans self (if you do well perpend) 
 Guiltie's of ought when nought doth from him flow. 
 Whither do learning, laws, grave speeches tend ? 
 Speaks the rude Carter to the wagon slow 
 With threat'ning words, or to the beasts that do it 
 draw? 
 
 39 
 Surely unto the beasts that eas'ly go : 
 For there's the principle of motion, 
 Such principle as can it self foreslow, 
 Or forward presse by incitation : 
 Which though it mov'd by commination 
 So stifly strives, yet from it self it strives, 
 Bears it self forth with stout contention, 
 And ever and anon the whip revives 
 That inward life, so bravely on the Rustick drives. 
 
 40 
 Again, all that sweet labour would be lost 
 That Gods good spirit takes in humane mind, 
 So oft we courted be so often cross'd : 
 But nor that tender amorous courtship kind 
 
So 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Hath any place where we no place can find 
 For a self-yielding love ; Or if self-will 
 Be not in us, how eas'ly were declin'd 
 All crosses ? None could happen us untill, 
 How will I want, and want no crosse passeth my skill. 
 
 41 
 Besides when reason works with phantasie, 
 And changeable conceits we do contrive, 
 Purging and pruning with all industrie, 
 What's dead or uselesse, lesse demonstrative, 
 What's dull or flaccid, nought illustrative, 
 Quenching unfitted phantasms in our brain, 
 And for our better choice new flames revive ; 
 The busie soul thus doth her reason strain 
 To write or speak what envious tongue may never stain. 
 42 
 Or when quite heedlesse of this earthie world 
 She lifts her self unto the azure skie, 
 And with those wheeling gyres around is hurld, 
 Turns in herself in a due distancie 
 The erring Seven, or a stretch'd line doth tie 
 O' th' silver-bowed moon from horn to horn ; 
 Or finds out Phcebus vast soliditie 
 By his diametre, measures the Morn, 
 Girds the swoln earth with linear list, though earth she 
 scorn. 
 
 43 
 All this is done, though bodie never move : 
 The soul about it self circumgyrates 
 Her various forms, and what she most doth love 
 She oft before herself stabilitates ; 
 She stifly stayes't and wistly contemplates, 
 Or lets it somewhat slowlier descend 
 Down to the nether Night ; she temperates 
 Her starrie orb, makes her bright forms to wend 
 Even as she list : Anon she'll all with darknesse blend. 
 
 E; 
 
 44 
 
 Thus variously she doth herself invest 
 With rising forms, and reasons all the way ; 
 And by right reason doth herself devest 
 Of falser fancies. Who then can gainsay 
 But she's self-mov'd when she doth with self-sway 
 Thus change herself, as inward life doth feel ? 
 If not, then some inspiring sprights bewray 
 Each reasoning. Yet though to them we deal 
 First motion, yet our selves ought know what they reveal. 
 
 45 
 
 But if nor of our selves we moved be 
 At first, without any invasion 
 Of stirring forms that into energie 
 Awake the soul ; nor after-motion 
 From its own centre by occasion 
 Doth issue forth ; then it's not conscious 
 Of ought : For so 'twill want adversion. 
 But nothing can animadvert for us : 
 Therefore all humane souls be self-vivacious. 
 
 46 
 Thus have I prov'd all souls have centrall motion 
 Springing from their own selves. But they'll object 
 'Gainst th' universalnesse of this clear notion, 
 That whiles self-flowing source I here detect 
 In plants, in brutes, in men, I ought reject 
 No soul from wished immortalitie, 
 But give them durance when they are resect 
 From organized corporeitie : 
 Thus brutes and plants shall gain lasting eternitie. 
 
 47 
 'Tis true, a never fading durancie 
 Belongs to all hid principles of life ; 
 But that full grasp of vast Eternitie 
 'Longs not to beings simply vegetive, 
 Nor yet to creatures merely sensitive : 
 Reason alone cannot arrive to it. 
 Onely souls Deiform intellective, 
 Unto that height of happinesse can get ; 
 Yet immortalitie with other souls may fit. 
 
 48 
 No force of Nature can their strength annoy. 
 For they be subtiler than the silken air, 
 Which fatall fire from heaven cannot destroy : 
 All grossenesse its devouring teeth may shear, 
 And present state of visibles empare ; 
 But the fine curtains of the lasting skie, 
 Though not of love, yet it perforce must spare, 
 If they could burn, each spark from flint would trie, 
 
 And a bright broad-spread flame to either Pole would 
 hie. 
 
 49 
 But if all souls survive their bulks decay, 
 Another diffkultie will straight arise, 
 Concerning their estate when they're away 
 Flit from this grosser world. Shall Paradise 
 Receive the sprights of beasts ? or wants it trees, 
 That their sweet verdant souls should thither take ? 
 Who shall conduct those stragling colonies ? 
 Or be they straightway drench'd in Lethe lake ? 
 
 So that cold sleep their shriveld life from work doth 
 slake. 
 
 50 
 Or if that all or some of them awake, 
 What is their miserie ? what their delight ? 
 How come they that refined state forsake ? 
 Or had they their first being in our sight ? 
 Whither to serve ? what is the usefull might 
 Of these spirituall trees ? doth fearfull hare 
 Flie the pursuing dog ? doth soaring kite 
 Prey upon silly chickins ? is there jarre, 
 Or be those sprights agreed, none to other contraire ? 
 
 Si 
 
 If some contraire ; then tell me, how's their fight ? 
 What is the spoil ? what the stout victor's meed ? 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 51 
 
 No flesh, no bloud whereon to spend their spight, 
 Or whereupon these hungry souls may feed. 
 Or doth the stronger suck the aiery weed 
 Wherewith the other did itself invest ? 
 And so more freshly deck itself at need ? 
 An aierie prey for aierie spright is best ? 
 Or do they want no food, but be still full and rest ? 
 
 52 
 
 Die they again ? draw they in any breath ? 
 Orbe they sterill ? or bring forth their young ? 
 Beat their light feet on the soft aierie heath ? 
 Expresse they joy or sorrow with their tongue ? 
 Enough ! whoere thou art that thus dost throng 
 My tender Muse with rough objections stout, 
 Give me but leave to tell thee thou art wrong, 
 If being of a thing thou call'st in doubt 
 Cause its more hid conditions shine not clearly out. 
 
 53 
 Who questions but there is a quantitie 
 Of things corporeall, a trinall dimension, 
 Of solid bodies ? yet to satisfie 
 All doubts that may be made about extension 
 Would plunge the wisest Clerk. I'll onely mention 
 That 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 quantitie. 
 O daring wit of man that thus doth boast 
 Itself, and in pursuit of sciencie 
 Forget the reverend laws of pietie. 
 What thing is hid from that all-seeing light ? 
 What thing not done by his all-potencie ? 
 He can discern by his clear-piercing might 
 The close couch'd number of each bignesse comes in 
 sight : 
 
 55 
 And so can count them out even part by part ; 
 In number, measure, weight, he all things made ; 
 Each unite he dissevers by his Art ; 
 But here this searching reason to evade, 
 
 Each quantum's infinite, straight will be said, 
 That's against sense. If it be infinite 
 Of parts, then tell me, be those parts outspread ? 
 Or not extent ? if extended outright 
 Each fliein summer-Even is higher then Heavens height. 
 
 56 
 
 If not extended, then that quantum's nought, 
 Some be extended, others not extent 
 Already (answers a vain shifting thought) 
 But those potentiall parts, how be they meint 
 With those that now be actually distent ? 
 Even thus you grant, that those that actuall be 
 Be plainly finite, against your intent, 
 Grant me but that, and we shall well agree, 
 So must sleight Atoms be sole parts of quantitie. 
 
 57 
 
 But if t consist of points, then a Scalene 
 I'll prove all one with an Isosceles : 
 With as much ease I'll evince clear and clean 
 That the crosse lines of a Rhomboides 
 That from their meeting to all angles presse 
 Be of one length, though one from earth to heaven 
 Would reach, and that the other were much lesse 
 Then a small digit of the lowest of seven 
 So as she 'pears to us, yet I could prove them even. 
 
 53 
 And that the moon (though her circumference 
 Be farre more strait then is the earthie ball) 
 Sometime the earth illumineth at once 
 And with her grasping rayes enlights it all ; 
 And that the Sunnes great body sphericall 
 Greater then th' earth, farre greater then the moon, 
 Even at midday illumines not at all 
 This earthy globe in his Apogeon ; 
 So that we in deep darknesse sit, though at high noon. 
 
 59 
 
 Of will, of motion, of divine foresight, 
 Here might I treat with like perplexitie. 
 But it's already clear that 'tis not right 
 To reason down the firm subsistencie 
 Of things from ignorance of their propertie. 
 Therfore not requisite for to determ 
 The hid conditions of vitalitie 
 Or shrunk or sever'd ; onely I'll affirm 
 It is, which my next song shall further yet confirm 
 
The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA 
 
 Or 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book i. Cant 3. 
 
 Oreivkelm'd with grief and pitious wo 
 
 Forfadi?ig lifes decay es ; 
 How no souls die, from Lunar bow, 
 
 A Nymph to me displayes. 
 
 N silent night, when mortalls be at rest, 
 And bathe their molten limbs in slothfull 
 
 sleep^. 
 My troubled ghost strange cares did straight 
 molest 
 And plung'd my heavie soul in sorrow deep : 
 Large floods of tears my moistned cheeks did steep, 
 My heart was wounded with compassionate love 
 Of all the creatures : sadly out I creep 
 From mens close mansions, the more to improve 
 My mournfull plight, so softly on I forward move. 
 
 Aye me ! said I, within my wearied breast, 
 And sighed sad, wherefore did God erect 
 This stage of misery ? thrice, foure times blest 
 Whom churlish Nature never did eject 
 From her dark womb, and cruelly object 
 By sense and life unto such balefull smart ; 
 Every slight entrance into joy is checkt 
 By that soure stepdames threats, and visage tart : 
 Our pleasure of our pain is not the thousandth part. 
 
 Thus vex'd I was 'cause of mortality : 
 Her curst remembrance cast me in this plight, 
 That I grew sick of the worlds vanity 
 Ne ought recomfort could my sunken spright, 
 What so I hate may do me no delight, 
 Few things (alas) I hate, the more my wo, 
 The things I love by mine own sad foresight 
 Make me the greater torments undergo, 
 Because I know at last they're gone like idle show. 
 
 Each goodly sight my sense doth captivate 
 When vernall flowers their silken leaves display, 
 And ope their fragrant bosomes, I that state 
 Would not have changed but indure for aye ; 
 Nor care to mind that that fatall decay 
 Is still recured by faithfull succession. 
 But why should ought that's good thus fade away ? 
 Should steddy Spring exclude Summers accession 
 Or Summer spoil the Spring with furious hot oppression 
 
 You chearfull chaunters of the flowring woods, 
 That feed your carelesse souls with pleasant layes, 
 O silly birds ! cease from your merry moods : 
 111 suits such mirth when dreary deaths assayes 
 So closely presse your sory carkases : 
 To mournfull note turn your light verilayes, 
 Death be your song, and winters hoary sprayes, 
 Spend your vain sprights in sighing Elegies : 
 I'll help you to lament your wofull miseries. 
 
 6 
 
 When we lay cover'd in the shady Night 
 Of senselesse matter, we were well content 
 With that estate, nought piere'd our anxious spright. 
 No harm we suffered, no harm we ment ; 
 Our rest not with light dream of ill was blent : 
 But when rough Nature, with her iron hond, 
 Pull'd us from our soft ease, and hither hent, 
 Disturbing fear and pinching pain we found, 
 Full many a bitter blast, full many a dreadfull stound. 
 
 Yet lifes strong love doth so intoxicate 
 
 Our misty minds, that we do fear to dy. 
 
 What did dame Nature brood all things of hate 
 
 And onely give them life for misery ? 
 
 Sense for an undeserved penalty ? 
 
 And show that if she list, that she could make 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 53 
 
 Them happy ? but with spightfull cruelty 
 Doth force their groaning ghosts this house forsake ? 
 And to their ancient Nought their empty selves betake ! 
 
 Thus in deep sorrow and restlesse disdain 
 Against the cankered doom of envious fate, 
 I clove my very heart with riving pain, 
 While I in sullen rage did ruminate 
 The Creatures vanity and wofull state ; 
 And night that ought to yield us timely rest, 
 My swelling griefs did much more aggravate : 
 The sighs and groans of weary sleeping beast 
 Seem'd as if sleep itself their spirits did molest : 
 
 Or as constrain'd perforce that boon to wrest 
 From envious Nature. All things did augment 
 My heavie plight, that fouly I blam'd the hest 
 Of stubborn destiny cause of this wayment. 
 Even sleep that's for our restauration ment, 
 As execrable thing I did abhorre, 
 Cause ugly death to th' life it did depeint: 
 What good came to my mind I did deplore, 
 Because it perish must and not live evermore. 
 
 Thus wrapt in rufull thought through the waste field 
 I staggered on, and scattered my woe, 
 Bedew'd the grasse with tears mine eyes did yield, 
 At last I am arriv'd with footing slow 
 Near a black pitchy wood that strongest throw 
 Of starry beam no'te easily penetrate : 
 On the North side I walked to and fro 
 In solitary shade. The Moons sly gate 
 Had cross'd the middle line : It was at least so late. 
 
 When th' other part of night in painfull grief 
 Was almost spent, out of that solemn grove 
 There issued forth for my timely relief, 
 The fairest wight that ever sight did prove, 
 So fair a wight as might command the love 
 Of best of mortall race ; her count'nance sheen 
 The pensive shade gently before her drove, 
 A mild sweet light shone from her lovely eyne : 
 She seem'd no earthly branch but sprung of stock divine. 
 
 A silken mantle, colour'd like the skie 
 With silver starres in a due distance set, 
 Was cast about her somewhat carelesly, 
 And her bright flowing hair was not ylet 
 By Arts device ; onely a chappelet 
 Of chiefest flowers, which from far and near 
 The Nymphs in their pure Lilly hands had set, 
 Upon her temples she did seemly weare ; 
 Her own fair beams made all her ornaments appear. 
 
 13 
 What wilfull wight doth thus his kindly rest 
 Forsake ? said she, approching me unto. 
 What rage, what sorrow boils thus in thy chest 
 That thou thus spend'st the night in wasting wo ? 
 Oft help he gets that his hid ill doth show. 
 Ay me ! said I, my grief's not all mine own ; 
 For all mens griefs into my heart do flow, 
 Nor mens alone, but every mornfull grone 
 Of dying beast, or what so else that grief hath shown. 
 
 14 
 
 From fading plants my sorrows freshly spring ; 
 And thou thy self that com'st to comfort me, 
 Wouldst strongst occasion of deep sorrow bring, 
 If thou wert subject to mortality : 
 But I no mortall wight thee deem to be, 
 Thy face, thy voice, immortall thee proclaim. 
 Do I not well to wail the vanity 
 Of fading life, and churlish fates to blame 
 That with cold frozen death lifes chearfull motions tame ? 
 
 Thou dost not well, said she to me again, 
 Thou hurt' st thy self and dost to them no good. 
 The sighs thou sendest out cannot regain 
 Life to the dead, thou canst not change the mood 
 Of stedfast destiny. That man is wood 
 That weetingly hastes on the thing he hates : 
 Dull sorrow chokes the sprights, congeals the blood, 
 The bodies fabrick quickly ruinates. 
 Yet foolish men do fondly blame the hasty fates. 
 
 16 
 Come, hasty fates, said I, come take away 
 My weary life, the fountain of my wo : 
 When that's extinct or shrunk into cold clay, 
 Then well I wote that I shall undergo 
 No longer pain. O ! why are you so slow : 
 Fond speech, said she, nor chang'd her countenance, 
 No signe of grief or anger she did show ; 
 Full well she knew passions misgovernance, 
 Through her clear breast fond passion never yet did lance. 
 
 17 
 But thus spake on, Sith friendly sympathy 
 With all the creatures thus invades thy brest, 
 And strikes thine heart with so deep agony 
 For their decay, 'cording to that behest 
 Which the pure sourse of sympathy hath prest 
 On all that of those lovely streams have drunk, 
 I'll tell thee that that needs must please thee best, 
 All life's immortall ; though the outward trunk 
 May changed be, yet life to nothing never shrunk. 
 
 18 
 With that she bad me rear my heavie eye 
 Up toward heaven, I rear'd them toward th' East, 
 Where in a roscid cloud I did espy 
 A Lunar rainbow in her painted vest ; 
 
54 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 The heavenly maid in the mean while surceast 
 From further speech, while I the bow did view : 
 But mine old malady was more increas'd, 
 The bow gan break, and all the gawdy hiew 
 Dispeared, that my heart the sight did inly rue. 
 
 19 
 
 Thus life doth vanish as this bow is gone, 
 Said I. That sacred Nymph forthwith reply'd, 
 Vain showes may vanish that have gaily shone 
 To feeble sense ; but if the truth be tri'd, 
 Life cannot perish or to nothing slide : 
 It is not life that falleth under sight, 
 None but vain flitting qualities are ey'd 
 By wondring ignorance. The vitall spright 
 As surely doth remain as the Suns lasting light. 
 
 20 
 This bow, whose breaking struck thy troubled heart, 
 Of causelesse grief, I hope, shall thee recure, 
 When I have well explain'd with skilfull Art 
 By its resemblance what things must indure. 
 What things decay and cannot standen sure. 
 The higher causes of that coloured Ark, 
 Whate're becomes of it, do sit secure ; 
 That so (the body falling) lifes fair spark 
 Is safe, I'll clearly show if you but list to mark. 
 
 There be six Orders 'fore you do descend 
 To this gay painted bow : Sols centrall spright 
 To the first place, to th' next we must commend 
 His hid spread form, then his inherent light, 
 The fourth his rayes wherewith he is bedight, 
 The fifth that glistring circle of the Moon, 
 That goodly round full face all silver bright, 
 The sixth be beams that from her visage shone ; 
 The seventh that gawdy bow that was so quickly gone. 
 
 The fluid matter was that dewy cloud, 
 That faild as faithlesse Hyle wont to fail : 
 New guest being come, the old she out doth croud : 
 But see how little Hyle did prevail, 
 Or sad destruction in this deemed bale ! 
 Sols spright, hid form, fair light and out-gone rayes, 
 The Moons round silver face withouten veil 
 Do still remain, her beams she still displayes, 
 The cloud but melt, not lost, the bow- onely decayes. 
 
 23 
 This number suits well with the Universe: 
 The number's eight of the Orbs generall, 
 From whence things flow or wherein they converse, 
 The first we name Nature Monadicall, 
 The second hight Life Intellectuall, 
 Third Psychicall ; the fourth Imaginative, 
 Fifth Sensitive, the sixth Spermatica.ll, 
 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 hight Nature Monadicall ; 
 As all those lights and colours did derive 
 Themselves from lively Phoebus life centrall. 
 Nought therefore but vain sensibles we see caducall. 
 
 25 
 And that the first Every-where-Unitie 
 Is the true root of all the living creatures, 
 As they descend in each distinct degree, 
 That God's the sustentacle of all Natures ; 
 And though those outw 7 ard forms and gawdy features 
 May quail like rainbows in the roscid sky, 
 Or glistring Parelies or other meteors ; 
 Yet the clear light doth not to nothing flie : 
 Those six degrees of life stand sure, and never die. 
 
 26 
 So now we plainly see that the dark matter 
 Is not that needfull prop to hold up life ; 
 And though deaths engins this grosse bulk do shatter 
 We have not lost our Orb conservative, 
 Of which we are a ray derivative, 
 The body sensible so garnished 
 With outward forms these inward do relieve, 
 Keep up in fashion and fresh lively-hed ; 
 But this grosse bulk those inward lives stands in no sted. 
 
 27 
 Nor can one inward form another slay, 
 Though they may quell their present energy, 
 And make them close contract their yielding ray 
 And hide themselves in their centreity. 
 Till some friendly appulse doth set them free, 
 And call them out again into broad day : 
 Hence lives gush not in superfluity 
 Into this world, but their due time do stay, 
 Though their strong centrall essence never can decay. 
 
 28 
 In Earth, in Aire, in the vast flowing Plain, 
 In that high Region hight ^Ethereall, 
 In every place these Atom-lives remain, 
 Even those that cleeped are forms seminall. 
 But souls of men by force imaginall 
 Easly supply their place, when so they list 
 Appear in thickned Aire with shape externall, 
 Display their light and form in cloudy mist, 
 That much it doth amaze the musing Naturalist. 
 
 29 
 
 Whereof sith life so strongly sealed is, 
 Purge out fond thoughts out of thy weary mind. 
 And rather strive that thou do nought amisse, 
 Then God to blame, and Nature as unkind 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 55 
 
 When nought in them we blamable can find. 
 When groaning ghosts of beasts or men depart, 
 Their tender mother doth but them unbind 
 From grosser fetters, and more toilsome smart. 
 Bless'd is the man that hath true knowledge of her Art. 
 
 SO 
 And more for to confirm this mysterie, 
 She vanish'd in my presence into Aire, 
 She spread her self with the thin liquid sky ; 
 But I thereat fell not into despair 
 Of her return, nor wail'd her visage fair, 
 That so was gone. For I was woxen strong 
 
 In this belief. That nothing can empair 
 The inward life, or its hid essence wrong. 
 O the prevailing might of a sweet learned tongue ! 
 
 31 
 
 By this the Suns bright waggon gan ascend 
 The Eastern hill, and draw on chearfull day ; 
 So I full fraught with joy do homeward wend 
 And fed my self with that that Nymph did say, 
 And did so cunningly to me convey, 
 Resolving for to teach all willing men 
 Lifes mysterie, and quite to chase away 
 Mind-mudding mist spru ng from low fulso me fo" : 
 Praise my good will, but pardon my weak faltring pen. 
 
 8 • S 1? •>&!> ^S^ ffil* gt'lj? '.g 1 ^ -g^gi^ ^^ -<S @ vg («j> vg rij? i*»xg>.- gl& 45 'fe 4S fe 4£ 
 
 ^"SMjs 3 j ST 7 aF 
 
 &> w<&<& <fc. I» «,,!$>■ <t iJ> Cd\» ■ «g,<5> «/» ' «&3> 'fl&Jo { v, is> '<£ !S> ct 'iO c*>» • <& 
 
 ^wl^Sr 
 
 r^M^^-,-^gn 
 
 7/fe Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA 
 
 <9r 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book I. Cant. 4. 
 
 That Hyle or first matter's nought 
 
 But potentialitic ; 
 That God's the never-fading root 
 
 Of all Vita I i tie. 
 
 |Hat I was wisely taught in that still Night, > 
 That Hyle is the Potentialitie 
 Of Gods dear Creatures, I embrace as right, ■> 
 And them nigh blame of deep idolatrie 
 That give so much to that slight nullitie, 
 That they should make it root substantial! 1 
 Of nimble life, and that quick entitie 
 That doth so strongly move things naturall, 1 
 That life from hence should spring, that hither life should 
 fall. v 
 
 2 
 For how things spring from hence and be resolv'd 
 Into this mirksome sourse, first matter hight, 
 This muddy myst'rie they no'te well unfold. 
 If it be onely a bare passive might 
 With Gods and Natures goodly dowries dight, 
 Bringing hid Noughts into e.xistencie, 
 
 Or sleeping Somethings into wide day-light, 
 Then Hyle's plain potentialitie, 
 Which doth not straight inferre certain mortalitie. 
 
 3 
 
 For the immortall Angels do consist 
 
 Of out-gone act and possibilitie ; 
 Nor any other creature doth exist, 
 Releast from dreary deaths necessity ; 
 If these composures it so certainly 
 Ensuen must. If substance actuall 
 They will avouch this first matter to be, 
 Fountain of forms, and prop fiduciall 
 Of all those lives and beings cleeped Naturall ; 
 
 Then may it prove the sphear spermaticall 
 Or sensitive (if they would yield it life) 
 Or that is next, the Orb Imaginall, 
 Or rather all these Orbs ; withouten strife 
 So mought we all conclude that their relief 
 And first existence from this sphear they drew 
 And so our adversaries, loth or lief 
 Must needs confesse that all the lore was true 
 Concerning life, that that fair Nymph so clearly shew 
 
56 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 5 
 And that particular Lives that be yborn 
 Into this world, when their act doth dispear, 
 Do cease to be no more then the snails horn, 
 That she shrinks in because she cannot bear 
 The wanton boys rude touch, or heavie chear 
 Of stormy winds. The secundary light 
 As surely shineth in the heavens clear, 
 As do the first fair beafhs of Phcebus bright, 
 Lasting they are as they, though not of so great might. 
 
 So be the effluxes of those six orders, 
 Unfading lives from fount of livelihood : 
 Onely what next to strifefull Hyle borders, 
 Particular visibles deaths drearyhood 
 Can seiz upon. They passe like sliding flood. 
 For when to this worlds dregs lives downward hie, 
 They 'stroy one th' other in fell cankred mood, 
 Beat back their rayes by strong antipathic 
 Or some more broad-spread cause doth choke their 
 energie. 
 
 But to go on to that common conceit 
 Of the first matter : What can substance do, 
 Poore, naked substance, megre, dry, dull, slight, 
 Inert, unactive, that no might can show 
 Of good or ill to either friend or foe, 
 All livelesse, all formlesse ? She doth sustain. 
 And hath no strength that task to undergo ? 
 Besides that work is needlesse all in vain : 
 Each centrall form its rayes with ease can well up-stayen. 
 
 What holds the earth in this the fluid aire ? 
 Can matter void of fix'd solidity ? 
 But she like kindly nurse her forms doth chear. 
 What can be suck'd from her dark dugges drie ? 
 Nor warmth, nor moistnesse, nor fast density 
 Belong to her. Therefore ill nurse I ween 
 She'll make, that neither hath to satisfie 
 Young-craving life, nor firmnesse to sustein 
 The burden that upon her arms should safely lean. 
 
 Therefore an uselesse superfluity 
 It is to make Hyle substantiall : 
 Onely let's term't the possibility 
 Of all created beings. Lives centrall 
 Can frame themselves a right compositall, 
 While as they sitten soft in the sweet rayes 
 Or vitall vest of the lives generall, 
 As those that out of the earths covert raise 
 Themselves, fairly provok'd by warmth of sunny dayes. 
 
 And thus all accidents will prove the beams 
 Of inward forms, their flowing energy ; 
 And quantity th' extension of such streams, 
 That goes along even with each qualitie. 
 Thus have we div'd to the profundity 
 Of darkest matter, and have found it nought : 
 But all this world's bare Possibility. 
 Nought therefore 'gainst lifes durance can be brought 
 From Hyles pit, that quenchen may that pleasant 
 thought. 
 
 
 
K;J^J^JPK;Jfi*L 
 
 The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA, 
 
 Or 
 
 The Immortalitie of the Soul. 
 
 Book II. Cant. i. 
 Mans soul -with beasts and plants I here 
 
 Compare ; Tell my chief end 
 His immortality' s to clear ; 
 
 Show whence grosse errours wend. 
 
 jjj]Ut hitherto I have with fluttering wings 
 But lightly hover'd in the generall, 
 And taught the lasting durance of all springs 
 Of hidden life. That life hight seminal/, 
 Doth issue forth from its deep root centrall, 
 One onely form entire, and no'te advert 
 What steals from it. Beasts life Phantasticall 
 Lets out more forms, and eke themselves convert 
 To view the various frie from their dark wombs exert. 
 
 But mans vast soul, the image of her Maker, 
 Like God that made her, with her mighty sway 
 And inward Fiat (if he nould forsake her) 
 Can turn sad darknesse into lightsome day, 
 And the whole creature 'fore her self display : 
 Bid them come forth and stand before her sight, 
 They straight flush out and her drad voice obey : 
 Each shape, each life doth leapen out full light, 
 And at her beck return into their usuall Night. 
 
 Oft God himself here listeth to appear, 
 Though not perforce yet of his own frank will 
 Sheds his sweet life, dispreads his beauty clear, 
 And like the Sun this lesser world doth fill, 
 And like the Sun doth the foul Python kill 
 With his bright darts, but cheareth each good spright. 
 This is the soul that I with presser quill 
 Must now pursue and fall upon down-right, 
 Not to destroy but prove her of immortall might. 
 
 19 
 
 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. 
 
 But I herein no longer list contend. 
 The two first kinds of souls I'll quite omit, 
 And 'cording as at first I did intend 
 Bestirre me stifly, force my feeble wit 
 To rescue humane souls from deaths deep pit ; 
 Which I shall do with reasons as subtile 
 As I can find ; slight proofs cannot well fit 
 In so great cause, nor phansies florid wile ; 
 I'll win no mans assent by a false specious guile. 
 
 I onely wish that arguments exile 
 May not seem nought unto the duller eye ; 
 Nor that the fatter phansie my lean style 
 Do blame : it's fittest for philosophy. 
 And give me leave from any energie 
 That springs from humane soul my cause to prove, 
 And in that order as they list to flie 
 Of their own selves, so let them freely rove : 
 That naturally doth come doth oft the stronger move. 
 
 Self-motion and centrall stability 
 I have already urg'd in generall ; 
 Als' did right presly to our soul apply 
 Those properties, who list it to recall 
 
58 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Unto their minds ; but now we'll let it fall 
 As needlesse. Onely that Natality, 
 That doth extend this great Universall, 
 And move th' inert Materiality 
 Of great and little worlds, that keep in memory. 
 
 And how the mixture of their rayes may breed 
 Th' opinion of uncertain quality, 
 When they from certain roots of life do spreed ; 
 But their pure beams must needs ychanged be 
 When that those rayes or not be setten free, 
 Thinly dispers'd, or else be closely meint 
 With other beams of plain diversity, 
 That causeth oft a strong impediment : 
 So doth this bodies life to the souls high intent. 
 
 The lower man is nought but a fair plant, 
 Whose grosser matter is from the base ground ; 
 The Plastick might thus finely did him paint, 
 And fill'd him with the life that doth abound 
 In all the places of the world around. 
 This spirit of life is in each shapen'd thing, 
 Suck'd in and changed and strangely confound, 
 As we conceive : This is the nourishing 
 Of all ; but spermall form, the certain shapening. 
 
 This is that strange-form'd statue magicall, 
 That hovering souls unto it can allure 
 When it's right fitted ; down those spirits fall 
 Like Eagle to her prey, and so endure 
 While that low life is in good temperature. 
 That a dead body without vitall spright 
 And friendly temper should a guest procure 
 Of so great worth, without the dear delight 
 Of joyous sympathy, no man can reckon right. 
 
 But here unluckly Souls do waxen sick 
 Of an ill surfeit from the poison'd bait 
 Of this sweet tree, yet here perforce they stick 
 In weak condition, in a languid state. 
 Many through ignorance do fondly hate 
 To be releas'd from this imprisonment, 
 And grieve the walls be so nigh ruinate. 
 They be bewitch'd so with the blandishment 
 Of that fresh strumpet, when in love they first were ment. 
 
 12 
 
 Others disdain this so near unity, 
 
 So farre they be from thinking they be born 
 
 Of such low parentage, so base degree, 
 And fleshes foul attraction they do scorn. 
 They be th' outgoings of the Eastern morn, 
 Alli'd unto th' eternall Deity, 
 And pray to their first spring, that thus forlorn 
 And left in mud, that he would set them free, 
 And them again possesse of pristine purity. 
 
 13 
 
 But seemeth not my Muse too hastily 
 To soar aloft, that better by degrees 
 Unto the vulgar mans capacity 
 Mought show the souls so high excellencies, 
 And softly from all corporeities 
 It heaven up unto its proper seat, 
 When we have drove away grosse falsities, 
 That do assault the weaker mens conceit, 
 And free the simple mind from phansies foul deceit. 
 
 H 
 
 The drooping soul so strongly's coloured 
 With the long commerce of corporeals, 
 That she from her own self awide is led, 
 Knows not her self, but by false name she calls 
 Her own high being, and what ere befalls 
 Her grosser bodie, she that misery 
 Doth deem her own : for she her self miscalls 
 Or some thin body, or spread quality, 
 Or point of quality, or fixt or setten free. 
 
 is 
 
 But whether thin spread body she doth deem 
 Her self dispersed through this grosser frame ; 
 Or doth her self a quality esteem, 
 Or quient complexion, streaming through the same 
 Or else some lucid point her self doth name 
 Of such a quality in chiefest part 
 Strongly fix'd down ; or whether she doth clame 
 More freedome from that point, in head nor heart 
 Fast seated ; yet, saith she, the bodies brat thou art. 
 
 16 
 
 Thence thou arose, thence thou canst not depart : 
 There die thou must, when thy dear nurse decayes 
 But these false phansies I with reason smart 
 Shall eas'ly chace away, and the mind raise 
 To higher pitch. O listen to my layes, 
 And when you have seen fast seald eternity 
 Of humane souls, then your great Maker praise 
 For his never fading benignity, 
 And feed your selves with thought of immortality. 
 
The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA, 
 
 Or, 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book II. Cant. 2. 
 
 Sense no good judge of truth ; What spright, 
 
 What body we descry : 
 Prove from the souls inferiour might 
 
 Her incorp'reitie. 
 
 ||Hile I do purpose with my self to sing 
 The souls incorporeity, I fear 
 That it a worse perplexitie may bring 
 Unto the weaker mind and duller ear ; 
 For she may deem herself 'stroyd quite & clear 
 While all corporeals from her we expell : 
 For she has yet not mark'd that higher sphear 
 Where her own essence doth in safety dwell, 
 But views her lower shade, like boy at brink of well 
 
 Dotes upon sense, ne higher doth arise 
 Busied about vain forms corporeall ; 
 Contemns as nought unseen exilities, 
 Objects of virtue Intellcctuall, 
 Though these of substances be principall. 
 But I to better hope would fainly lead 
 The sunken mind, and cunningly recall 
 Again to life that long hath liggen dead : 
 Awake ye drooping souls ! shake off that drousihead ! 
 
 Why do you thus confide in sleepy sense, 
 111 judge of her own objects ? who'll believe 
 The eye contracting Phoebus Orb immense 
 Into the compasse of a common sieve? 
 If solid reason did not us relieve, 
 The host of heaven alwayes would idle stand 
 In our conceit, nor could the Sun revive 
 The nether world, nor do his Lords command : 
 Things near seem further off ; farst off, the nearst at hand. 
 
 The touch acknowledgeth no gustables ; 
 The tast no fragrant smell or stinking sent ; 
 
 The smell doth not once dream of audibles ; 
 The hearing never knew the verdant peint 
 Of springs gay mantle, nor heavens light ylent 
 That must discover all that goodly pride : 
 So that the senses would with zeal fervent 
 Condemne each other, and their voice deride 
 If mutually they heard such things they never try'd. 
 
 5 
 
 But reason, that above the sense doth sit, 
 
 Doth comprehend all their impressions, 
 
 And tells the touch its no fanatick fit 
 
 That makes the sight of illustrations 
 
 So stifly talk upon occasions. 
 
 But judgeth all their voyces to be true 
 
 Concerning their straight operations, 
 
 And doth by nimble consequences shew 
 To her own self what those wise Five yet never knew. 
 6 
 
 They never knew ought but corporealls : 
 
 But see how reason doth their verdict rude 
 
 Confute, by loosening materialls 
 
 Into their principles, as latitude 
 
 Profundity of bodies to conclude. 
 
 The term of latitude is breadthlesse line ; 
 
 A point the line doth manfully retrude 
 
 From infinite processe ; site doth confine 
 This point ; take site away its straight a spark divine. 
 
 7 
 And thus unloos'd it equally respects 
 The bodies parts, not fixt to any one. 
 Let 't be diffused through all. Thus it detects 
 The soul's strange nature, operation, 
 Her independency, loose union 
 With this frail body. So 's this unity 
 Great, but without that grosse extension, 
 Exceeding great in her high cncrgie, 
 Extended far and wide from her non-quantity. 
 
 8 
 
 If yet you understand not, let the soul, 
 Which you suppose extended with this masse, 
 
6o 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Be all contract and close together roll 
 Into the centre of the hearts compasse : 
 As the suns beams that by a concave glasse 
 Be strangely strengthned with their strait constraint 
 Into one point, that thence they stoutly passe, 
 Fire all before them withouten restraint, 
 The high arch'd roof of heaven with smouldry smoke 
 they taint. 
 
 9 
 
 But now that grosnesse, which we call the heart, 
 Quite take away, and leave that spark alone 
 Without that sensible corporeall part 
 Of humane body : so when that is gone, 
 One nimble point of life, that's all at one 
 In its own self, doth wonderfully move, 
 Indispers'd, quick, close with self-union, 
 Hot, sparkling, active, mounting high above, 
 In bignesse nought, in virtue like to thundring Jove. 
 
 IO 
 Thus maugre all th' obmurmurings of sense 
 We have found an essence incorporeall, 
 A shifting centre with circumference, 
 But she not onely sits in midst of all. 
 But is also in a manner centrall 
 In her outflowing lines. For the extension 
 Of th' outshot rayes circumferentiall 
 Be not gone from her by distrought distension, 
 Her point is at each point of all that spread dimension. 
 
 II 
 
 This is a substance truly spiritall, 
 
 That reason by her glistring lamp hath shown : 
 
 No such the sense in things corporeall 
 
 Can ere find out. May this perswasion, 
 
 sunken souls ! slaves of sensation ! 
 Rear up your heads and chase away all fear 
 How (when by strong argumentation 
 
 1 shall you strip of what so doth appear 
 Corporeall) that you to nought should vanish clear. 
 
 The naked essence of the body's this 
 Matter extent in three dimensions 
 (Hardnesse or softnesse be but qualities) 
 Withouten self-reduplications 
 Or outspread circling propagations 
 Of its own presence. These be corporall, 
 And what with these in such extension 
 Singly's stretch'd out, is form materiall. 
 Whether our soul be such now to the test we'll call : 
 
 13 
 
 If souls be bodies, or inanimate 
 They be, or else endowed with life. If they 
 Be livelesse, give they life ? if animate, 
 Then tell me what doth life to them convey ? 
 Some other body? Here can be no stay. 
 Straight we must ask whether that livelesse be 
 
 Or living. Then, what 'lives it. Thus we'll play 
 Till we have forc'd you to infinity, 
 And make your cheeks wax red at your Philosophy. 
 
 H 
 
 Again, pray tell me, is this body grosse 
 Or fluid, and thin you deem the soul to be ? 
 If grosse, then either strongly it is cross'd 
 From entring some parts of this rigid tree 
 And so of life they'll want their 'lotted fee : 
 Or if it penetrate this bulk throughout, 
 It breaks and tears and puts to penalty 
 This sory corse. If 't thin and fluid be thought, 
 How pulls it up those limbs and again jerks them out ? 
 
 15 
 
 Besides, if stretchen corporeity 
 Longs to the soul, then Augmentation 
 Must likewise thereto appertain. But see 
 Th' absurdities that this opinion 
 Will drag on with it : for effluxion 
 Of parts will spoil the steddy memory, 
 And wash away all intellection, 
 Deface the beauty of that imagery 
 That once was fairly graven in her phantasie. 
 
 16 
 
 But oft when the weak bodie's worn and wasted 
 And far shrunk in, the nimble phantasie 
 (So far she's from being withered and blasted) 
 More largely worketh, and more glitterandly 
 Displayes her spreaden forms, and chearfully 
 Pursues her sports. Again, the greater corse 
 Would most be fill'd with magnanimity : 
 But oft we see the lesse hath greater force, 
 To fight, or talk ; the greater oft we see the worse. 
 
 17 
 
 All which if weighed well, must ill agree 
 With bodies natures, which merely consist 
 In a dull, silent, stupid quantity, 
 Stretching forth mirksome matter, in what list 
 Or precincts no man knows. No Naturalist 
 Can it define, unlesse they adde a form 
 That easly curbs the thing that no'te resist, 
 And after her own will can it inform : 
 It still and stupid stands and thinks nor good nor harm. 
 
 The man is mad, that will at all agree 
 That this is soul. Or if forme bodily 
 Non-replicate, extent, not setten free, 
 But straight stretch'd out in corporeity 
 (Betwixt these two there's that affinity) 
 As little wit that man will seem to have. 
 Which I shall plainly prove by th' energie 
 Of sense, though that same force seem not so brave. 
 Yet for the present I'll not climbe to higher stave. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 6 1 
 
 19 
 
 If Souls be substances corporeall, 
 Be they as big just as the body is ? 
 Or shoot they out to th' height ^Ethereall? 
 (Of such extent are the sights energies) 
 If they shoot out, be they equally transmisse 
 Around this body ? or but upward start ? 
 If round the body, Nature did amisse 
 To lose her pains in half of the souls part, 
 That part can finden nought that through the earth doth 
 dart. 
 
 Or will you say she is an hemisphere ? 
 But a ridiculous experiment 
 Will soon confute it : list you but to rear 
 Your agill heels towards the firmament, 
 And stand upon your head ; that part is bent 
 Down through the earth, that earst did threat the skie : 
 So that your soul now upward is extent 
 No higher then your heels, yet with your eye 
 The heavens great vastnesse as before you now discry. 
 
 21 
 You'll say, this souls thin spread exility 
 Turns not at all. How doth it then depend 
 Upon this body? It has no unity 
 Therewith, but onely doth of cur'sy lend 
 It life, as doth the worlds great lamp down send 
 Both light and warmth unto each living wight ; 
 And if they chance to fail and make an end, 
 Its nought to him, he shineth yet as bright 
 As ere he did. This showes the soul immortall quite. 
 
 22 
 
 But if the soul be justly coextent 
 With this straight body, nought can bigger be 
 Then is our body, that she doth present ; 
 'Cording to laws of Corporeity 
 So must she represent each realty. 
 Thus tallest Gyants would be oft defied 
 By groveling Pigmees : for they could not see 
 The difference, nor mete his manly stride, 
 Nor ween what matchlesse strength did in his armes 
 reside. 
 
 23 
 For they must judge him just as their own selves 
 Of the same stature, of the self-same might : 
 All men would seem to them their fellow Elves ; 
 Nor little curs would tremble at the sight 
 Of greater dogs ; nor hawks would put to flight 
 The lesser birds. Th' impression of a seal 
 Can be no larger then the wax ; or right 
 As big, or lesse it is. Therefore repeal 
 This grosse conceit, and hold as reason doth reveal. 
 
 Again, if souls corporeall you ween ; 
 Do the light images of things appear 
 
 Upon the surface, slick, bright, smooth and sheen 
 As in a looking glasse ? Or whether dare 
 They passe the outside and venture so farre 
 As into the depth of the souls substance ? 
 If this ; then they together blended are 
 That nought we see with right discriminance : 
 If that, the object gone, away those forms do glance. 
 
 25 
 Thus should we be devoid of memory, 
 And be all darknesse, till the good presence 
 Of outward objects doth the soul unty 
 From heavy sleep. But this experience 
 Plainly confutes. For even in their absence 
 We do retain their true similitude : 
 So lovers wont to maken dalliance 
 With the fair shade their minds do still include, 
 
 And vvistly view the grace wherewith she is endude. 
 26 
 But now new reasons I will set on foot, 
 Drawn from the common sense, that's not extense 
 But like a centre that around doth shoot 
 Its rayes ; those rayes should be the outward sense 
 As some resemble't. But by no pretence 
 Would I the outward senses should be thought 
 To act so in a spread circumference 
 That the seat of their forms should be distrought, 
 
 Or that by reach of quantities dead arms they wrought. 
 27 
 For see how little share hath quantitie 
 In act of seeing, when we comprehend 
 The heavens vast compasse in our straitned eye ; 
 Nor may the Ox with the Eagle contend, 
 Because a larger circle doth extend 
 His slower lights. So that if outward sense 
 In his low acts doth not at all depend 
 On quantity, how shall the common-sense, 
 
 That is farre more spirituall, depend from thence ? 
 
 28 
 But still more presly this point to pursue ; 
 By th' smelling, odours ; voices by the ear ; 
 By th' eye we apprehend the coloured hew 
 Of bodies visible. But what shall steer 
 The erring senses ? where shall they compear 
 In controversie ? what the difference 
 Of all their objects can with judgement clear 
 Distinguish and discern ? One common-sense : 
 For one alone must have this great preeminence. 
 
 29 
 And all this one must know, though still but one ; 
 Else't could not judge of all. But make it two ; 
 Then tell me, doth the soul by this alone 
 Apprehend this object that the sense doth show, 
 And that by that ; or doth it by both know 
 Both objects ? as this colour and that sound. 
 If both knew both, then nature did bestow 
 In vain one faculty, it doth redound : 
 But if this that, that this, what shall them both compound? 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 3o 
 
 And by comparison judge of them both ? 
 Therefore that judge is one. Rut whether one 
 Without division, let's now try that troth. 
 If it be any wise extent, you're gone 
 By the same reason that afore was shown. 
 Suppose't a line the least of quantity. 
 Or sound is here, there colour, or each one 
 Of the lines parts receive them both. If we 
 Grant that, again we find a superfluity. 
 
 31 
 
 If this part this, and that part that receive, 
 We are at the same losse we were afore, 
 For one to judge them both, or we bereave 
 Our souls of judgement. For who can judge more 
 Than what he knows? It is above his power. 
 Therefore it's plain the common sense is one, 
 One individed faculty. But store 
 Of parts would breed a strange confusion, 
 When every part mought claim proper sensation. 
 
 32 
 
 If not, nor all could exercise the Act 
 Of any sense. For could a power of sense 
 Arise from stupid parts that plainly lack'd 
 That might themselves. Thus with great confidence 
 We may conclude that th' humane souls essence 
 Is indivisible, yet every where 
 In this her body. Cause th' intelligence 
 She hath of whatsoever happens here : 
 The aking foot the eye doth view, the hand doth cheer. 
 
 33 
 What tells the hand or head the toes great grief, 
 When it alone is pinch'd with galling shooes ? 
 Do other parts not hurt call for relief 
 For their dear mates ? Ill messenger of woes 
 That grieveth not himself. Can they disclose 
 That misery without impression 
 Upon themselves ? Therefore one spirit goes 
 Through all this bulk, not by extension 
 But by a totall Self-reduplication . 
 
 34 
 
 Which neither body, nor dispersed form, 
 Nor point of form dispersed e'r could do. 
 And bodies life or sprite for to transform 
 Into our soul, though that might this undo, 
 Yet to so rash conceit to yield unto 
 Cannot be safe : for if it propagate 
 It's self and 'ts passions, yet they free may go 
 Unmark'd, if sense would not them contemplate. 
 So doth the Mundane sprite not heeded circulate. 
 
 35 
 Besides, if from that spirit naturall 
 The nurse of plants, you should dare to assert 
 That lively inward Animadversall 
 To springen out, it would surely invert 
 
 The order of the Orbs from whence do stert 
 All severall beings and of them depend. 
 Therefore the Orb Phantastick must exert 
 All life pliautasticall ; sensitive send 
 The life of sense ; so of the rest unto each end. 
 
 36 
 There's nought from its own self can senden forth 
 Ought better then it self. So nought gives sense 
 That hath not sense it self, nor greater worth 
 Then sense, nor sense, nor better springs from thence. 
 Nor that which higher is can have essence 
 Lesse active, lesse reduplicate, lesse free, 
 Lesse spiritall, then that's amov'd from hence, 
 And is an Orb of a more low degree. 
 Wherefore that centrall life hath more activitie, 
 
 37 
 And present is in each part totally 
 Of this her body. Nor we ought diffide, 
 Although some creatures still alive we see 
 To stirre and move when we have them divide 
 And cut in twain. Thus worms in sturdie pride 
 Do wrigge and wrest their parts divorc'd by knife ; 
 But we must know that Natures womb doth hide 
 Innumerable treasures of all life ; 
 And how to breaken out upon each hint they strive. 
 
 38 
 So when the present actuall centrall life 
 Of sense and motion is gone with one part 
 To manage it, strait for the due relief 
 Of th' other particle there up doth start 
 Another centrall life, and tries her art : 
 But she cannot raigne long, nor yet recure 
 That deadly wound. The plantall lifes depart, 
 And fiitten or shrunk spright, 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 
 Straight she is flown. Or may you this content ? 
 That some impression of that very soul 
 That's gone, if gone, with plantall spirit meint 
 The broken corse thus busily may roll. 
 Long 'tis till water boild doth stranger heat controul. 
 
 40 
 Thus have we prov'd 'cording to our insight 
 That humane souls be not corporeall 
 (With reasons drawn from the sensitive might) 
 Nor bodies, nor spread forms materiall, 
 Whether you substances list them to call 
 Or qualities, or point of these. I'll bring 
 Hereafter proofs from power rationall 
 In humane souls, to prove the self same-thing. 
 Mount up aloft, my Muse, and now more shrilly sing. 
 
.t it it it it it it fti t it it it it it it it it it it t it it it it it ti ifc if if? 
 
 The Argument of 
 PSYCHATHANASIA, 
 
 Or, 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book II. Cant. 3. 
 The souls incorporcitie 
 
 From powers rational! 
 We prove ; Discern true pietic 
 
 From bitternesse and gall. 
 
 JKJWJlIke Carpenter entred into a wood 
 M^S 1 ^° cut down timber for some edifice 
 f^Ff ! Of stately structure, whiles he casts abroad 
 
 J His curious eye, he much perplexed is 
 
 (There stand in view so many goodly trees) 
 Where to make choice to enter his rugg'd saw : 
 My Muse is plung'd in like perplexities, 
 So many arguments themselves do show, 
 
 That where to pitch my wavering mind doth yet scarce 
 know. 
 
 2 
 One taller then the rest my circling eye 
 Hath hit upon, which if 't be sound at heart 
 Will prove a goodly piece to raise on high 
 The heavenly structure of that deemed part 
 Of man, his soul, and by unerring art 
 Set his foundation 'bove the bodies frame 
 On his own wheels, that he may thence depart 
 Intire, unhurt. So doth the Scythian swain 
 
 Drive his light moving house on the waste verdant plain. 
 
 3 
 I'll sing of piety : that now I mean 
 That Trismegist thus wisely doth define, 
 Knowledge of God. That's piety I ween, 
 The highest of virtues, a bright beam divine 
 Which to the purer soul doth sweetly shine. 
 But what's this beam ? and how doth it enlight ? 
 What doth it teach ? It teacheth to decline 
 Self-love, and frampard wayes the hypocrite 
 Doth trample in, accloy'd with dirt and dismall night. 
 
 Not rage, nor mischief, nor love of a sect, 
 Nor eating irefulnesse, harsh cruelty 
 Contracting Gods good will, nor conscience checkt 
 Or chok'd continually with impiety, 
 Fauster'd and fed with hid hypocrisie ; 
 Nor tyranny against perplexed minds, 
 Nor forc'd conceit, nor man-idolatry, 
 All which the eye of searching reason blinds, 
 And the souls heavenly flame in dungeon darknesse 
 binds. 
 
 5 
 
 Can warres and jarres and fierce contention, 
 Swoln hatred, and consuming envie spring 
 From piety ? No. 'Tis opinion 
 That makes the riven heavens with trumpets ring, 
 And thundring engine mur'drous balls out-sling, 
 And send mens groning ghosts to lower shade 
 Of horrid hell. This the wide world doth bring 
 To devastation, makes mankind to fade : 
 Such direfull things doth false Religion perswade. 
 
 But true Religion sprong from God above 
 Is like her fountain full of charity, 
 Embracing all things with a tender love, 
 Full of good will and meek expectancy, 
 Full of true justice and sure verity, 
 In heart and voice ; free, large, even infinite, 
 Not wedg'd in strait particularity, 
 But grasping all in her vast active spright, 
 Bright lamp of God ! that men would joy in thy pure 
 light! 
 
 7 
 Can souls that be thus universalis'd, 
 Begot into the life of God e're dy ? 
 
64 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 (His light is like the sun that doth arise 
 Upon the just and unjust) can they fly 
 Into a nothing? and hath God an eye 
 To see himself thus wasted and decay 
 In his true members ? can mortality 
 Seize upon that that doth it self display 
 Above the laws of matter, or the bodies sway? 
 
 For both the body and the bodies spright 
 Doth things unto particulars confine, 
 Teaching them partiall friendship and fell spight. 
 But those pure souls full of the life divine : 
 Look upon all things with mild friendly eyne 
 Ready to do them good. Thus is their will 
 Sweetly spread out, and ever doth incline 
 The bent of the first Goodnesse to fulfill. 
 Ay me ! that dreary death such lovely life should spill ! 
 
 Besides this largenesse in the will of man 
 And winged freenesse, now let's think upon 
 His understanding, and how it doth scan 
 Gods being, unto whom religion 
 Is consecrate. Imagination 
 That takes its rise from sence so high ascent 
 Can never reach, yet intellection 
 Or higher gets, or at least hath some sent 
 Of God, vaticinates, or is parturient. 
 
 For ask her whether God be this or that, 
 A body infinite, or some mighty spright, 
 Yet not almighty, such vain speech she'll hate. 
 Whether all present, or in some place pight, 
 Whether part here part there, or every whit 
 In every point, she likes that latter well : 
 So that its plain that some kind of insight 
 Of Gods own being in the soul doth dwell 
 Though what God is we cannot yet so plainly tell. 
 
 II 
 
 As when a name lodg'd in the memory, 
 But yet through time almost obliterate, 
 Confusely hovers near the phantasie : 
 The man that's thus affected bids relate 
 A catalogue of names. It is not that, 
 Saith he, nor that ; that's something like to it, 
 That nothing like, that's likst of all I wot. 
 This last you nam'd it's not like that a whit ; 
 O that's the very name, now we have rightly hit. 
 12 
 
 Thus if 't be lawfull least things to compare 
 With greatest, so our selves affected be 
 Concerning Gods high essence : for we are 
 Not ignorant quite of this mystery, 
 Nor clearly apprehend the Deity, 
 But in mid state, I call't parturient, 
 
 And should bring forth that live Divinity 
 Within our selves, if once God would consent 
 To shew his specious form and nature eminent : 
 
 13 
 
 For here it lies like colours in the night 
 Unseen and unregarded, but the sunne 
 Displayes the beauty and the gladsome plight 
 Of the adorned earth, while he doth runne 
 His upper stage. But this high prize is wonne 
 By curbing sense and the self-seeking life 
 (True Christian mortification) 
 Thus God will his own self in us revive, 
 If we to mortifie our straitned selves do strive. 
 
 H 
 
 But can ought bodily Gods form receive ? 
 Or have it in it self potentially ? 
 Or can ought sprung of this base body heve 
 It self so high as to the Deitie 
 To clamber ? strive to reach infinity ? 
 Can ought born of this carcase be so free 
 As to grasp all things in large sympathie ? 
 Can lives corporeall quite loosened be 
 From their own selves, casheering their centrcity ? 
 
 15 
 
 These all ill suit with corporeitie : 
 
 But do we not amisse with stroke so strong 
 
 All to dispatch at once ? needed we fiie 
 
 So high at first ? we might have chose among 
 
 The many arguments that close do throng 
 
 And tender their own selves this cause to prove 
 
 Some of a meaner rank, and then along 
 
 Fairly and softly by degrees to move. 
 
 My Muse kens no such pomp, she must with freedome 
 rove. 
 
 16 
 And now as chance her guides, compendiously 
 The heads of many proofs she will repeat, 
 Which she lists not pursue so curiously, 
 But leaves the Reader his own brains to beat, 
 To find their fuller strength. As the souls meat, 
 Of which she feeds, if that she fed at all ; 
 She is immortall if she need not eat ; 
 But if her food prove to be spiritall, 
 
 Then can we deem herself to be corporeall ? 
 
 17 
 
 The souls most proper food is verity 
 Got and digest by Contemplation. 
 Hence strength, enlargement, and activity 
 She finds, as th' body by infusion 
 Of grosser meats and drinks (concoction 
 Well perfected) our limbs grow strong by these ; 
 The soul by reasons right perswasion : 
 But that truths spiritall we may with ease 
 Find out : For truth the soul from bodies doth release. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 65 
 
 Next argument let be abstraction, 
 Wlienas the soul with notion precise 
 Keeps off the corporall condition, 
 And a nak'd simple essence doth devise 
 Against the law of Corporeities, 
 It doth devest them both of time and place, 
 And of all individualities, 
 And matter doth of all her forms uncase, 
 Corporeall wight such subtile virtue never has. 
 
 Now shall the indivisibilitie 
 Of the souls virtues make an argument. 
 For certainly there's no such qualitie 
 Resideth in a body that's extent. 
 For, tell me, is that quality strait pent 
 Within a point of that corporeall ? 
 Or is it with some spreaden part distent ? 
 If in a point, then 'longs it not at all 
 To th' body : in spread part ? then 'tis extentionall. 
 
 20 
 But that some virtue's not extentionall 
 May thus be proved. Is there no science 
 Of numbers ? Yes. But what is principal! 
 And root of all : have we intelligence 
 Of Unities ? Or else what's sprong from thence 
 We could not know : what doth the soul then frame 
 Within her self? Is that Idea extense? 
 Or indivisible ? If not, we'll blame 
 The soul of falshood, and continuall lying shame. 
 
 21 
 
 Again, if we suppose our intellect 
 Corporeall, then must we all things know 
 By a swift touch : what ? do we then detect 
 The truth of bignesse, when one point doth go 
 Of our quick mind ? (It need not be o'reflow 
 For infinite parts be found in quantitie) 
 Or doth it use its latitude ? If so 
 Remember that some things unspreaden be, 
 How shall it find them out ? Or if 't use both we'll see. 
 
 That both be unsufncient I prove. 
 A point cannot discern loose unity 
 Freed from all site. That latitude must move 
 On all the body that it doth descry. 
 So must it be upstretch'd unto the skie 
 And rub against the Stars, surround the Sun 
 And her own parts to every part apply, 
 Then swiftly fridge about the pallid Moon : 
 Thus both their quantities the mind hath strangely won. 
 
 23 
 Adde unto these, that the soul would take pains 
 For her destruction while she doth aspire 
 To reach at things (that were her wofull gains) 
 
 19 
 
 That be not corporall, but seated higher 
 Above the bodies sphere. Thus should she tire 
 Her self to 'stroy her self. Again, the mind 
 Receives contrary forms. The feverish fire 
 Makes her cool brooks and shadowing groves to find 
 Within her thoughts, thus hot and cold in one she binds. 
 
 24 
 Nor is she chang'd by the susception 
 Of any forms : For thus her self contraire 
 Should be unto her self. But Union 
 She then possesseth, when heat and cold are 
 Together met : They meet withouten jarre 
 Within our souls. Such forms they be not true 
 You'll say. But of their truth lest you despair, 
 Each form in purer minds more perfect hew 
 Obtains, then those in matter we do dayly view. 
 
 25 
 
 For there, they're mixt, soild and contaminate, 
 But truth doth clear, unweave, and simplifie, 
 Search, sever, pierce, open, and disgregate 
 All ascititious cloggins ; then doth eye 
 The naked essence and its property. 
 Or you must grant the soul cannot define 
 Ought right in things ; or you must not deny 
 These forms be true that in her self do shine : 
 These be her rule of truth, these her unerring line. 
 
 26 
 Bodies have no such properties. Again, 
 See in one cluster many arguments 
 Compris'd : She multitudes can close constrain 
 Into one nature. Things that be fluent, 
 As flitting time, by her be straight retent 
 Unto one point ; she joyns future and past, 
 And makes them steddy stand as if present : 
 Things distant she can into one place cast : 
 Calls kinds immortall, though their singulars do waste. 
 
 27 
 Upon her self she strangely operates, 
 And from her self and by her self returns 
 Into her self ; thus the soul circulates. 
 Do bodies so ? Her axle-tree it burns 
 With heat of motion. This low world she spurns, 
 Raiseth her self to catch infinity. 
 Unspeakable great numbers how she turns 
 Within her mind, like evening mist the eye 
 Discerns, whose muddy atomes fore the wind do fly. 
 
 28 
 Stretcheth out time at both ends without end, 
 Makes place still higher swell, often creates 
 What God nere made, nor doth at all intend 
 To make, free phantasms ; laughs at future fates. 
 Foresees her own condition, she relates 
 Th" all comprehension of eternity, 
 Complains she's thirsty still in all estates, 
 That all she sees or has no'te satisfie 
 Her hungry self, nor fill her vast capacity. 
 
66 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 29 
 
 But I'll break off ; My Muse her self forgot, 
 Her own great strength and her foes feeblenesse, 
 That she her name by her own pains may blot, 
 While she so many strokes heaps in excesse, 
 That fond grosse phansie quite for to suppresse 
 Of the souls corporal'tie. For men may think 
 Her adversaries strength doth thus her presse 
 To multitude of reasons, makes her swink 
 With weary toyl, and sweat out thus much forced ink 
 
 30 
 Or that she loves with trampling insultations 
 To domineere in easie victory. 
 But let not men dare cast such accusations 
 Against the blamelesse. For no mastery, 
 Nor fruitlesse pomp, nor any verity 
 Of that opinion that she here destroyes 
 Made her so large. No, 'tis her jealousie 
 'Gainst witching falshood that weak souls annoyes, 
 And oft doth choke those chearing hopes of lasting joyes. 
 
 
 The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA, 
 
 Or 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book III. Cant. i. 
 
 The souls free independency ; 
 
 Her drery dreadfull state 
 In hell ; Her tricentreity : 
 What brings to heavens gate. 
 
 I 
 
 Ell said that man, whatever man that was, 
 That said, what things we would we straight 
 
 believe 
 Upon each slight report t' have come to 
 passe : 
 But better he, that said, Slow faith we give 
 To things we long for most. Hope and fear rive 
 Distracted minds, as when nigh equall weights 
 Cast on the trembling scales, each tug and strive 
 To pull the other up. But the same sleights 
 By turns do urge them both in their descents and heights : 
 
 Thus waves the mind in things of greatest weight ; 
 For things we value most are companied 
 With fear as well as hope : these stifly fight : 
 
 The stronger hope, the stronger fear is fed ; 
 One mother both and the like livelyhed. 
 One object both, from whence they both do spring. 
 The greater she, the greater these she bred, 
 The greater these, the greater wavering 
 And longer time to end their sturdy struggeling. 
 
 But is there any thing of more import 
 Then the souls immortality ? Hence fear 
 And hope we striving feel with strong effort 
 Against each other : That nor reason clear 
 Nor sacred Oracles can straight down bear 
 That sturdy rascall, with black phantasies 
 Yclad, and clouded with drad dismall chear ; 
 But still new mists he casts before our eyes, 
 And now derides our prov'd incorporieties. 
 
 And grinning saith, That labour's all in vain. 
 For though the soul were incorporeall, 
 Yet her existence to this flesh restrain, 
 They be so nearly link'd, that if one fall 
 The other fails. The eare nor hears our call 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 67 
 
 [n stouping age, nor eye can see ought clear ; 
 Benumming palsies shake the bodies wall, 
 The soul hath lost her strength and cannot steer 
 Her crasie corse, but staggering on reels here and there. 
 
 So plain it is (that though the soul's a spright, 
 Not corporall) that it must needs depend 
 Upon this body, and must perish quite 
 When her foundation falls. But now attend 
 And see what false conceits vain fears do send : 
 'Tis true, I cannot write without a quill, 
 Nor ride without an horse. If chance that rend 
 Or use make blunt, o're-labouring this kill, 
 Then can I walk not ride, not write but think my fill. 
 
 Our body is but the souls instrument ; 
 And when it fails, onely these actions cease 
 That thence depend. But if new eyes were sent 
 Unto the aged man, with as much ease 
 And accuratenesse, as when his youth did please 
 The wanton lasse, he now could all things see. 
 Old age is but the watry blouds disease. 
 The soul from death and sicknesse standeth free : 
 My hackney fails, not I ; my pen, not sciencie. 
 
 But as I said, of things we do desire 
 So vehemently we never can be sure 
 Enough. Therefore, my Muse, thou must aspire 
 To higher pitch, and fearfull hearts secure 
 Not with slight phansie but with reason pure. 
 Evincing the souls independency 
 Upon this body that doth her immure ; 
 That when from this dark prison she shall flie 
 All men may judge her rest in immortality. 
 
 Therefore I'll sing the Tricentreity 
 Of humane souls, and how they wake from sleep, 
 In which ywrapt of old they long do lie 
 Contract with cold and drench'd in Lethe deep, 
 Hugging their plantall point. It makes me weep 
 Now I so clearly view the solemn Spring 
 Of silent Night, whose Magick dew doth steep 
 These drowsie souls of men, whose dropping wing 
 Keeps off the light of life, and blunts each fiery sting. 
 
 Three centres hath the soul ; One plantall hight 
 Our parents this revive in nuptiall bed. 
 This is the principle that hales on Night, 
 Subjects the mind unto dull drowsyhed : 
 If we this follow, thus we shall be led 
 To that dark straitnesse that did bind before 
 Our sluggish life when that is shrivelled 
 Into its sunken centre, we no more 
 Are conscious of life : what can us then restore ? 
 
 Unlesse with fiery whips fell Nemesis 
 Do lash our sprights, and cruelly do gore 
 Our groning ghosts ; this is the way, I wisse, 
 The onely way to keep 's from Morpheus power. 
 Both these so dismall are that I do showT 
 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 ? 
 
 Thus may you all from your dead drowsinesse 
 Be wak'd by inward sting and pinching wo, 
 That you could wish that that same heavinesse 
 Might ever you o'represse, and Lethe flow 
 Upon your drowned life. But you shall glow 
 With urging fire, that doth resuscitate 
 Your middle point, and makes itself to gnaw 
 Itself with madnesse, while 't doth ruminate 
 On its deformity and sterill vexing state. 
 
 12 
 
 Continuall desire that nought effects, 
 Perfect hot-glowing ferv our o ut to spring 
 In some go~ocfworld : With fury she affects 
 To reach the Land of life, then struck with sting 
 Of wounding memory, despairs the thing. 
 And further off she sees her self, the more 
 She rageth to obtain : thus doth she bring 
 More fewell to her flame that scorched sore 
 With searching fire, she's forc'd to yell and loudly rore. 
 
 13 
 
 Thus she devours her self, not satisfies 
 Her self ; nought hath she but what's dearly spun 
 From her own bowels, jejune exilities : 
 Her body's gone, therefore the rising sun 
 She sees no more, nor what in day is done. 
 The sporting aire no longer cools her bloud, 
 Pleasures of youth and manhood quite are gone, 
 Nor songs her eare, nor mouth delicious food 
 Doth fill. But I '11 have this more fully understood. 
 
 14 
 Three centres hath mans soul in Unity 
 Together joynd ; or if you will, but one. 
 Those three are one, with a Triplicity 
 Of power or rayes. Th' high'st intellection. 
 Which being wak'd the soul's in Union 
 With God. If perfectly regenerate 
 Into that better world, corruption 
 Hath then no force her blisse to perturbate, 
 The low'st do make us subject to disturbing fate. 
 
 IS 
 
 But low'st 'gins first to work, the soul doth frame 
 This bodies shape, imploy'd in one long thought 
 So wholy taken up, that she the same 
 
68 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Observeth not, till she it quite hath wrought. 
 So men asleep some work to end have brought 
 Not knowing of it, yet have found it done : 
 Or we may say the matter that she raught 
 And suck'd unto her self to work upon 
 Is of one warmth with her own spright, & feels as one. 
 
 16 
 
 And thus the body being the souls work 
 From her own centre so entirely made, 
 Seated i' th' heart, — for there this spright doth lurk,- 
 It is no wonder 'tis so easly sway'd 
 At her command. But when this work shall fade, 
 The soul dismisseth it as an old thought, 
 Tis but one form ; but many be display' d 
 Amid her higher rayes, dismist, and brought 
 Back as she list, & many come that ne're were sought. 
 
 The soul by making this strange edifice, 
 Makes way unto herself to exercise 
 Functions of life, and still more waked is 
 The more she has perfected her fine devise, 
 Hath wrought her self into sure sympathies 
 With this great world. Her ears like hollow caves 
 Resound to her own spright the energies 
 Of the worlds spright. If it ought suffered have, 
 Then presentifick circles to her straight notice gave. 
 
 18 
 We know this world, because our soul hath made 
 Our bodie of this sensible worlds spright 
 And body. Therefore in the glassie shade 
 Of our own eyes (they having the same might 
 That glasse or water hath) we have the sight 
 Of what the Mundane spirit suffereth 
 By colours, figures, or inherent light : 
 Sun, stars, and all on earth it hurrieth 
 To each point of itself so far as 't circuleth. 
 
 And where he lighteth on advantages, 
 His circuli/igs grow sensible. So hills 
 That hollow be do audible voices 
 Resound. The soul doth imitate that skill 
 In framing of the eare, that sounds may swell 
 In that concavitie. The crystall springs 
 Reflect the light of heaven, if they be still 
 And clear ; the soul doth imitate and bring 
 The eye to such a temper in her shapening. 
 
 20 
 So eyes and ears be not mere perforations, 
 But a due temper of the Mundane spright 
 And ours together ; else the circulations 
 Of sounds would be well known by outward sight, 
 And th' eare would colours know, figures & light. 
 So that it's plain that when this bodie 's gone, 
 This world to us is clos'd in darknesse quite, 
 And all to us is in dead silence drown : 
 Thus in one point of time is this worlds glory flown. 
 
 But if 't be so, how doth Psyche hear or see 
 That hath nor eyes nor eares ? She sees more clear 
 Then we that see but secondarily. 
 We see at distance by a circular 
 Diffusion of that spright of this great sphear 
 Of th' Universe : Her sight is tactuall. 
 The Sun and all the starres that do appear 
 She feels them in herself, can distance all, 
 For she is at each one purely presentiall. 
 
 To us what doth diffusion circular, 
 And our pure shadowed eyes, bright, crystalline, 
 But vigorously our spright particular 
 Affect, while things in it so clearly shine ? 
 That's done continually in the heavens sheen. 
 The Sun, the Moon, the Earth, blew-glimmering Hel, 
 Scorch'd ^Etna's bowels, each shape you'l divine 
 To be in Nature, every dern cell 
 With fire-eyed dragons, or what else therein doth dwel : 
 
 23 
 These be all parts of the wide worlds excesse, 
 They be all seated in the Mundane spright, 
 And shew just as they are in their bignesse 
 To her. But circulation shews not right 
 The magnitude of things : for distant site 
 Makes a deficience in these circulings. 
 But all things lie ope-right unto the sight 
 Of heavens great eye ; their thin-shot shadowings 
 And lightned sides. All this we find in Natures springs. 
 
 24 
 The worlds great soul knows by Protopathie 
 All what befalls this lower sprite, but we 
 Can onely know 't by Deuteropathie, 
 At least in sight and hearing. She doth see 
 In our own eyes, by the close unitie 
 Of ours and the worlds life, our passion ; 
 Plainly perceives our Idiopathie, 
 As we do hers, by the same union ; 
 But we cannot see hers in that perfection. 
 
 25 
 Fresh varnish'd groves, tall hills, and gilded clouds 
 Arching an eyelid for the glowing Morn ; 
 Fair clustred buildings which our sight so crouds 
 At distance, with high spires to heaven yborn ; 
 Vast plains with lowly cottages forlorn, 
 Rounded about with the low wavering skie, 
 Cragg'd vapours, like to ragged rocks ytorn ; 
 She views those prospects in our distant eye : 
 These and such like be the first centres mysterie. 
 
 26 
 
 Or if you will the first low energie 
 
 Of that one centre, which the soul is hight, 
 
 Which knows this world by the close unitie 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 69 
 
 (Reincorporation with the Mundane sprite ; 
 Unloos'd from this she wants a certain light, 
 Unlesse by true regeneration 
 She be incorporate with God, unite 
 With his own spright ; so a new mansion 
 Sh' has got, oft saught with deepest suspiration. 
 
 27 
 But robb'd of her first clothing by hard fate, 
 If she fall short of this, wo's me ! what pains 
 She undergoes ? when this lost former state 
 So kindled hath lifes thirst, that still remains. 
 Thus her eternitie her nothing gains 
 But hungry flames, raging voracitie 
 Feeding on its own self. The heavens she stains 
 With execrations and foul blasphemie : 
 Thus in fell discontent and smoth'ring fire they frie. 
 
 28 
 Vain man that striv'st to have all things at will ! 
 What wilt thou do in this sterilitie ? 
 Whom canst thou then command ? or what shall fill 
 Thy gaping soul ? O depth of miserie ! 
 Prepare thy self by deep humilitie : 
 Destroy that fretting fire while thou art here, 
 Forsake this worlds bewitching vanitie, 
 Nor death nor hell then shalt thou need to fear : 
 Kill and cast down thy self, to heaven God shall thee rear. 
 
 29 
 This middle centrall essence of the soul 
 Is that which still survives asleep or waking : 
 The life she shed in this grosse earthly moul 
 Is quite shrunk up, lost in the bodies breaking : 
 Now with slight phantasms of her own fond making 
 She's clad (so is her life drie and jejune) 
 But all flit souls be not in the same taking : 
 That state this lifes proportion doth tune, 
 So as thou livest here, such measure must ensuen. 
 
 30 
 But they whose souls deiform summitie 
 Is waken'd in this life, and so to God 
 Are nearly joyn'd in a firm Unitie 
 (This outward bodie is but earthie clod 
 Digested, having life transfus'd abroad, 
 The worlds life and our lower vitalitie 
 
 Unite in one) their souls have their aboad 
 In Christs own body ; are eternally 
 One with our God, by true and strong communitie. 
 
 31 
 When we are clothed with this outward world, 
 Feel the soft air, behold the glorious Sunne, 
 All this we have from meat that's daily hurld 
 Into these mouths. But first of all we wonne 
 This priviledge by our first union 
 With this worlds body and diffused spright. 
 I' th' higher world there's such communion : 
 Christ is the sunne that by his chearing might 
 Awakes our higher rayes to joyn with his pure light. 
 
 32 
 And when he hath that life elicited, 
 He gives his own dear body and his bloud 
 To drink and eat. Thus dayly we are fed 
 Unto eternall life. Thus do we bud, 
 True heavenly plants, suck in our lasting food 
 From the first spring of life, incorporate 
 Into the higher world (as erst I show'd 
 Our lower rayes the soul to subjugate 
 To this low world) we fearlesse sit above all fate, 
 
 33 
 Safely that kingdomes glory contemplate, 
 O'reflow with joy by a full sympathie 
 With that worlds sprite, and blesse our own estate, 
 Praising the fount of all felicitie, 
 The lovely light of the blest Deitie. 
 Vain mortals think on this, and raise your mind 
 Above the bodies life ; strike through the skie 
 With piercing throbs and sighs, that you may find 
 His face. Base fleshly fumes your drowsie eyes thu?. 
 blind. 
 
 34 
 So hath my Muse according to her skill 
 Discovered the soul in all her rayes, 
 The lowest may occasionate much ill, 
 But is indifferent. Who may dispraise 
 Dame Natures work ? But yet you ought to raise 
 Your selves to higher state. Eternitie 
 Is the souls rest, and everlasting dayes : 
 Aspire to this, and hope for victorie. 
 I further yet shall prove her immortalitie. 
 

 The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA 
 
 Or 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book III. Cant. 2. 
 
 From many arguments we show 
 
 The iiidependencie 
 Of humane souls : That all Lives flow 
 
 From a free Dcitie. 
 
 Hree apprehensions do my mind divide 
 Concerning the souls preexistencie, 
 Before into this outward world she glide : 
 So hath my muse with much uncertaintie 
 Exprest her self, so as her phantasie 
 Strongly inacted guides her easie pen ; 
 I nought obtrude with sow'r anxietie, 
 But freely offer hints to wiser men : 
 The wise from rash assent in darksome things abstein. 
 
 Or souls be well awake but hovering. 
 Not fixt to ought, but by a Magick might 
 Drawable here and there, and so their wing 
 Struck with the steem of this low Mundane sprite 
 May lower flag and take its stooping flight 
 Into some plantall man, new edified 
 By his own plastick point. Or else (deep Night 
 Drawn on by drooping phansie) she doth slide 
 Into this world, and by her self that skill is tried ; 
 
 Makes to her self this fleshly habitation ; 
 For this worlds spirit hath provok'd these raves : 
 Then drown in sleep she works that efformation 
 Of her own body, all its parts displayes, 
 As doth the senselesse plant. The two next wayes 
 Are these : A reall tricentreitie. 
 First centre ever wakes, unmoved stayes, 
 Hight Intellect. The next in sleep doth lie 
 Till the last centre burst into this open skie. 
 
 And then the middle wakes. But the last way 
 Makes but one centre, which doth sleep likewise 
 Till its low life hath reach'd this worlds glad day. 
 A fourth we'll adde that we may all comprise : 
 Take quite away all preexistencies 
 Of humane souls, and grant they're then first made 
 When they begin this bodies edifice, 
 And actually this outward world invade : 
 None of these wayes do show that they must ever fade. 
 
 5 
 The first way might be well occasioned 
 By what the soul in her self feels and tries. 
 She works sometime as though she quite had fled 
 All commerce with these low carnalities, 
 Yet falls she down at last and lowly lies 
 In this base mansion, is so close contract 
 That sleep doth seise her actualities, 
 Retains no memory of that strange fact, 
 Nor of her self that soar'd in that high heavenly tract. 
 
 The second way that makes the soul tricentrall, 
 The highest awake, the other with sleep drownd, 
 May spring from hence. None would vouchsafe the 
 
 entrall 
 Into this life, if they were but once bound 
 To that vast centre where all things are found, 
 Hight Intellect. The lowest is not awake, 
 Therefore the midst lies close in sleep upwound. 
 Three centres made, that souls may quite forsake 
 This baser world when union with the lowest they break. 
 
 Again, because this bodie's fashioned 
 
 \\ ithout our knowledge, reason doth suggest 
 
 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 7« 
 
 That it could no wise be thus figured 
 From our own centre, and yet we not prest 
 To any ad version. Therefore we are drest 
 With this grosse clothing by some plantall spright 
 Centred in Nature. So that glorious vest 
 The Deiform intellect by our own might's 
 Not made, but we have rayes which each of these will fit. 
 
 8 
 Ardent desire, strong breathing after God, 
 At length may work us to that better place, 
 Body or clothing, that high sure aboad 
 That searching weather nor time can deface. 
 But to go on in our proposed race, 
 The third and fourth way have the same foundation, 
 Not multiplying beings to surpasse 
 Their use. What needs that numerous clos'd centra- 
 tion, 
 Like wastefull sand ytost with boisterous inundation ? 
 
 Let wiser Clerks the truth dare to define 
 I leave it loose for men to muse upon, 
 View at their leasure : but yet this call mine ; 
 Though we should grant the souls condition 
 Before her deep incorporation 
 Into dull matter, to be nothing more 
 But bare potentiality, yet none 
 Can prove from thence that she must fade therefore, 
 When to its earth this earth the trusty fates restore. 
 
 For though she and her body be at once, 
 Yet of her body she doth not depend 
 But it of her : she doth its members branch, 
 Pierce, bind, digest, and after makes it wend 
 At her own will, when she hath brought to end 
 Her curious work, and hath consolidate 
 Its tender limbs which earst did feebly bend 
 Through weaknesse ; then this world she contemplates, 
 And life still blazing higher seeks an heavenly state. 
 
 II 
 
 Breaths after the first fountain of all life, 
 Her sweet Creatour, thither doth aspire, 
 Would see his face ; nor will she cease this strife 
 Till he fulfill her thirsty fierce desire : 
 Nothing can quench this so deep rooted fire 
 But his own presence. So she 'gins despise 
 This bodies pleasures, ceaseth to admire 
 Ought fair or comely to these outward eyes : 
 Or if she do, from hence she higher doth arise. 
 
 But can she higher rise then her own head ? 
 Therefore her spring is God : thence doth she 'pend, 
 Thence did she flow, thither again she's fled. 
 When she this life hath lost, and made an end 
 Of this low earthly course, she doth ascend, 
 
 Unto her circles ancient Apogie, 
 Lifted aloft, not again to descend, 
 Nor stoups nor sets that Sunne, but standeth free 
 On never-shaken pillars of ^Eternitie. 
 
 13 
 
 But still this truth more clearly to evince, 
 Remember how all things are from one light, 
 It shall thy reason forceably convince 
 That nought but God destroyes a centrall spright. 
 If he sucks in his beams, eternall night 
 Seiseth upon that life, that it no'te flow 
 In actuall efflux, hath no being quite 
 But Gods own power. He lets his breath out go, 
 The self-same things again so eas'ly doth he show. 
 
 14 
 
 Let be Noon day, the welkin clear, the Moon 
 I' th' nether world, reflecting the Suns rayes 
 To cheer the irksome night. Well ! That being done. 
 Call out some wondrous might, that listlesse stayes 
 In slower phansies. Bid't break all delayes ; 
 Surround with solid dark opacity 
 The utmost beams that Phcebus light displayes, 
 Softly steal on with equall distancy, 
 Till they have close clapt up all his explendency. 
 
 15 
 All's now in darknesse : tell me, what's become 
 Of that infinity of rayes that shone? 
 Where second centres from whence out did come 
 Other faint beams ? what be they all quite flone ? 
 All perish'd quite? You stiflers now be gone. 
 Let fall that smoring mantle. Do not straight 
 All things return ? The nether world the Moon, 
 The Sun enlightens us. The self same light 
 
 Now shines, that shone before this deep and dismall 
 Night. 
 
 16 
 If not the same, then like to flowing stream 
 You deem the light that passeth still away, 
 New parts ever succeeding. The Sun-beam 
 Hath no reflexion then, if it decay 
 So fast as it comes forth : Nor were there day ; 
 For it would vanish 'fore it could arrive 
 At us. But in a moment Sol doth ray. 
 One end of his long shafts then we conceive, 
 
 At once both touch himself and down to us do dive. 
 
 17 
 
 Beside, this air is not the sustentation 
 Of spreaden light ; for then as it did move 
 The light would move. And sturdy confiictation 
 Of struggling winds, when they have fiercely strove, 
 Phcebus fair golden locks would rudely move 
 Out of their place ; and Eastern winds at morn 
 Would make more glorious dayes, while light is drove 
 From that bright quarter : Southern blasts do burn 
 From midday sun, but yet Northwinds like light have 
 born. 
 
72 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 What then must be the channell of this river, 
 If we'll have light to flow as passing stream ? 
 So plain it is that Nature doth dissever 
 The light and th' air, that th' air the Suns bright beams 
 Doth not uphold as the warmth of his gleams 
 Or heat that lodgeth there. From this firm might 
 Nought leaning on the Air, well may we't deem 
 Some subtile body, or some grosser spright 
 Depending of fair Phoebus, of no other wight. 
 
 19 
 
 And when these rayes were forced to retire 
 Into their fountain, they were not so gone 
 But that the same sprong out from the first fire. 
 So fine spun glittering silk crumpled in one 
 Changeth not 'ts individuation 
 From what it was, when it was gaily spread 
 In fluttering winds to th' admiration 
 Of the beholder. Thus is nought so dead 
 But God can it restore to its old livelyhed. 
 
 For all the creature's but the out-gone rayes 
 Of a free sunne, and what I meaned most, 
 Of him alone depend. He deads their blaze 
 By calling in his breath. Though things be tost 
 And strangely chang'd, yet nought at all is lost 
 Unlesse he list. Nor then so lost but he 
 Can them return, In every thing compost 
 Each part of th' essence its centreity 
 Keeps to it self, it shrinks not to a nullity. 
 
 21 
 When that compounded nature is dissolv'd, 
 Each centre s safe, as safe as second light 
 Or drove into the Sun, or thence out-rol'd. 
 So all depend on th' Universall spright 
 From hight to depth, as they are ranked right 
 In their due orders. Lifes full pregnancy 
 Breaks out when friendly sympathy doth smite. 
 The higher rank the higher energie 
 From natures lowly lap to Gods sublimity ; 
 
 22 
 But well may man be call'd the epitome 
 Of all things. Therefore no low life him made. 
 The Highest holds all in His capacity, 
 Therefore mans soul from Gods own life outray'd, 
 His outgone Centre's on that centre staid. 
 What disadvantage then can the decay 
 Of this poore carcase do, when it doth fade ? 
 The soul no more depends on this frail clay, 
 Then on our eye depends bright Phoebus glist'ring ray. 
 
 23 
 But in this argument we'll no longer stay, 
 Consider now the souls conversion 
 Into her self. Nought divisible may 
 Close with it self by revolution. 
 
 For then or part in this reflection, 
 Is drove into a part, or part to th' whole, 
 Or whole to part, or near compression 
 The whole into the whole doth closely roll : 
 But easily all these wayes right reason will controll. 
 
 24 
 If part turn into part, part into whole, 
 Whole into part, the thing doth not convert 
 Into itself ; the thing itself is all 
 Not part of 't self : if all to all revert, 
 Each part then into each part is insert. 
 But tell me then how is their quantity 
 If every part with each part is refert ? 
 Thus swallowed up, they'l have no distancy ; 
 So you destroy suppos'd divisibility. 
 
 25 
 Wherefore that thing is individuous 
 Whatever can into it self reflect, 
 Such is the soul as hath been prov'd by us 
 Before, and further now we do detect 
 By her foure wheels : The first hight Intellect, 
 Wherewith she drives into her Nature deep 
 And finds it out ; next Will, this doth affect 
 Her self found out. Her self then out doth peep 
 Into these acts, she into both doth eas'ly creep. 
 
 26 
 
 But this conversion's from the body free ; 
 Begins not thence, nor thither doth return : 
 Nor is the soul worse then her energie, 
 If in her acts she be far higher born 
 Then they should 'pend on this base corse forlorn : 
 Then also she hath no dependency 
 Upon this body, but may safely scorn 
 That low condition of servility, 
 And blame all that averre that false necessity. 
 
 27 
 If she should issue from this nether spring, 
 Nearer she kept to her Originall 
 She were the stronger, and her works would bring 
 To more perfection ; but alas ! they fall 
 They fail by near approch. The best of all 
 Wax weak and faint by too close union 
 With this foul fount. Might intellectuall 
 Grows misty by this strait conjunction ; 
 The will is woxen weak, its vigour quite is gone. 
 
 28 
 But O ! how oft when she her self doth cut 
 From nearer commerce with the low delight 
 Of things corporeall, and her eyes doth shut 
 To those false fading lights, she feels her spright 
 Fill'd with excessive pleasure, such a plight 
 She finds that it doth fully satisfie 
 Her thirsty life. Then reason shines out bright. 
 And holy love with mild serenity 
 Doth hug her harmlesse self in this her purity. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 73 
 
 29 
 What grave monitions and sure prophesie 
 Have men in sicknesse left ? a true testation 
 Of the souls utter independency 
 On this poore crasie corse. May that narration 
 Of Aristotles move easie perswasion 
 Of his Eudemus, to whom sick at Phere 
 While sleep his senses bound, this revelation 
 A gentle youth did bring with goodly chear, 
 And jolly blith deportment, chasing needlesse fear. 
 
 30 
 Told him that sicknesse would not mortall prove, 
 He should grow well er'e long, but deaths drad power 
 On that towns tyrant should be shortly drojje, 
 Swift vengeance on his cursed head should showr : 
 Both proved true. I could in plenty poure 
 Such like examples, as of Pherecyde, 
 Calanus, him of Rhodes, and others more ; 
 But it is needlesse, 'tis a truth well tried, 
 The higher works the soul the more she is untied. 
 
 31 
 Then quite set loose from this her heavy chain 
 Shee is in happiest plight, so far she is 
 From being nought or perishing. Again, 
 We find such utter contrarieties 
 Betwixt the bodies and her qualities 
 That we can no wayes think she 'pends at all 
 Of that with which she has such repugnancies. 
 What thing doth fight with its Originall ? 
 The spring and stream be alwayes homogeneall. 
 
 32 
 But the high heaven-born soul sprung out from Jove 
 Ever is clashing with the foolery 
 Of this dull body, which the sense doth love, 
 And erring phansie. It were long to try 
 In every thing : O how 'twould magnifie 
 The hight of pleasures that fall under sense : 
 This well describ'd would prove its Deity. 
 A vast round body cloth'd with th' excellence 
 Of glorious glistring light through the wide aire extense : 
 
 33 
 Bravely adorn'd with diverse colours gay, 
 Even infinite varieties that shine 
 With wondrous brightnesse, varnish'd with the ray 
 Of that clear light, with motion circuline : 
 Let turn about and stir up sounds divine, 
 That sweetly may affect th' attentive ear. 
 Adde fragrant odours waft with gentle wind, 
 Adde pleasant taste, soft touch to Venus dear ; 
 This is the bodies God, this is its highest sphear. 
 
 34 
 But from far higher place and brighter light 
 Our reason checks us for this vanity, 
 Calls to us, warns us that that empty sight 
 Lead not our soul unto Idolatry, 
 
 19 
 
 Make us not rest in easie falsity. 
 If thou be stirred up by working fire 
 To search out God, to find the Deity ; 
 Take to thy self not what thine eyes admire 
 Or any outward sense, or what sense can desire. 
 
 35 
 Behold a light far brighter then the Sun ! 
 The Sun's a shadow if you them compare, 
 Or grosse Cimmerian mist ; the fairest Noon 
 Exceeds not the meridian night so far 
 As that light doth the Sun. So perfect clear 
 So perfect pure it is, that outward eye 
 Cannot behold this inward subtile starre, 
 But indisperst is this bright Majesty, 
 Yet every where out shining in infinitie ; 
 
 36 
 
 Unplac'd, unparted, one close Unity, 
 Yet omnipresent ; all things, yet but one ; 
 Not streak'd with gaudy multiplicity, 
 Pure light without discolouration, 
 Stable without circumvolution, 
 Etemall rest, joy without passing sound : 
 What sound is made without collision ? 
 Smell, taste, and touch make God a grosse compound ; 
 Yet truth of all that's good is perfectly here found. 
 
 37 
 This is a riddle unto outward sense : 
 And heavie phansie, that can rise no higher 
 Then outward senses, knows no excellence 
 But what those Five do faithfully inspire 
 From their great God, this world ; nor do desire 
 More then they know : wherefore to consopite 
 Or quench this false light of bold phansies fire, 
 Surely must be an act contrary quite 
 Unto this bodies life, and its low groveling spright. 
 
 38 
 Wherefore the body's not Originall 
 Of humane soul when she doth thus resist 
 That principle : which still more clearly shall 
 Be proved. Oft when either drowsie mists 
 Provoke to sleep, or worst of senses lists 
 To ease his swelling veins, or stomach craves 
 His wonted food, that he too long hath mist, 
 Or our dry lungs cool liquor fain would have, 
 Or when in warre our heart suggests the fear of grave : 
 
 39 
 Yet high desire of truth, and deep insight 
 Into Gods mystery makes us command 
 These low attractions ; and our countries right 
 Bids march on bravely, stout and stifly stand 
 In bloudy fight, and try't by strength of hand. 
 Thus truth and honesty so sway our will, 
 That we no longer doubt to break the band 
 Of lower Nature, and this body kill 
 Or vex, so we the Laws of reason may fulfill. 
 
 K 
 
74 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 40 
 This proves the soul to sit at liberty, 
 Not wedg'd into this masse of earth, but free 
 Unloos'd from any strong necessity 
 To do the bodies dictates, while we see 
 Clear reason shining in serenity, 
 Calling above unto us, pointing to 
 What's right and decent, what doth best agree 
 With those sweet lovely Ideas, that do show 
 Some glimps of their pure light. So Sol through clouds 
 doth flow. 
 
 41 
 How oft do we neglect this bodies life, 
 And outward comely plight, for to adorn 
 Our soul with virtuous ornaments ? and strive 
 To fat our mind with truth, while it's forlorn, 
 Squalid, half-nasty, pallid, wan, deform? 
 Can this desire from the base body spring ? 
 No sure such brave achievements be yborn 
 Within the soul, tend to her perfecting, 
 See th' independent mind in her self circuling ! 
 
 42 
 Best plight of body hinders such like acts. 
 How doth she then upon the body pend? 
 To do those subtle, high, pure, heavenly facts ? 
 What ? doth the Sun his rayes that he out-sends 
 Smother or choke ? though clouds that upward wend 
 May raised be by him, yet of those clouds 
 That he doth congregate he no'te depend. 
 Nor doth the soul that in this flesh doth croud 
 Her self, rely on that thick vapour where she's shroud. 
 
 43 
 But still to prove it clearer : If the mind 
 Without the bodyes help can operate 
 Of her own self, then nothing can we find 
 To scruple at, but that souls separate 
 Safely exist, not subject unto fate, 
 Nothing depending on their carcases, 
 That they should fade when those be ruinate. 
 But first perpend well both their properties 
 That we may better see their independencies. 
 
 44 
 The living body where the soul doth 'bide 
 These functions hath, phansie, sense, memory. 
 How into sense these outward forms do glide 
 I have already told, and did descry 
 How presentifick circularity 
 
 Is spread through all : there is one Mundane spright 
 And body, vitall corporality 
 We have from hence. Our souls be counite 
 With the worlds spright and body, with these herself 
 she has dight. 
 
 45 
 
 Our body struck by evolution 
 
 Of outward forms spread in the worlds vast spright, 
 
 Our listning mind by its adversion 
 
 Doth notice take, but nothing is empight 
 
 In it. Of old Gods hand did all forms write 
 
 In humane souls, which waken at the knock 
 
 Of Mundane shapes. If they were naked quite 
 
 Of innate forms, though heaven and earth should rock 
 
 With roring winds, they'd hear no more then senselesse 
 stock. 
 
 46 
 Phansy's th' impression of those forms that flit 
 In this low life : They oft continue long, 
 Whenas our spright more potently is hit 
 By their incursions and appulses strong, 
 Like heated water, though a while but hung 
 On fiercer fire, an hot impression 
 Long time retains ; so forms more stoutly flung 
 Against our spright make deep insculption ; 
 
 Long time it is till their clear abolition. 
 
 47 
 Hence springeth that which men call memory, 
 When outward object doth characterize 
 Our inward common spright ; or when that we 
 From our own soul stir up clear phantasies 
 Which be our own elicited I dees. 
 Springing from our own centrall life, by might 
 Of our strong Fiat as oft as we please. 
 With these we seal that under grosser spright, 
 
 Make that our note-book, there our choisest notions- 
 write. 
 
 48 
 But sith it is not any part of us, 
 But 'longeth unto the great world, it must 
 Be cbang'd ; for course of Time voraginous 
 With rapid force is violently just, 
 Makes each thing pay with what it was in trust. 
 The common life sucks back the common spright, 
 The body backward falls into the dust ; 
 It doth it by degrees. Hence phancie, sight, 
 
 And memory in age do not their functions right. 
 
 49 
 Often disease, or some hard casualtie 
 Doth hurt this spirit, that a man doth lose 
 The use of sense, wit, phansie, memory ; 
 That hence rash men our souls mortall suppose 
 Through their rude ignorance ; but to disclose 
 The very truth, our soul's in safety 
 In that distemper, that doth ill dispose 
 Her under spright. But her sad misery 
 Is that so close she's tied in a prone Unitie, 
 
 5° 
 Leans on this bodies false security, 
 Seeks for things there, not in herself, nor higher, 
 Extremely loves this bodies company. 
 Trusts in its life, thither bends her desire : 
 But when it gins to fail, she's left i' th' mire. 
 Yet hard upon us hangs th' Eternall light 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 75 
 
 The ever-live-Idces, the lamping fire 
 Of lasting Intellect, whose nearnesse might 
 Illumin, were our minds not lost in that frail spright. 
 
 51 
 
 That spright and we are plain another thing : 
 Which now I'll clearly show that we may see 
 Our independency on his existing, 
 Which prove I must from eithers property. 
 That spright hath no perceptibility 
 Of his impressions : Phantasie nor sense 
 Perceive themselves ; often with open eye 
 We look upon a man in our presence, 
 And yet of that near object have no cognoscence. 
 
 52 
 
 And so of Phansies that be fresh enough, 
 Even deeply seald upon that lower spright, 
 Unlesse we seek them out and pierce them through 
 With aiming animadversion, they in night 
 Do lurk unknown to us, though they be bright 
 In their own selves. Again, some object may 
 In its great vigour, lustre, sweying might 
 This spirit wound by its fierce riving ray ; 
 Our sight is hurt by th' eye of the broad biasing day. 
 
 53 
 
 Beside the senses each one are restraind 
 To his own object : so is Phantasie. 
 That in the spirits compasse is containd ; 
 As likewise the low naturall memory. 
 But sooth to say, by a strong sympathy 
 We both are mov'd by these, and these do move. 
 As the light spider that makes at a fly, 
 Her selfe now moves the web she subt'ly wove, 
 Mov'd first by her own web, when here the fly did rove. 
 
 54 
 Like spider in her web, so do we sit 
 Within this spirit, and if ought do shake 
 This subtile loom we feel as it doth hit ; 
 Most part into adversion we awake, 
 Unlesse we chance into our selves betake 
 Our selves, and listen to the lucid voice 
 Of th' Intellect, which these low tumults slake : 
 But our own selves judge of whatere accloyes 
 Our muddied mind, or what lifts up to heavenly joyes. 
 
 55 
 All the five senses, Phansie, Memorie, 
 We feel their work, distinguish and compare, 
 Find out their natures by the subtiltie 
 Of sifting reason. Then they objects are 
 Of th' understanding, bear no greater share 
 In this same act then objects wont to do. 
 They are two realties distinguish'd clear 
 One from the other, as I erst did show. 
 She knows that spright, that spright our soul can never 
 know. 
 
 56 
 Sense, Phansie, Memorie, as afore was said 
 Be hurt by stronger objects, or be spoild 
 
 By longer exercise : Our soul ne're fades, 
 But doth her spright commiserate long toild 
 With agitation, when she feels it moild 
 Descends to comfort it, and gives it rest ; 
 But she grows quicker, vaster, never foild 
 With contemplations that this spright molest : 
 The inward soul's renew'd as cannot be exprest. 
 
 57 
 How soul and spright be severed we see, 
 
 But how't works by it self is not yet shown ; 
 
 I mean without this sprights assistencie, 
 
 Though not quite by her self. High light doth crown 
 
 Her summitie, when sleep that spright doth drown 
 
 Rapt into highest heavens in ecstasie 
 
 She sees such things as would low life confound, 
 
 Enrage with a tumultuous agonie, 
 
 Burst this pent spright for want of fit capacitie. 
 
 58 
 Then is she joynd with the Etemall Idees, 
 Which move our souls as sights do here below : 
 Joynd with the spright of God we gaze on these, 
 As by the Mundane spright th' Out-world we know 
 Our soul hangs twixt them both, and there doth go 
 Where either spright doth snatch her. Either raise 
 Her inward forms, which leap out nothing slow 
 When sympathie them calls. Thus she displayes 
 Her inward life, God's light views with her wakened 
 rayes. 
 
 59 
 
 When we confute a pregnant falsitie 
 Cloth'd with strong phantasmes in our snared mind, 
 As this suppose : The earths stabilitie, 
 What help can we in our low phansie find, 
 Possest of this impression ? what shall bind 
 This stubborn falshood so inveterate ? 
 That spright so stiflyset can't be inclin'd 
 By ought but by the soul that contemplates 
 Truth by her self, brings out her forms that be innate ? 
 
 60 
 
 Flies she to sense ? sense pleads for Ptolemee. 
 Flies she to her low phansie ? that's so swayd 
 By sense, and fore-imprest Astronomie, 
 By botch'd inculcate paradigmes made 
 By senses dictate, that they'll both perswade 
 That Philolaus and wife Heraclide 
 Be frantick both, Copernicus twice mad. 
 She cannot then this question well decide. 
 By ought but her own forms that in her self reside. 
 
 61 
 
 Which she calls out unto her faithfull aid, 
 Commands deep silence to fond phantasie, 
 Whose odious prating truth hath oft betraid, 
 And in her stead brought in rash falsitie, 
 Seated in sowr inert stupiditie. 
 
 Then farewell sense, and what from sense hath sprong 
 Saith she, I'll contemplate in puritie, 
 And quit my self of that tumultuous throng : 
 What then she finds shall be unfold in my next song. 
 
The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA, 
 
 Or 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book III. Cant. 3. 
 
 That th' earth doth move, proofs Physicall 
 
 Unto us do descrie ; 
 Adde reasons Theosophicall, 
 
 Als adde Astronomie. 
 
 I 
 
 Lest souls first Authors of Astronomie ! 
 Who clomb the heavens with your high 
 
 reaching mind, 
 Scal'd the high battlements of the lofty skie, 
 To whom compar'd this earth a point you find ; 
 Your bodies lesse, what measure hath defin'd ? 
 What art that mighty vastnesse ? Such high facts 
 The ancient Giants swoln with raging wind 
 Could not effect. A subtile Parallax, 
 A dark Eclipse do quite obscure their braving acts, 
 2 
 O the great might of mans high Phantasie ! 
 Which with a shade or a divided line, 
 That nought, this but a thin exilitie, 
 Can do farre more then strength enrag'd with tine, 
 Hoysted with haughty pride. That brood combine 
 To clamber up to heaven. Hill upon hill, 
 Ossa upon Olympus doth recline : 
 Their brawnie arms redoubled force doth fill, 
 While they their spirits summon t'effect their furious 
 will. 
 
 3 
 But all in vain, they want the inward skill. 
 What comes from heaven onely can there ascend. 
 Not rage nor tempest that this bulk doth fill 
 Can profit ought, but gently to attend 
 The souls still working, patiently to bend 
 Our mind to sifting reason, and clear light, 
 That strangely figur'd in our soul doth wend 
 Shifting its forms, still playing in our sight, 
 Till something it present that we shall take for right. 
 
 The busie soul it is that hither hent 
 By strength of reason, the true distancies 
 Of th' erring Planets, and the vast extent 
 Of their round bodies without outward eyes 
 Hath view'd, told their proportionalities, 
 Confounded sense by reasons strange report 
 ( But wiser he that on reason relies 
 Then stupid sense low-sunken into dirt) 
 This weapon I have got none from me may extort. 
 
 You stiff-standers for ag'd Ptolemee, 
 
 1 heartily praise your humble reverence 
 If willingly given to Antiquitie ; 
 
 But when of him in whom's your confidence, 
 Or your own reason and experience 
 In those same arts, you find those things are true 
 That utterly oppugne our outward sense, 
 Then are you forc'd to sense to bid adieu, 
 Not what your sense gainsayes to holden straight untrue. 
 
 Though contraire unto sense, though it be new 
 (But sooth to sayen th' earths motion is of tri'd 
 Antiquitie, as I above did shew : 
 In Philolaus and in Heraclide 
 Those subtile thoughts of old did close reside) 
 Yet reason ought to bear away the bell. 
 But irefull ignorance cannot abide 
 To be outtopd, reprochfully she '11 yell, 
 Call's mad, when her own self doth with foul furie swell. 
 
 But let them bark like band-dogs at the Moon, 
 That mindlesse passeth on in silencie : 
 I'll take my flight above this outward sunne, 
 Regardlesse of such fond malignitie, 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 77 
 
 Lift my self up in the Theologie 
 Of heavenly Plato. There I'll contemplate 
 The Archtype of this sunne, that bright Idee 
 Of steddie Good, that doth his beams dilate 
 Through all the worlds, all lives and beings propagate. 
 
 8 
 But yet in words to trifle I will deigne 
 A while : They may our mind fitly prepare 
 For higher flight ; we larger breath may gain 
 By a low hovering. These words they are 
 All found in that old Oracle of Clare. 
 That heavenly power -which Iao hight 
 The highest of all the Gods thou mayst declare, 
 In spring named Zeus, in summer Helios bright. 
 In autumn caltd Jao, Aides in brumall night. 
 
 9 
 
 These names do plainly denotate the sunne, 
 In Spring call'd Zeus, from life or kindly heat ; 
 In winter, 'cause the day's so quickly done, 
 He Aides hight, he is not long in sight ; 
 In Summer, 'cause he strongly doth us smite 
 With his hot darts, then Helios we him name 
 From Eloim or Eloah so hight ; 
 In Autumn Jao, Jehovah is the same : 
 So is the word deprav'd by an uncertain fame. 
 
 io 
 
 So great similitude twixt Phoebus light 
 
 And God, that God himself the Nations deem 
 
 The sunne. The learned Seventy 've boldly pight 
 
 A tent therein for the true Eloim ; 
 
 The sensible Deity you'll reckon him, 
 
 If Hermes words bear with you any sway ; 
 
 Or if you Christian Clerks do ought esteem, 
 
 In Davids odes they make Gods Christ a day ; 
 
 His father's then the sunne from whence this light doth 
 ray. 
 
 II 
 Then by all the wide worlds acknowledgement, 
 The sunne's a type of that eternall light 
 Which we call God, a fair delineament 
 Of that which Good in Plato's school is hight 
 His Tagathon with beauteous rayes bedight. 
 Let's now consult with their Theologie, 
 And that Idea with our inward sight 
 Behold, casheering sensibility 
 
 Then in clear reason view this correspondency. 
 
 12 
 
 One steddy Good, centre of essencies, 
 Unmoved Monad, that Apollo hight, 
 The Intellectuall sunne whose energies 
 Are all things that appear in vitall light, 
 Whose brightnesse passeth every creatures sight, 
 Yet round about him stird with gentle fire 
 All things do dance ; their being, action, might, 
 They thither do direct with strong desire, 
 To embosome him with close embracements they aspire. 
 
 13 
 Unseen, incomprehensible He moves 
 About himself each seeking entity 
 That never yet shall find that which it loves. 
 No finite thing shall reach infinity, 
 No thing dispers'd comprehend that Unity, 
 Yet in their ranks they seemly foot it round, 
 Trip it with joy at the worlds harmony 
 Struck with the pleasure of an amorous stound, 
 So dance they with fair flowers from unknown root 
 ycrownd. 
 
 H 
 Still falling short they never fail to seek, 
 Nor find they nothing by their diligence ; 
 They find repast, their lively longings eek 
 Rekindled still, by timely influence. 
 Thus all things in distinct circumference 
 Move about Him that satisfies them all. 
 Nor be they thus stird up by wary sense 
 Or foresight, or election rationall, 
 But blindly reel about the heart of Lives centrall. 
 
 15 
 
 So doth the Earth one of the erring Seven 
 Wheel round the fixed sunne, that is the shade 
 Of steddy Good, shining in this Out-heaven 
 With the rest of those starres that God hath made 
 Of baser matter, all which be array'd 
 With his far-shining light. They sing for joy, 
 They frisque about in circulings unstay'd, 
 Dance through the liquid air, and nimbly toy 
 
 While Sol keeps clear their sprite, consumes what may 
 accloy. 
 
 16 
 Better the indigent be mov'd, then he 
 That wanteth nought : He fills all things with light 
 And kindly heat : through his fecundity 
 Peoples the world ; by his exciting sprite 
 Wakens the plants, calls them out of deep night. 
 They thrust themselves into his fostring rayes, 
 Stretch themselves forth, stird by his quickning might. 
 And all the while their merry roundelayes 
 
 (As lightsome phansies deem) each Planet spritely playes. 
 
 17 
 But sooth to say that sound so subtile is 
 Made by percussion of th' ethereall fire 
 Against our air (if it be not transmisse 
 By its exility,) that none ought admire 
 That we no'te hear what well we mought desire 
 Heavens harmony. 'Cording to others lear 
 The sound's so big that it cannot retire 
 Into the windings of a mortall ear ; 
 No more than Egypt can Niles Catadupa bear. 
 
 There ought to be certain proportion 
 Betwixt the object and the outward sense. 
 
73 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Rash man that doth inferre negation 
 From thy dead ear, or non-experience. 
 Then let them dance and sing, raise influence 
 From lively motion, that preserves their sprite 
 From foul corruption : motion's the best sense 
 To keep off filth in children of cold Night, 
 Whose life is in dull matter ; but the sunne's all Light. 
 
 Therefore full safely he may steddy stond, 
 Unmov'd, at least not remov'd out of place : 
 I'll not deny but that he may turn round 
 On his own centre. So the steps we'll trace 
 Of Essence, Plato's On, which steddy stayes 
 And moves at once, that same Iao hight 
 In that old Clarian Oracle, that sayes 
 It is the sunne. This answer will aright 
 To Jove or Plato's On as done those schools descry 't. 
 
 That same first Being, Beauty, Intellect, 
 Turns to his father (of whom he was born) 
 In a brief instant. But who can detect 
 Such hidden mysteries? back mine eyes I'll turn, 
 Lest in this light like fluttering moth I burn. 
 Enough is shown of correspondency 
 Twixt this worlds sunne and centre of hid Morn, 
 The radiant light of the deep Deity. 
 Thus have I fairly prov'd the sunnes stability. 
 
 Then must the earth turn round, or we want day, 
 Or never be in night. Now I'll descend 
 Cloth'd with this truth. As wrathfull dogs do bay 
 At spectres solemn Cynthia doth send ; 
 So now I backward to the senses wend : 
 They'll bark at th' shape of my disguised mind, 
 As stranger wights, they wrathfully will rend 
 This uncouth habit. 'They no such thing find 
 Mongst their domestick forms, to whom they are more 
 kind. 
 
 And weaker reason which they wont misguide 
 Will deem all this nothing mysterious, 
 But my strong-winged Muse feeble to slide 
 Into false thoughts and dreams vertiginous, 
 And plainly judge us woxen furious, 
 Thus in our rage to shake the stable earth, 
 Whirling her round with turns prodigious ; 
 For she doth stedfast stand as it appear'th 
 From the unshaken buildings she so safely bear'th. 
 
 23 
 If she should move about, then would she sling 
 From of her self those fair extruded loads 
 Of carved stone : The air aloud would sing 
 With brushing trees : Beasts in their dark aboads 
 Would brained be by their own caves ; th' earth strowd 
 
 With strange destruction. All would shatter'd lie 
 In broken shivers. What mad frantick mood 
 Doth thus invade wary Philosophy, 
 That it so dotes on such a furious falsitie? 
 
 24 
 
 But still more subt'ly this cause to pursue, 
 The clouds would alwayes seem to rise from th' East, 
 Which sense and oft-experience proves untrue ; 
 They rise from all the quarters, South, North, West. 
 From every part, as .iEoIus thinketh best. 
 Again the Earths sad stupid gravity 
 Unfit for motion, shows her quiet rest : 
 Lastly an arrow shot unto the sky 
 Would not return unto his foot that let it fly. 
 
 25 
 Adde unto these that contrariety 
 Of motion, whenas the self same things 
 At the same time do back and forward hie : 
 As when for speed the rider fiercely dings 
 His horse with iron heel, layes the loose strings 
 Upon his neck, westward they swiftly scoure, 
 Whenas the Earth, finishing her dayly rings, 
 Doth Eastward make with all her might and power, 
 She quite hath run her stage at end of twice twelve houres. 
 
 26 
 
 These and like phansies do so strongly tye 
 The slower mind to aged Ptolemee, 
 That shamefull madnesse 't were for to deny 
 So plain a truth as they deem this to be. 
 But yet, alas ! if they could standen free 
 From prejudice, and heavie swaying sense 
 That dims our reason that it cannot see 
 What's the pure truth, enough in just defense 
 Of Pythagore we find though with small diligence. 
 
 27 
 One single truth concerning unity 
 Of sprights and bodies, and how one Form may 
 Inact a various Corporeity, 
 Keep't up together, and her might display 
 Through all the parts, make't constantly obey 
 The powerfull dictates of its centrall spright, 
 Which being one can variously play : 
 This lore if we but once had learnd aright, 
 All what was brought afore would vanish at first sight. 
 
 28 
 For that Magnetick might doth so combine 
 Earth, Water, Air, into one animate, 
 Whose soul or life so sweetly 't doth incline, 
 So surely, easly, as none can relate 
 But he that's exercis'd in every state 
 Of moving life. What ? Can the plastick spright 
 So variously his branching stock dilate 
 Downward to hell, upward to heaven bright, 
 And strangely figur'd leaves and flowers send into sight ? 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 79 
 
 Can one poore single Centre do all this 
 In a base weed that suddenly decayes? 
 And shall not the earths life that is transmisse 
 Through sea and air, and with its potent rayes 
 Informs all this (all this on that life stayes) 
 Shall't not obtain the like variety 
 Of inward ruling motion ? Your minds raise, 
 O sluggish men ! single centrality 
 You'l find shall do, whatere's admit by phantasie. 
 
 30 
 Now see if this clear apprehension 
 Will not with ease repell each argument 
 Which we rehears'd with an intention 
 For to refute. The earths swift movement, 
 Because 'tis naturall not violent, 
 Will never shatter buildings. With straight line 
 It binds down strongly each partic'larment 
 Of every edifice. All stones incline 
 Unto that Centre ; this doth stoutly all combine. 
 
 31 
 
 Nor is lesse naturall than circular motion, 
 Then this which each part to the centre drives : 
 So every stone on earth with one commotion 
 Goes round, and yet withall right stifly strives 
 To reach the centre, though it never dives 
 So deep. Who then so blind but plainly sees 
 How for our safety Nature well contrives, 
 Binding all close with down-propensities ? 
 But now we'll answer make to the loud-singing trees. 
 
 32 
 Walls, towers, trees, would stir up a strange noise, 
 If th' air stood still, while the earth is hurled round 
 As doth the switch oft shak'd by idle boyes 
 That please themselves in varying of the sound. 
 But this objection we with reason sound 
 Have well prevented, while we plainly taught 
 Earth, Water, Air, in one to be fast bound 
 By one spermatick spright, which easly raught 
 To each part : Earth, Sea, Air so powerfully hath it 
 caught. 
 
 33 
 
 All these as one round entire body move 
 Upon their common Poles ; that difficulty 
 Of stirring sounds, so clearly we remove. 
 That of the clouds with like facility 
 We straight shall chace away. In th' air they ly 
 And whirl about with it, and when some wind 
 With violence afore him makes them fly, 
 Then in them double motion we find, 
 Eastward they move, and whither by these blasts they're 
 inclin'd. 
 
 34 
 What they pretend of the Earths gravity, 
 Is nought but a long taken up conceit : 
 
 A stone that downward to the earth doth hy 
 Is not more heavie then dry straws that jet 
 Up to a ring, made of black shining jeat. 
 Each thing doth tend to the loud-calling might 
 Of sympathy. So 'tis a misconceit 
 That deems the earth the onely heavie weight : 
 They ken not the strange power of the strong central! 
 spright. 
 
 35 
 Were there a shiver cut from off the Moon 
 And cast quite off from that round entire masse, 
 Would't fall into our mouths ? No, it would soon 
 Make back to th' centre from whence forc'd it was : 
 The same in Mars and Sol would come to passe, 
 And all the stars that have their proper centre. 
 So gravity is nought but close to presse 
 Unto one Magick point, there near to enter ; 
 Each sympathetick part doth boldly it adventure. 
 
 36 
 Thus in each starry globe all parts may tend 
 Unto one point, and meantime 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 heavie found. 
 But from that strong down-pulling centrall sway, 
 Which hinders not but that it may turn round, 
 Sith that it moves not a contrary way ; 
 Which answer I will bend against the fifth assay. 
 
 37 
 An arrow shot into the empty air, 
 Which straight returning to the bowmans foot, 
 The Earths stability must proven clear. 
 Thus these bad archers do at random shoot, 
 Whose easie errour I do thus confute. 
 The arrow hath one spirit with this sphere, 
 Forc'd upward turns with it, mov'd by the root 
 Of naturall motion. So when back't doth bear 
 It self, still Eastward turns with motions circular. 
 
 38 
 So 'tis no wonder when it hath descended 
 It falleth back to th' place from whence it flew, 
 Sith all this while its circular course hath bended 
 Toward the East, and in proportion due 
 That arcuall Eastern motion did pursue : 
 Nearer the earth the slower it must go ; 
 These Arks be lesse, but in the heavens blew 
 Those Arks increase, it must not be so slow, 
 Thus must it needs return unto its idle bow. 
 
 39 
 Nor ought we wonder that it doth conform 
 Its motions to the circles of the aire, 
 Sith water in a wooden bucket born 
 Doth fit itself unto each periphere, 
 By hight or depth, as you shall change the sphere. 
 So lowly set more water 'twill contain, 
 
8o 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 'Cause its round tumour higher then doth bear 
 It self up from the brims. So may't be sayen 
 The lowlier man the larger graces doth obtain. 
 
 40 
 But now to answer to the last objection, 
 Tis not impossible one thing to move 
 Contrary wayes, which by a fit 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-cleard the way) 
 More plainly prove this seeming paradox 
 And make this truth shine brighter then midday, 
 Neglect dull sconses mowes and idle mocks. 
 
 constant hearts, as stark as Thracian rocks, 
 Well-grounded in grave ignorance, that scorn 
 Reasons sly force, its light slight subtile strokes. 
 Sing we to these wast hills, dern, deaf, forlorn, 
 
 Or to the cheerfull children of the quick-ey'd Morn ? 
 
 42 
 To you we sing that live in purer light, 
 Escap'd the thraldome of down-drooping sense, 
 Whose nimble spirit and clear piercing sight 
 Can easly judge of every conference 
 Withouten prejudice, with patience 
 Can weigh the moments of each reason brought ; 
 WTiile others in tempestuous vehemence 
 Blow all away with bitter blasts. Untought 
 In subtilties they shew themselves in jangling stout. 
 
 43 
 
 1 have the barking of bold sense confuted, 
 Its clamorous tongue thus being consopite, 
 With reasons easie shall I be well-suited, 
 To show that Pythagore's position's right. 
 Copernicks, or whosever dogma't hight. 
 The first is that that's wisely signifi'd 
 
 By Moses Maymons son, a learned wight, 
 Who saith each good Astronomer is ty'd 
 To lessen the heavens motions vainly multiply 'd, 
 
 44 
 And the foul botches of false feigned Orbs : 
 Whose uselesse number reason must restrain, 
 That oft the loose luxuriant phansie curbs, 
 And in just bounds doth warily contain : 
 To use more means then needs is all in vain. 
 Why then, O busie sonnes of Ptolemee ! 
 Do you that vast star-bearing sphere constrain 
 To hurl about with such celerity, 
 When th' earth may move without such strange velocity ? 
 
 45 
 What needlesse phansy's this that that huge sphere 
 In one short moment must thus whirl around, 
 That it must fly six hundred thousand sheere 
 Of Germane miles. If that will not confound, 
 For pomp adde fourty thousand more, that 'bound , 
 Three thousand more if it were requisite, 
 You might annex, and more if they have found 
 The measure right ; whenas the earth's slow flight 
 One sixteenth of a mile her scarcely doth transmit. 
 
 46 
 But if this All be liquid, pervious, 
 One fine Ethereall (which reason right 
 Will soon admit : for 'tis ridiculous 
 Thus for to stud the heaven with nails bright, 
 The stars in fluid sky will standen tight, 
 As men to feigne the earth in the soft aire 
 To be unmov'd) How will proportion fit ? 
 So vast a difference there doth appear 
 Of motions in those stars that the same bignesse bear. 
 
 47 
 Besides that difficulty will remain 
 Of unconceivable swift motion 
 In the equinoctiall stars, where some contain 
 This earthy globes mighty dimension, 
 Ten thousand times twise told. They hurry on 
 With the same swiftnesse I set down before, 
 And with more pains. A globes extension, 
 The bigger that it grows, groweth still more 
 Nigh to a flat fac'd figure, and finds resistance sore. 
 
 48 
 But now that all the heavens be liquid, hence 
 I'll fetch an argument. Those higher stars 
 They may as well in water hang suspense 
 As do the Planets. Venus orb debars 
 Not Mars, nor enters he with knocks and jars ; 
 The soft fine yielding ^Ether gives admission : 
 So gentle Venus to Mercurius dares 
 Descend, and finds an easie intromission, 
 Casts ope that azur curtain by a swift discission. 
 
 49 
 That famous star nail'd down in Cassiopee, 
 How was it hammer'd in your solid sky? 
 What pinsers pull'd it out again, that we 
 Nor longer see it, whither did it fly? 
 Astronomers say 'twas least as high 
 As the eighth sphere. It gave no parallax, 
 No more then those light lamps that there we spy. 
 But prejudice before herself she'll tax 
 Of holy writ and the heavens she'll make a nose of wax. 
 
 50 
 What man will now that's not vertiginous 
 Hurrie about his head these severall fights 
 So mighty vast, with so voracious 
 And rapid course whirling them day and night 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Si 
 
 About the earth, when the earths motion might 
 Save that so monstrous labour, with lesse pains, 
 Even infinitely lesse ? But thoughts empight 
 Once in the mind do so possesse the brains, 
 That hard it is to wash out those deep ancient stains. 
 
 51 
 
 Two things there be whose reason's nothing clear : 
 Those cool continuall breathings of East wind 
 Under the line ; the next high Comets are, 
 In which Philosophers three motions find ? 
 Concerning which men hitherto are blind, 
 That have not mov'd the earth unto their aid ; 
 Diurnall and an annuall course they have mind, 
 Like to the sunnes, beside, by what they're sway'd 
 To North or South. This myst'ry's easly thus display'd. 
 
 52 
 The Ecliptick course, and that diurnall moving, 
 Is but apparent as the sunnes, not true : 
 But that the earth doth move, that still wants proving. 
 You'll say. Then if you will, these Comets shew 
 One proof for her two motions. Whence issue 
 Those meteors turnings ? what shall hale them on, 
 And guide their steps, that in proportion due 
 They dance Sols measures ? what occasion 
 Or fruit can be of that strange double motion ? 
 
 S3 
 
 Nought but the Earths circumvolution 
 Doth cause this sight, and but in outward show 
 This sight of double Sunlike motion, 
 Seen in the Comets. For the winds that blow 
 Under the ^Equinoctiall, who doth know 
 Any other cause, that still they breathe from th' East ? 
 That constant feat from whence else can it flow, 
 Save from the Earths swift hurrying from the West ? 
 Mid part is strongliest rouz'd, the Poles do sleep in rest. 
 
 54 
 Wherefore men under th' ^Equinoctiall, 
 Where the earths course most rapid is and swift. 
 Sensibly 're dash'd 'gainst that Aereall 
 Pure liquid essence. That clear aire is left 
 Not snatch'd away so fast, not quite bereft 
 Of its own Nature, nor like th' other skie 
 Unmoved quite ; but slow-pac'd is ycleft 
 And driven close together ; sensibly 
 So feel we that fine aire that seems from East to flie. 
 
 55 
 
 Those parts be in farre greater puritie 
 Devoid of earthy vapours. Thence it is 
 They're not so easly turn'd by sympathie, 
 The air there having lesse of earthinesse ; 
 So that they move not with one speedinesse, 
 The earth and it. Yet curious men have fun 
 Something like this, even in the mid-land Seas 
 Ships foure times sooner the same stages run, 
 When Westward they do flie, then when they there 
 begun. 
 
 *9 
 
 56 
 
 But that disgracement of Philosophic, 
 From flux and reflux of the Ocean main 
 Their monethly and yearly change ; this Theorie 
 Might take't away and shew the causes plain. 
 Some parts of th' Earth do much more switnesse gain. 
 Whenas their course goes whirling on one way 
 With th' annuall motion, which must needs constrain 
 The fluid Sea with unexpected sway : 
 Long time it were this mystery fully to display. 
 
 57 
 Wherefore I'll let it passe, my self betake 
 Unto some reasons Astronomicall, 
 To which if 't please the nimble mind t' awake 
 And shake off prejudice, that wont forestall 
 The ablest wit, I fear not but he'll fall 
 Into the same opinion, magnifie 
 That subtile spirit that hath made this All, 
 And hath half-hid his work from mortall eye, 
 To sport and play with souls in sweet philosophic 
 
 58 
 But with crabb'd mind wisdome will nere consort, 
 Make her abode with a sowr ingenie ; 
 That harmlesse spright her self will nere disport 
 With bloudy zeal, currish malignitie, 
 With wrathfull ignorance, grave hypocrisie. 
 Mirth, and Free-mindednesse, Simplicitie, 
 Patience, Discreetnesse, and Benignitie, 
 Faithfulnesse, [and] heart-struck Teneritie ; 
 These be the lovely play-mates of pure veritie. 
 
 59 
 The Eternall Son of God, who Logos hight, 
 Made all things in a fit proportion ; 
 Wherefore, I wote, no man that judgeth right 
 In Heaven will make such a confusion, 
 That courses of unlike extension, 
 Vastly unlike, in like time shall be run 
 By the flight stars. Such huge distension 
 Of place, shews that their time is not all one ; 
 Saturn his ring no'te finish as quick as the moon. 
 
 60 
 Yet if the earth stand stupid and unmov'd, 
 This needs must come to passe. For they go round 
 In every twice twelve hours, as is prov'd 
 By dayly experience. But it would confound 
 The worlds right order, if 't were surely found 
 A reall motion. Wherefore let it be 
 In them but seeming, but a reall round 
 In th' Earth it self. The world so's setten free 
 From that untoward disproportionalitie. 
 
 61 
 
 For so the courses of the erring Seven 
 With their own orbs will fitly well agree ; 
 Their Annuall periods in the liquid Heaven 
 They onely finish then : which as they be 
 
82 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Or lesse or greater, so the time they flie 
 In their own circlings hath its difference. 
 The Moon a moneth, Saturn years ten times three ; 
 Those have the least and bigg'st circumference : 
 So all their times and orbs have mutuall reference. 
 
 62 
 Next light's, the Planets dark opacitie, 
 Which long time hath been found in the low Moon : 
 Hills, Valleys, and such like asperitie 
 Through optick glasses thence have plainly shone : 
 By the same trick it hath been clearly shown 
 That Venus Moon-like grows corniculate 
 What time her face with flusher light is blown : 
 Some such like things others have contemplate 
 In Mercurie ; about the Sunne both circulate. 
 
 63 
 
 When Venus is the furthest off from us, 
 Then is she in her full. When in her full, 
 She seemeth least ; which proves she's exterous 
 Beyond the Sunne, and further off doth roll. 
 But when her circling nearer down doth pull, 
 Then 'gins she swell, and waxen bug with horn, 
 But loose her light, parts clad with darknesse dull 
 She shows to us, She and Mercury ne're born 
 Farre from the Sunne, proves that about him both do 
 turn. 
 
 64 
 
 They both opake, as also is the Moon 
 That turns about the earth (so turn those foure 
 'Bout Jupiter, tend him as he doth run 
 His annuall course). That Tellus so may scoure 
 Th' Ethereall Plain, and have the self-same power 
 To run her circuits in the liquid skie 
 About the Sunne, the mind that doth not lour, 
 Drooping in earthy dregs, will not deny, 
 Sitfa we so well have prov'd the starres opacitie. 
 
 65 
 
 About the great the lesser lamps do dance, 
 The Medicean foure reel about Jove ; 
 Two round old Saturn without Nominance, 
 Luna about the earth doth nimbly move : 
 Then all as it doth seemly well behove, 
 About the bigg'st of all great Phoebus hight 
 With joy and jollitie needs round must rove, 
 Tickled with pleasure of his heat and light : 
 What tumbling tricks they play in his farre-piercing 
 sight ! 
 
 66 
 Next argument (could I it well expresse 
 With Poets pen) it hath so mighty force, 
 That an ingenious man 'twould stoutly presse, 
 To give assent unto the Annuall course 
 Of this our earth. But prejudice the nurse 
 Of ignorance, stoppeth all free confession, 
 
 Als keeps the way that souls have not recourse 
 
 To purer reason, chok'd with that oppression : 
 
 This argument is drawn from the stars retrocession. 
 
 67 
 
 Planets go back, stand still, and forward flie 
 
 With unexpected swiftnesse : What's the cause 
 
 That they thus stagger in the plain-pav'd skie ? 
 
 Or stupid stand, as if some dull repose 
 
 Did numb their spirits and their sinews lose ? 
 
 Here 'gins the wheelwork of the Epicycle : 
 
 Thus patch they Heaven more botch'dly then old 
 
 cloths. 
 This pretty sport doth make my heart to tickle 
 With laughter, and mine eyes with merry tears to trickle. 
 
 68 
 O daring phansie ! that dost thus compile 
 The Heavens from hasty thoughts, such as fall next ; 
 Wary Philosophers cannot but smile 
 At such feat gear, as thy rude rash context. 
 An heap of Orbs disorderly perplext, 
 Thrust in on every hint of motion, 
 Must be the wondrous art of Nature, next 
 Here working under God. Thus, thus vain man 
 Intitles alwayes God to his opinion ; 
 
 69 
 
 Thinks every thing is done as he conceives ; 
 Would bind all men to his religion ; 
 All the world else of freedome he bereaves, 
 He and his God must have Dominion, 
 The truth must have her propagation : 
 That is his thought, which he hath made a God, 
 That furious hot inust impression 
 Doth so disturb his veins, that all abroad 
 With rage he roves, and all gainsayers down hath trod. 
 
 70 
 
 But to return from whence my Muse hath flown, 
 All this disordred superfluity 
 Of Epicycles, or what else is shown 
 To salve the strange absurd enormity 
 Of staggering motions in the azure skie ; 
 Both Epicycles and those turns enorm 
 Would all prove nought, if you would but let flie 
 The earth in the Ecliptick line yborn, 
 As I could well describe in Mathematick form. 
 
 So could I (that's another argument) 
 From this same principle most clearly prove 
 In regresse and in progress different 
 Of the free Planets : Why Saturn should rove 
 With shorter startings, give back lesse then Jove ; 
 Jove lesse then Mars ; why Venus flincheth out 
 More then Mercurius ; why Saturn moves 
 Ofter in those back jets then Jove doth shoot ; 
 But Mercury more oft then Venus and Mars stout, 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 83 
 
 72 
 And why the Sunne escap'd an Epicycle, 
 Whenas th' old prodigall Astronomie 
 On th' other six bestowed that needlesse cycle ; 
 Why Saturn, Jove, and Mars be very nigh 
 Unto the Earth, show bigger in our eye 
 At Eventide when they rise Acronicall ; 
 Why far reraov'd with so vast distancy 
 When they go down with setting Cronicall : 
 All these will plain appear from th' earths course Annuall. 
 
 73 
 Many other reasons from those heauenly motions 
 Might well be drawn, but with exility 
 Of subtile Mathematicks obscure notions, 
 A Poets pen so fitly no'te agree ; 
 
 And curious men will judge't a vagrancy 
 To start thus from my scope. My pitched end 
 Was for to prove the immortality 
 Of humane souls : But if you well attend, 
 My ship to the right port by this bow'd course did bend. 
 
 74 
 For I have clearly show'd that stout resistence 
 Of the pure soul against the Mundane spright 
 And body, that's the lower mans consistence ; 
 How it doth quell by force of reason right 
 Those grosse impressions which our outward sight 
 Seald in our lower life : From whence we see 
 That we have proper independent might, 
 In our own mind, behold our own Idee, 
 Which needs must prove the souls sure immortality. 
 
 The Argument of 
 
 PSYCHATHANASIA, 
 
 Or, 
 
 The Immortality of the Soul. 
 
 Book III. Cant. 4. 
 
 Justice, true faith in the first good. 
 
 Our best persuasion 
 Of blest eternity unmov'd, 
 
 The earths conflagration. 
 
 T doth me good to think what things will 
 follow 
 That well-prov'd thesis in my former song ; 
 How we in liquid heavens more swift then 
 swallow 
 Do sail on Tellus lap, that doth among 
 The other starres of right not rudely throng, 
 We have what highest thoughts of man desire : 
 But highest thoughts of man are vain and wrong. 
 In outward heaven we burn with hellish fire, 
 Hate, envie, couetise, revenge, lust, pride and ire. 
 
 In the eighth sphear Andromeda from chains 
 Is not releast ; fearfull Orion flies 
 The dreadfull Scorpion. Alas ! what gains 
 Then is't to live in the bright starry skies ? 
 It no man can exeem from miseries. 
 All you that seek for true felicity 
 Rend your own hearts : There God himself descries 
 Himself ; there dwels his beautious Majesty ; 
 There shines the sun of righteousnesse in goodly glee. 
 
 And you who boldly all Gods providence 
 Confine to this small ball, that Tellus hight, 
 And dream not of a mutuall influence, 
 And how that she may shine with beames bright 
 At a farre distance clad with Sols lent light, 
 As Venus and the Moon ; O you that make 
 
8 4 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 This earth Gods onely darling dear delight, 
 All th' other orbs merely for this orbs sake 
 So swiftly for to run, with labour never slack, 
 
 To dance attendance on their Princesse Earth 
 In their quick circuits, and with anger keen 
 Would bite him, that or serious or in mirth 
 Doubts the prerogative of your great Queen ! 
 Best use of that your Theory, I ween, 
 Is this ; that as your selves monopolize 
 All the whole world, so your selves back again 
 You wholly give to God. Who can devise 
 A better way ? Mans soul to God this closely tyes. 
 
 5 
 
 But if the Earth doth thankfully reflect 
 Both light and influence to other starres, 
 As well as they to it, where's the defect ? 
 That sweet subordination it mars ; 
 Gods love to us then not so plain appears : 
 For then the starres be mutually made 
 One for another : Each all the good then bears 
 Of th' Universe, for 'tis single labour paid 
 With the joint pains of all that in the heavens wade. 
 
 Rare reason ! why ! then God would be too good. 
 What judgeth so but envie, and vain pride, 
 And base contract self-love? which that free floud 
 Of bounty hath so confidently tied 
 Unto itself alone. Large hearts deride 
 This pent hypocrisie. Is he good to me ? 
 That grace I would not ere should be deny'd 
 Unto my fellow : My felicity 
 Is multiply'd, when others I like happy see. 
 
 But if the rolling starres with mutuall rayes 
 Serve one another ; sweet fraternity 
 And humble love, with such like lore we '11 raise, 
 While we do see Gods great benignity 
 Thus mutually reflected in the skie, 
 And these round-moving worlds communicate 
 One with another by spread sympathy : 
 This all things friendly will concatenate : 
 But let more hardy wits that truth determinate. 
 
 It me behoves t' hold forward on my way, 
 Leaving this uncouth strange Philosophy, 
 In which my lightsome pen too long did play, 
 As rigid men in sad seuerity 
 
 May deem ; but we right carelesse leave that free 
 Unto their censure. Now more weighty thought 
 Doth sway our mind, thinking how all doth flee 
 Whatever we have painfully ytaught ; 
 So little fruits remain of all my skill hath wraught. 
 
 O th' emptinesse of vain Philosophy ; 
 When thin-spun reason and exile discourse 
 Make the soul creep through a straight Theory, 
 Whither the blunter mind can never force 
 Her self ; yet oft, alas ! the case is worse 
 Of this so subtile wight, when dangers deep 
 Approch his life, then his who learnings sourse 
 Did never drink of, nere his lips did steep 
 In Plato's springs, nor with low gown the dust did sweep. 
 
 IO 
 
 Certes such knowledge is a vanity, 
 And hath no strength t' abide a stormy stour ; 
 Such thin slight clothing, will not keep us dry 
 When the grim heavens, all black and sadly soure 
 With rage and tempest, plenteously down shower 
 Great flouds of rain. Dispread exility 
 Of slyer reasons fails : Some greater power 
 Found in a lively vigorous Unity 
 With God, must free the soul from this perplexity. 
 
 II 
 
 Say now the dagger touch'd thy trembling breast, 
 Couldst thou recall the reasons I have shown 
 To prove th' immortall state of men deceast ? 
 Evolved reason cannot stand at one 
 Stoutly to guard thy soul from passion. 
 They passe successively like sand i' th' glasse ; 
 While thou look'st upon this the other 's gone. 
 But there's a plight of soul such virtue has 
 Which reasons weak assistance strangely doth surpasse. 
 
 12 
 
 The just and constant man, a multitude 
 Set upon mischief cannot him constrain 
 To do amisse by all their uprores rude ; 
 Not for a tyrants threat will he ere stain 
 His inward honour. The rough Adrian 
 Tost with unquiet winds doth nothing move 
 His steddy heart. Much pleasure he doth gain 
 To see the glory of his Master Jove, 
 When his drad darts with hurrying light through all do 
 rove. 
 
 13 
 
 If Heaven and Earth should rush with a great noise, 
 He fearlesse stands ; he knows whom he doth trust, 
 Is confident of his souls after joyes, 
 Though this vain bulk were grinded into dust. 
 Strange strength resideth in the soul that's just, 
 She feels her power how't commands the sprite 
 Of the low man, vigorously finds she must 
 Be independent of such feeble might, 
 Whose motions dare not 'pear before her awfull sight. 
 
 H 
 
 But yet my Muse, still take a higher flight, 
 Sing of Platonick Faith in the first Good, 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 85 
 
 That Faith that doth our souls to God unite 
 So strongly, tightly, that the rapid floud 
 Of this swift flux of things, nor with foul mud 
 Can stain, nor strike us off from th' unity, 
 Wherein we stedfast stand, unshak'd, unmov'd, 
 Engrafted by a deep vitality : 
 The prop and stay of things is Gods benignity. 
 
 15 
 
 Als is the rule of his Oeconomie : 
 No other cause the creature brought to light 
 But the first Goods pregnant fecundity : 
 He to himself is perfect full delight ; 
 He wanteth nought, with his own beams bedight 
 He glory has enough. O blasphemy ! 
 That envy gives to God or soure despight ! 
 Harsh hearts ! that feign in God a tyranny, 
 Under pretense t' encrease his sovereign Majesty. 
 
 16 
 When nothing can to Gods own self accrew, 
 Who's infinitely happy ; sure the end 
 Of this creation simply was to shew 
 His flowing goodnesse, which he doth out-send 
 Not for himself ; for nought can him amend ; 
 But to his creature doth his good impart, 
 This infinite Good through all the world doth wend 
 To fill with heavenly blisse each willing heart : 
 So the free Sunne doth 'light and 'liven every part. 
 
 17 
 
 This is the measure of Gods providence, 
 The key of knowledge, the first fair Idee, 
 The eye of truth, the spring of living sense, 
 Whence sprout Gods secrets, the sweet mystery 
 Of lasting life, eternall charity. 
 But you O bitter men and soure of sprite ! 
 Which brand Gods name with such foul infamy 
 As though poor humane race he did or slight, 
 Or curiously view to do them some despight, 
 
 And all to shew his mighty excellency, 
 His uncontrolled strength : fond men ! areed, 
 Is't not as great an act from misery 
 To keep the feeble, as his life to speed 
 With fatall stroke? The weak shak'd whisling reed 
 Shows Boreas wondrous strong ! but ignorance 
 And false conceit is the foul spirits meed ; 
 Gods lovely life hath there no enterance ; 
 Hence their fond thoughts for truth they vainly do 
 advance. 
 
 19 
 If God do all things simply at his pleasure 
 Because he will, and not because its good, 
 So that his actions will have no set measure ; 
 Is't possible it should be understood 
 What he intends ? I feel that he is lov'd 
 Of my dear soul, and know that I have born 
 
 Much for his sake ; yet is it not hence prov'd 
 That I shall live, though I do sigh and mourn 
 To find his face ; his creatures wish he'll slight and scorn. 
 
 When I breathe out my utmost vitall breath, 
 And my dear spirit to my God commend, 
 Yet some foul feigne close lurking underneath 
 My serious humble soul from me may rend : 
 So to the lower shades down we shall wend, 
 Though I in hearts simplicity expected 
 A better doom ; sith I my steps did bend 
 Toward the will of God, and had detected 
 Strong hope of lasting life, but now I am rejected. 
 
 Nor of well-being, nor subsistency 
 Of our poor souls, when they do hence depart, 
 Can any be assur'd, if liberty 
 We give to such odde thoughts, that thus pervert 
 The laws of God, and rashly do assert 
 That will rules God, but Good rules not Gods will. 
 Whatere from right, love, equity, doth start, 
 For ought we know then God may act that ill, 
 Onely to show his might, and his free mind fulfill. 
 
 O belch of hell ! O horrid blasphemy ! 
 That Heavens unblemish'd beauty thus dost stain 
 And brand Gods nature with such infamy : 
 Can Wise, "Just, Good, do ought that's harsh or vain ? 
 All what he doth is for the creatures gain, 
 Not seeking ought from us for his content : 
 What is a drop unto the Ocean main ? 
 All he intends is our accomplishment, 
 His being is self-full, self-joy'd, self-excellent. 
 
 23 
 
 He his fair beams through all has freely sent : 
 Purge but thy soul that thou mayst take them in. 
 With froward hypocrite he never went, 
 That finds pretexts to keep his darling sinne. 
 Through all the Earth this Sprite takes pains to winne 
 Unto himself such as be simply true, 
 And with malignant pride resist not him, 
 But strive to do what he for right doth shew ; 
 So still a greater light he brings into their view. 
 
 24 
 All Lives in severall circumference 
 Look up unto him and expect their food ; 
 He opes his hand, showrs down their sustinence : 
 So all things be yfild with their wish'd good, 
 All drink, are satisfi'd from this free floud. 
 But circling life that yet unsettled is 
 Grows straight, as it is further still remov'd 
 From the first simple Good, obtains lesse blisse, 
 Sustains sharp pains inflicted by just Nemesis. 
 
86 
 
 THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 25 
 But why do I my soul loose and disperse 
 With mouldring reason, that like sand doth flow. 
 Life close united with that Good, a verse 
 Cannot declare, nor its strange virtue show. 
 That's it holds up the soul in all her wo, 
 That death, nor hell, nor any change doth fray. 
 Who walks in light knows whither he doth go ; 
 Our God is light, we children of the day. 
 God is our strength and hope, what can us then dismay? 
 
 26 
 Goodnesse 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 mens souls deaths hests shall not obey. 
 Where there's no incompossibility 
 Of things, Gods goodnesse needs must bear the sway. 
 You virtuous brood take't for sure verity, 
 Your souls shall not fall short of blest eternity. 
 
 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 left argument, so fairly well 
 Set down, right strongly the unsettled spright 
 To have confirmed at my last far-well : 
 But contrair forces they bring into sight, 
 And proudly do provoke me with that rout to fight. 
 
 27 
 Whence was't, say they, that God the creature made 
 No sooner? why did infinite delay 
 Precede his work? should God his goodnesse staid 
 So long a time ? why did he not display 
 From infinite years this out-created ray f 
 The mighty starres why not inhabited, 
 When God may souls proportion to their clay 
 As well as to this earth ? why not dispred 
 The world withouten bounds, endlesse uncompassed? 
 
 28 
 Poore souls ! why were they put into this cave 
 Of misery, if they can well exist 
 Without the body ? Why will not God save 
 All mankind? His great wisdome if it list 
 Could so contrive that they'd at last desist 
 From sinning, fallen into some providence 
 That sternly might rebuke them that have mist 
 Their way, and work in them true penitence : 
 Thus might they turn to God with double diligence. 
 
 29 
 Why be not damned souls devoyd of sense, 
 If nothing can from wickednesse reclaime, 
 Rather then fry in pain and vehemence 
 Of searching agony ? or why not frame 
 
 Another form, so with new shape and name 
 Again to turn to life ? One centrall spright 
 Why may't not many forms in it contain, 
 Which may be wak'd by some magnetick might, 
 'Cording as is the matter upon which they light ? 
 
 30 
 
 For when two severall kinds by Venus knit 
 Do cause a birth, from both the soul doth take 
 A tincture ; but if free it were transmit 
 Uncloth'd with th' others seed, then it would make 
 One simple form ; for then they could not slake 
 One th' others working. Why is the World still 
 Stark nought, through malice, or through blind mis- 
 take? 
 Why had the first-made man such a loose will, 
 That his innumerous of-spring he should fouly spill. 
 
 31 
 Why was not this unlucky world dissolv'd 
 As soon as that unhappy Adam fell? 
 I itch till of this knot I be resolv'd : 
 So many myriads tumble down to hell, 
 Although partakers of Gods holy spell. 
 Beside, tis said, they that do not partake 
 Of Christian lore, for ever they must dwell 
 With cursed fiends, and burn in brimstone lake : 
 Such drery drad designes do make my heart to quake. 
 
 32 
 One of a multitude of myriads 
 Shall not be sav'd but broyl in scorching wo ? 
 Innumerous mischiefs then to mischiefs addes 
 This worlds continuance if that be so : 
 111 infinitely more then good doth grow. 
 So God would show much more benignity 1 
 If he the ribs of heaven about would strow. 
 Powder the earth ; choke all vitality, 
 Call back the creature to its ancient nullity. 
 
 33 
 
 But thou whoere thou art that thus doth strive 
 With fierce assault my groundwork to subvert, 
 And boldly dost into Gods secrets dive, 
 Base fear my manly face no'te make m' avert. 
 In that odde question which thou first didst stert 
 I'll plainly prove thine incapacity, 
 And force thy feeble feet back to revert, 
 That cannot climb so high a mystery : 
 I'll shew thee strange perplexed inconsistency. 
 
 34 
 Why was this world from all infinity 
 Not made? say'st thou : why ? could it be so made 
 Say I ? For well observe the sequency : 
 If this Out-world continually hath wade 
 Through a long long-spun-time that never had 
 Beginning, then there as few circulings 
 Have been in the quick Moon as Saturn sad ; 
 And still more plainly this clear truth to sing, 
 As many years as dayes or fleeting houres have been. 
 
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 87 
 
 35 
 For things that we conceive are infinite, 
 One th' other no'te surpasse in quantity. 
 So I have prov'd with clear convincing light, 
 This world could never from infinity- 
 Been made. Certain deficiency 
 Doth alwayes follow evolution : 
 Nought's infinite but tight eternity, 
 Close thrust into itself : extension 
 That's infinite implies a contradiction. 
 
 36 
 So then for ought we know this world was made 
 So soon as such a Nature could exist ; 
 And though that it continue, never fade, 
 Yet never will it be that that long twist 
 Of time prove infinite, though nere desist 
 From running still. But we may safely say 
 Time past compar'd with this long future list, 
 Doth show as if the world but yesterday 
 Were made, and in due time Gods glory out may ray. 
 
 37 
 Then this short night and ignorant dull ages 
 Will quite be swallowed in oblivion ; 
 And though this hope by many surly Sages 
 Be now derided, yet they'll all be gone 
 In a short time, like Bats and Owls yflone 
 At dayes approch. This will hap certainly 
 At this worlds shining conflagration. 
 Fayes, Satyrs, Goblins the night merrily 
 May spend, but ruddy Sol shall make them all to fly. 
 
 38 
 The roaring Lions and drad beasts of prey 
 Rule in the dark with pitious cruelty ; 
 But harmlesse man is maister of the day, 
 Which doth his work in pure simplicity : 
 God blesse his honest usefull industry. 
 But pride and covetize, ambition, 
 Riot, revenge, self love, hypocrisie, 
 Contempt of goodnesse, forc'd opinion ; 
 These and such like do breed the worlds confusion. 
 
 39 
 But sooth to say though my triumphant Muse 
 Seemeth to vaunt as in got victory, 
 And with puissant stroke the head to bruize 
 Of her stifle foe, and daze his phantasie, 
 Captive his reason, dead each faculty : 
 Yet in her self so strong a force withstands 
 That of her self afraid, she'll not aby, 
 Nor keep the field. She'll fall by her own hand 
 As Ajax once laid Ajax dead upon the strand. 
 
 40 
 For thus her self by her own self's oppos'd ; 
 The Heavens, the Earth, the universall Frame 
 Of living Nature, God so soon disclos'd 
 As he could do, or she receive the same. 
 All times delay since that must turn to blame, 
 And what cannot he do that can be done ? 
 And what might let but by th' all-powerfull Name 
 Or Word of God, the Worlds Creation 
 More suddenly were made then mans swift thought can 
 runne. 
 
 41 
 
 Wherefore that Heavenly Power or is as young 
 As this Worlds date ; or else some needlesse space 
 Of time was spent, before the earth did clung 
 So close unto her self and seas embrace 
 Her hollow breast ; and if that time surpasse 
 A finite number, then infinity 
 Of years before this Worlds Creation passe. 
 So that the durance of the Deity 
 We must contract, or strait his full Benignity. 
 
 42 
 But for the cradle of the Cretian y&i'c. 
 And guardians of his vagient Infancie 
 What sober man but sagely will reprove ? 
 Or drown the noise of the fond Dactyli 
 By laughter loud ? Dated Divinitie 
 Certes is but the dream of a drie brain : 
 God maim'd in goodnesse, inconsistencie ; 
 Wherefore my troubled mind is now in pain 
 Of a new birth, which this one Canto'll not contain. 
 
 Nihil tamen frequentius inter Autores occvrrit, qudm 
 ut omnia aded ex modulo fere sensuum suorum ecstimant, 
 ut ea qua insuper infinitis rerum spatiis cxtare possunl, 
 sive superbe sive imprudenter rejiciant ; quin &• ea 
 omnia in usum suum fabricata fuisse glorientur, perinae 
 facientes ac si pediculi human um caput, aut pulices 
 sinum muliebrem propter se solos condita exist imarait, 
 edque demum ex gradibus saltibiisque suis metirentur. 
 The Lord Herbert in his De Causis Errorum. 
 
 De generali totius hujus mundi aspectabilis construc- 
 tione ut recte Philosophemur duo sunt imprimis observ- 
 anda : Unum ut attcndentes ad infinitum Dei potent iatn 
 
 6» bonitatcm, ni' vereamur nimis ampla & pulchra Gf 
 absoluta ejus opera imaginari : sed e contra caveamus, 
 ne si quos forte limites nobis non certd cognitos, in ipsis 
 supponamus, non satis magnifice de creatoris potcntia 
 sen I ire videamur. 
 
 Alterum, ut eliam caveamus, tie nimis superbe de nobis 
 ipsis sentiamus. Quodfieret non modb, si quos limites 
 nobis nulla cognitos ratione, nee divind revelatione, 
 mundo vellemus afiingere, tanquam si vis nostra cogita- 
 tion is, ultra id quod a Deo revera factum est ferri posset ; 
 sed etiam maxime, si res omncs propter nos solos, ab illo 
 creatas esse fingeremus. Renatus Des Cartes in his 
 Princip. Philosoph. the third part. 
 
Democritus Platoniflans, 
 
 OR 
 
 AN ESSAT 
 
 upon the 
 
 INFINITY OF WORLDS 
 
 out of 
 
 Platonick Principles. 
 
 Annexed 
 
 To this lecond part of the Song 
 
 of the 
 
 SOUL, 
 
 as an Appendix thereunto. 
 
 'Aya#os yjv to irav roSe 6 crvvurTas, dya0w 8e ovSels irepl ovSevbs ovSeTrore iyylvfrat <f>66vo<i. 
 Tovtov S 1 €ktos wv TTavTO. on /zaA.«rra i§ovXrjdrj yev&rdai irapaTrXrjcria avT(3. Plat. 
 
 Pythagoras Terram P/anetam quendam esse censuit qui circa solem in centro mundi defixum comer- 
 teretur. Pythagoram secuti sunt P/ii/o/aus, Seleucus, Cleanthes, &c. into PLA TO jam senex, 
 ut narrat Theophrastus. Libert. Fromond. de Orbe terrae immobili. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the 
 
 Univerfitie. 1647. 
 19 M 
 
Co tlje ifteauet* 
 
 Reader, 
 
 Present to thee here in its proper place what 
 I have heretofore offered to thee upon /esse 
 advantage, but upon so little, no where (/ 
 conceive) as that I should despair of thy 
 acceptance, if the overstrangenesse of the Argument prove 
 no hinderance. 1NFINITIE of WORLDS ! A thing 
 monstrous if assented to, and to be startled at, especially 
 by them, whose thoughts this one have alwayes so engaged, 
 that they can find no leisure to think of any thing else. 
 But I onely make a bare proposall to more acute judge- 
 ments, of what my sportfull phancie, with pleasure hath 
 suggested : following my old designe of furnishing mens 
 minds with variety of apprehensions concerning the most 
 weighty points of Philosophic, that they may not seem 
 rashly to have settled in the truth, though it be the truth : 
 a thing as ill beseeming Philosophers, as hastie pre- 
 judicative sentence Politicall Judges. But if I had re- 
 linquished here my wonted sdf, in proving Dogmaticall, 
 1 should have found very noble Patronage for the cause 
 among the ancients, Epicurus, Democritus, Lucretius, 
 &c. Or if justice may reach the dead do them the right, 
 as to shew, that though they be hooted at, by the Rout of 
 the learned, as men of monstrous 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 inconsistencie. 
 
 Nay and that sublime and subtill Mechanick 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 indefinite extensus, but extensus 
 infinite ? Else it sounds onely infinitus quoad nos, but 
 simpliciter finitus. But if any space be left out unstuffd 
 with Atoms, it will hazard the dissipation of the whole 
 frame of Nature into disjoynted dust; as may be proved 
 by the Principles of his own Philosophic. And that there 
 is space whereever God is, or any actual I and self-subs istent 
 
 Being, seems to me no plainer then one of their kolvo.1 
 Zvvoicu. 
 
 For mine own part, I must confesse these apprehensions 
 do plainly oppose what heretofore I have conceived ; but 
 I have sworn more faithfull frie7idship with Truth then 
 with my self. And therefore without all remorse lay 
 battery against mine own edifice: not sparing to sheiv 
 how weak that is my self now deems not impregnably 
 strong. I have at the latter end of the last Canto of 
 Psychathanasia, 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 Immortalitie, viz. divine goodnesse. 
 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 
 shewing the incompossibilitie in the Creature, not want 
 of goodnesse in the Creatour to have staid the framing of 
 the Vniverse. But now roused up by a new Pkilosophick 
 furie, I answer that difficultie by taking away the Hypo- 
 thesis 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 
 Poesie, and might have passed for a pleasant flourish : 
 but the severity of my own judgement and sad Genius, 
 hath cast in many correctives and coolers into the Canto 
 it self; so that it cannot amount to more then a discus- 
 sion. And discussion is no prejudice but an honour to 
 the truth : for then and never but then is she victorious. 
 And what a glorious Trophee shall the finite world erect 
 when it hath vanquished the Infinite; a Pygmee a 
 Giant / 
 
 H. M. 
 
The Argument of 
 
 Democritus Platoniflans, 
 
 Or 
 
 The Infinitie of Worlds. 
 
 'Gainst boundlesse titne th' objections made. 
 
 And wast infinity 
 0/ worlds, are with new reasons weigh d ; 
 
 Mens judgements arc left free. 
 
 Ence, hence unhallowed ears and hearts more 
 hard 
 Then winter clods fast froze with Northern! 
 
 wind. 
 
 But most of all, foul tongue I thee discard 
 That blamest all that thy dark strait'ned mind, 
 Cannot conceive : But that no blame thou find ; 
 Whate're my pregnant Muse brings forth to light, 
 She'll not acknowledge to be of her kind, 
 Till Eagle-like she turn them to the sight 
 Of the eternall Word, all deckt with glory bright. 
 
 Strange sights do straggle in my restlesse thoughts, 
 And lively forms with orient colours clad 
 Walk in my boundlesse mind, as men ybrought 
 Into some spacious room, who when they've had 
 A turn or two, go out, although unbad. 
 All these I see and know, but entertain 
 None to my friend but who's most sober sad ; 
 Although, the time my roof doth them contain 
 Their presence doth possesse me till they out again. 
 
 3 
 
 And thus possest, in silver trump I sound 
 Their guise, their shape, their gesture and array, 
 But as in silver trumpet nought is found 
 When once the piercing sound is past away, 
 (Though while the mighty blast therein did stay, 
 Its tearing noise so terribly did shrill, 
 That it the heavens did shake, and earth dismay) 
 As empty I of what my flowing quill 
 In heedlesse hast elswhere, or here, may hap to spill. 
 
 4 
 For 'tis of force and not of a set will ; 
 Ne dare my wary mind afford assent 
 To what is plac'd above all mortall skill. 
 But yet our various thoughts to represent 
 
 
 Each gentle wight will deem of good intent. 
 Wherefore with leave th' infinitie I'll sing 
 Of Time, of Space : or without leave ; I'm brent 
 With eager rage, my heart for joy doth spring, 
 And all my spirits move with pleasant trembeling. 
 
 An inward triumph doth my soul up-heave 
 And spread abroad through endlesse 'spersed air. 
 My nimble mind this clammie clod doth leave, 
 And lightly stepping on from starre to starre 
 Swifter then lightning, passeth wide and farre, 
 Measuring th' unbounded Heavens and wastfull side ; 
 Ne ought she finds her passage to debarre, 
 For still the azure Orb as she draws nigh 
 
 Gives back, new stars appear, the worlds walls 'fore her 
 flie! 
 
 6 
 For what can stand that is so badly staid ? 
 Well may that fall whose ground-work is unsure. 
 And what hath wall'd the world but thoughts un- 
 
 weigh'd 
 In freer reason? That antiquate, secure, 
 And easie dull conceit of corporature, 
 Of matter, quantitie, and such like gear 
 Hath made this needlesse, thanklesse inclosure, 
 Which I in full disdain quite up will tear 
 
 And lay all ope, that as things are they may appear. 
 
 For other they appear from what they are, 
 By reason that their Circulation 
 Cannot well represent entire from farre, 
 Each portion of the Cuspis of the Cone 
 (Whose nature is elsewhere more clearly shone) 
 I mean each globe, whether of glaring light 
 Or else opake, of which the earth is one. 
 If circulation could them well transmit 
 Numbers infinite of each would strike our 'stonishd 
 sight ; 
 
 8 
 All in just bignesse and right colours dight : 
 But totall presence without all defect 
 
9 2 
 
 THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 'Longs onely to that Trinity by right, 
 Ahad, sEon, Psyche with all graces deckt, 
 Whose nature well this riddle will detect ; 
 A circle whose circumference no where 
 Is circumscrib'd, whose Centre's each where set, 
 But the low Cusp's a figure circular, 
 Whose compasse is ybound, but centre's every where. 
 
 9 
 Wherefore who'll judge the limits of the world 
 By what appears unto our failing sight 
 Appeals to sense, reason down headlong hurlu 
 Out of her throne by giddie vulgar might. 
 But here base senses dictates they will dight 
 With specious title of Philosophic 
 And stiffly will contend their cause is right. 
 From rotten rolls of school antiquity, 
 Who constantly denie corporall Infinitie. 
 
 IO 
 
 But who can prove their corporalitie, 
 Since matter which thereto's essentiall 
 If rightly sifted's but a phantasie. 
 And quantitie who's deem'd Originall 
 Is matter, must with matter likewise fall. 
 Whatever is, is Life and Energie 
 From God, who is th' Originall of all ; 
 Who being every where doth multiplie 
 
 His own broad shade that endlesse throughout all doth 
 lie. 
 
 II 
 He from the last projection of light 
 Ycleep'd Shamajim, which is liquid fire 
 (It Aither eke and centra". Tasis hight) 
 Hath made each shining globe and clumperd mire 
 Of dimmer Orbs. For Nature doth inspire 
 Spermatick life, but of a different kind. 
 Hence those congenit splendour doth attire 
 And lively heat, these darknesse dead doth bind, 
 
 And without borrowed rayes they be both cold and 
 blind. 
 
 12 
 All these be knots of the universall stole 
 Of sacred Psyche ; which at first was fine, 
 Pure, thin, and pervious till hid powers did pull 
 Together in severall points and did encline 
 The nearer parts in one clod to combine. 
 Those centrall spirits that the parts did draw 
 The measure of each globe did then define, 
 Made things impenetrable here below, 
 
 Gave colour, figure, motion, and each usuall law. 
 
 And what is done in this Terrestrial starre 
 
 The same is done in every Orb beside. 
 
 Each flaming Circle that we see from farre 
 
 Is but a knot in Psyches garment tide. 
 
 From that lax shadow cast throughout the wide 
 
 And endlesse world, that low'st projection 
 
 Of universall life each thing's deriv'd 
 Whater'e appeareth in corporeall fashion ; 
 For body's but this spirit, fixt, grosse by conspissation. 
 
 14 
 And that which doth conspissate active is ; 
 Wherefore not matter but some living sprite 
 Of nimble nature which this lower mist 
 And immense field of Atoms doth excite, 
 And wake into such life as best doth fit 
 With his own self. As we change phantasies, 
 The essence of our soul not chang'd a whit ; 
 So do these Atomes change their energies, 
 Themselves unchanged, into new Centreities. 
 
 i5 
 
 And as our soul's not superficially 
 Coloured by phantasms, nor doth them reflect 
 As doth a looking-glasse such imag'rie 
 As it to the beholder doth detect : 
 No more are these lightly or smear'd or deckt 
 With form or motion which in them we see, 
 But from their inmost Centre they project 
 Their vitall rayes ; not merely passive be, 
 But by occasion wak'd, rouse up themselves on high. 
 
 16 
 
 So that they're life, form, sprite, not matter pure, 
 For matter pure is a pure nullitie ; 
 What nought can act is nothing, I am sure, 
 And if all act, that is they'll not denie 
 But all that is is form : so easily 
 By what is true, and by what they embrace 
 For truth, their feigned Corporalitie 
 Will vanish into smoke : But on I'll passe, 
 More fully we have sung this in another place. 
 
 17 
 Wherefore more boldly now to represent 
 The nature of the world, how first things were, 
 How now they are : This endlesse large Extent 
 Of lowest life (which I styled whileere 
 The Cuspis of the Cone that's every where) 
 Was first all dark, till in this spacious Hall 
 Hideous through silent horrour, torches clear 
 And lamping lights bright shining over all, 
 
 Were set up in due distances proportionall. 
 18 
 Innumerable numbers of fair Lamps 
 Were rightly ranged in this hollow hole, 
 To warm the world and chace the shady damps 
 Of immense darknesse, rend her pitchie stole 
 Into short rags more dustie dimme then coal. 
 Which pieces then in severall were cast 
 (Abhorred relicks of that vesture foul) 
 Upon the Globes that round those torches trac'd, 
 
 Which still fast on them stick for all they run so fast. 
 
 19 
 
 Such an one is that which mortall men call Night, 
 A little shred of that unbounded shade. 
 
THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 93 
 
 And such a globe is that which earth is hight ; 
 By witlesse Wizzards the sole centre made 
 Of all the world, and on strong pillars staid. 
 And such a lamp or light is this our Sun, 
 Whose fiery beams the scorched Earth invade. 
 But infinite such as he, in heaven won, 
 And more then infinite Earths about those Suns do run ; 
 
 And to speak out ; though I detest the sect 
 Of Epicurus for their manners vile, 
 Yet what is true I may not well reject. 
 Truth's incorruptible, ne can the style 
 Of vitious pen her sacred worth defile. 
 If we no more of truth should deign t' embrace 
 Then what unworthy mouths did never soyle, 
 No truths at all 'mongst men would finden place, 
 But make them speedy wings and back to Heaven apace. 
 
 I will not say our world is infinite, 
 
 But that infinity of worlds there be ; 
 
 The Centre of our world's the lively light 
 
 Of the warm sunne, the visible Deity 
 
 Of this externall Temple. Mercuric 
 
 Next plac'd and warm'd more throughly by his rayes, 
 
 Right nimbly 'bout his golden head doth fly : 
 
 Then Venus nothing slow about him strayes, 
 
 And next our Earth though seeming sad full sprightly 
 playes. 
 
 22 
 And after her Mars rangeth in a round 
 With fiery locks and angry flaming eye, 
 And next to him mild Jupiter is found, 
 But Saturn cold wons in our outmost sky. 
 The skirts of his large Kingdome surely ly 
 Near to the confines of some other worlds 
 Whose Centres are the fixed starres on high, 
 'Bout which as their own proper Suns are hurld 
 
 Joves, Earths, and Saturns : round on their own axes 
 twurld. 
 
 23 
 Little or nothing are those starres to us 
 Which in the azure Evening gay appear 
 (I mean for influence) but judicious 
 Nature and carefull Providence her dear 
 And matchlesse work did so contrive whileere, 
 That th' Hearts or Centres in the wide world pight 
 Should such a distance each to other bear, 
 That the dull Planets with collated light 
 By neighbour suns might cheared be in dampish night. 
 
 24 
 
 And as the Planets in our world (of which 
 
 The sun's the heart and kernal) do receive 
 
 Their nightly light from suns that do enrich 
 
 Their sable mantle with bright gemmes, and give 
 
 A goodly splendour, and sad men relieve 
 
 With their fair twinkling rayes, so our worlds sunne 
 
 Becomes a starre elsewhere, and doth derive 
 Joynt light with others, cheareth all that won 
 In those dim duskish Orbs round other suns that run. 
 
 25 
 
 This is the parergon of each noble fire 
 Of neighbour worlds to be the nightly starre, 
 But their main work is vitall heat t' inspire 
 Into the frigid spheres that 'bout them fare ; 
 Which of themselves quite dead and barren are, 
 But by the wakening warmth of kindly dayes, 
 And the sweet dewie nights, they well declare 
 Their seminall virtue, in due courses raise 
 Long hidden shapes and life, to their great Makers 
 praise. 
 
 26 
 These with their suns I severall worlds do call, 
 Whereof the number I deem infinite : 
 Else infinite darknesse were in this great Hall 
 Of th' endlesse Universe ; For nothing finite 
 Could put that immense shadow into 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 solitarie, alone, 
 What mark is left ? what aimed scope or end 
 Of his existence ? wherefore every one 
 Hath a due number of dim Orbs that wend 
 Around their centrall fire. But wrath will rend 
 This strange composure back'd with reason stout. 
 And rather tongues right speedily will spend 
 Their forward censure, that my wits run out 
 On wool-gathering, through infinite spaces all about. 
 
 28 
 
 What sober man will dare once to avouch 
 An infinite number of dispersed starres ? 
 This one absurdity will make him crouch 
 And eat his words : Division nought impairs 
 The former whole, nor he augments that spares. 
 Strike every tenth out, that which doth remain, 
 An equall number with the former shares, 
 And let the tenth alone, th' whole nought doth gain, 
 For infinite to infinite is ever the same. 
 
 29 
 
 The tenth is infinite as the other nine, 
 Or else, nor they, nor all the ten entire 
 Are infinite. Thus one infinite doth adjoyn 
 Others unto it and still riseth higher. 
 And if those single lights hither aspire, 
 This strange prodigious inconsistency 
 Groweth still stranger, if each fixed fire 
 (I mean each starre) prove Suns and Planets flie 
 About their flaming heads amid the thronged skie. 
 
94 
 
 THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 3° 
 For whatsoever that there number be 
 Whether by seavens, or eights, or fives, or nines, 
 They round each fixed lamp ; Infinity 
 Will be redoubled thus by many times. 
 Besides each greater Planet th' attendance finds 
 Of lesser ; Our Earths handmaid is the Moon, 
 Which to her darkned side right duly shines, 
 And "Jove hath foure, as hath been said aboven, 
 And Saturn more then foure if the plain truth were 
 known : 
 
 31 
 And if these globes be regions of life 
 And severall kinds of plants therein do grow, 
 Grasse, flowers, hearbs, trees, which the impartiall knife 
 Of all consuming Time still down doth mow, 
 And new again doth in succession show ; 
 Which also's done in flies, birds, men and beasts ; 
 Adde sand, pearls, pebbles, that the ground do strovv, 
 Leaves, quills, hairs, thorns, blooms ; you may think 
 the rest 
 Their kinds by mortall penne cannot be well exprest. 
 
 32 
 And if their kinds no man may reckon well, 
 The summe of successive particulars 
 No mind conceive nor tongue can ever tell. 
 And yet this mist of numbers (as appears) 
 Belongs to one of these opacous sphears, 
 Suppose this Earth ; what then will all those Rounds 
 Produce? No Atlas such a load upbears. 
 In this huge endlesse heap o'rewhelmed, drown'd, 
 Choak'd, stifled, lo I I lie, breathlesse, even quite con- 
 found. 
 
 33 
 Yet give me space a while but to respire, 
 And I my self shall fairly well out-wind ; 
 Keep this position true, unhurt, entire, 
 That you no greater difficulty find 
 In this new old opinion here defin'd 
 Of infinite worlds, then one world doth imply. 
 For if we do with steddy patience mind, 
 All is resolv'd int' one absurdity, 
 The grant of something greater then infinitie. 
 
 34 
 That God is infinite all men confesse. 
 And that the Creature is some realtie 
 Besides Gods self, though infinitely lesse. 
 Joyn now the world unto the Deity. 
 What ? is there added no more entity 
 By this conjunction, then there was before? 
 Is the broad-breasted earth ? the spacious skie 
 Spangled with silver light, and burning Ore? 
 And the wide bellowing Seas, whose boyling billows roar, 
 
 35 
 
 Are all these nothing ? But you will reply ; 
 As is the question so we ought restrain 
 
 Our answer unto Corporeity. 
 But that that phantasie of the body's vain 
 I did before unto you maken plain. 
 But that no man depart unsatisfi'd 
 A while this Universe here will we feign 
 Corporeall, till we have gainly tride, 
 If ought that's bodily may infinite abide. 
 
 36 
 What makes a body, saving quantity ? 
 What quantitie unlesse extension ? 
 Extension if t' admit infinity 
 Bodies admit boundlesse dimension. 
 That some extension forward on doth run 
 Withouten limits, endlesse, infinite, 
 Is plain from Space, that ever paceth on 
 Unstop'd, unstaid, till it have filled quite 
 That immense infinite Orb where God himself doth sit 
 
 37 
 But yet more sensibly this truth to show, 
 If space be ended set upon that end 
 Some strong arm'd Archer with his Parthian bow, 
 That from that place with speedy force may send 
 His fleeter shafts, and so still forward wend. 
 Where ? When shall we want room his strength to trie - 
 But here perversly subtill you'l contend 
 Nothing can move in mere vacuity, 
 And space is nought, so not extended properly : 
 
 38 
 To solve these knots I must call down from high 
 Some heavenly help, feather with Angels wing 
 The sluggish arrow ; If it will not flie, 
 Sent out from bow stiff-bent with even string. 
 Let Angels on their backs it thither bring 
 Where your free mind appointed had before, 
 And then hold on, till in your travelling 
 You be well wearied, finding ever more 
 Free passage for their flight, and what they flying bore 
 
 39 
 Now to that shift that sayes Vacuity 
 Is nought, and therefore not at all extent 
 We answer thus : There is a distancy 
 In empty space, though we be well content 
 To balk that question (for we never meant 
 Such needlesse niceties) whether that it be 
 A reall being ; yet that there's parts distent 
 One from another, no mans phantasie 
 
 Can e're reject if well he weigh't and warily. 
 40 
 For now conceive the air and azure skie 
 All swept away from Saturn to the Sunne, 
 Which eath is to be wrought by him on high. 
 Then in this place let all the Planets runne 
 (As erst they did before this feat was done) 
 If not by nature, yet by divine power, 
 Ne one hairsbreadth their former circuite shun : 
 And still for fuller proof, th' Astronomer 
 
 Observe their hights as in the empty heavens they scoure 
 
 
THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 95 
 
 4i 
 Will then their Parallaxes prove all one 
 Or none, or different still as before ; 
 If so, their distances by mortall men 
 Must be acknowledg'd such as were of yore, 
 Measur'd by leagues, miles, stades, nor lesse nor more 
 From circuit unto circuit shal be found 
 Then was before the sweeping of the floor. 
 That distance therefore hath most certain ground 
 
 In emptinesse, we may conclude with reason sound. 
 42 
 If distance now so certainly attend 
 All emptinesse (as also mensuration 
 Attendeth distance) distance without end 
 Is wide disperst above imagination 
 (For emptinesse is void of limitation) 
 And this unbounded voidnesse doth admit 
 The least and greatest measures application ; 
 The number thus of th' greatest that doth fit 
 
 This infinite void space is likewise infinite. 
 
 43 
 But whatsoe're that infinite number be, 
 A lesser measure will a number give 
 So farre exceeding in infinity 
 That number as this measure we conceive 
 To fall short of the other. But I'll leave 
 This present way and a new course will trie, 
 Which at the same mark doth as fully drive 
 And with a great deal more facility ; 
 Look on this endlesse Space as one whole quantity. 
 
 44 
 Which in your mind in't equall parts divide, 
 Tens, hundreds, thousands, or what pleaseth best. 
 Each part denominate doth still abide 
 An infinite portion, else not all the rest 
 Makes one infinitude. 
 For if one thousandth part may be defin'd 
 By finite measures eas'ly well exprest, 
 A myriad suppose of miles assign'd 
 Then to a thousand myriads is the whole confin'd. 
 
 45 
 
 Wherefore this wide and wast Vacuity, 
 Which endlesse is outstretched thorough all. 
 And lies even equall with the Deity, 
 Nor is a thing meerly imaginall, 
 (For it doth farre mens phantasies forestall 
 Nothing beholden to our devicefull thought) 
 This inf nite voidnesse as much our mind doth gall, 
 And has as great perplexities ybrought 
 As if this empty space with bodies were yfraught. 
 
 46 
 Nor have we yet the face once to deny 
 But that it is, although we mind it not ; 
 For all once minded such perplexity 
 It doth create to puzzled reason, that 
 She sayes and unsayes, do's she knows not what. 
 Why then should we the worlds infinity 
 
 Misdoubt, because whenas we contemplate 
 Its nature, such strange inconsistency 
 And unexpected sequels, we therein descry ? 
 
 47 
 Who dare gainsay but God is every vwhere 
 Unbounded, measurelesse, all Infinite ; 
 Yet the same difficulties meet us here 
 Which erst us met and did so sore affright 
 With their strange vizards. This will follow right, 
 Whereever we admit Infinity 
 Every denominated part proves streight 
 A portion infinite, which if it be, 
 One infinite will into myriads multiply. 
 
 48 
 But with new argument to draw more near 
 Our purpos'd end. If God's omnipotent 
 And this omnipotent God be every where, 
 Wheree're he is then can he eas'ly vent 
 His mighty virtue thorough all extent. 
 What then shall hinder but a roscid air 
 With gentle heat eachwhere be 'sperst and sprent 
 Unlesse omnipotent power we will empair, 
 And say that empty space his working can debarre. 
 
 49 
 Where now this one supposed world is pight 
 Was not that space at first all vain and void ? 
 Nor ought said ; no, when he said, Let 7 be light. 
 Was this one space better then all beside, 
 And more obedient to what God decreed ? 
 Or would not all that endlesse Emptinesse 
 Gladly embrac'd (if he had ever tride) 
 His just command ? and what might come to passe 
 Implies no contradictious inconsistentnesse. 
 
 50 
 Wherefore this precious sweet Ethereall dew 
 For ought we know, God each where did distill, 
 And thorough all that hollow Voidnesse threw, 
 And the wide gaping drought therewith did fill, 
 His endlesse overflowing goodnesse spill 
 In every place ; which streight he did contrive 
 Int' infinite severall worlds, as his best skill 
 Did him direct and creatures could receive : 
 For matter infinite needs infinite worlds must give. 
 
 51 
 
 The Centre of each severall world's a Sunne 
 With shining beams and kindly warming heat, 
 About whose radiant crown the Planets runne, 
 Like reeling moths around a candle light ; 
 These all together, one world I conceit. 
 And that even infinite such worlds there be, 
 That inexhausted Good that God is hight, 
 A full sufficient reason is to me, 
 Who simple Goodnesse make the highest Deity. 
 
 52 
 Als make himself the key of all his works 
 And eke the measure of his providence ; 
 
96 
 
 THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 The piercing eye of truth to whom nought lurks 
 But lies wide ope unbar'd of all pretence. 
 But frozen hearts ! away ! flie farre from hence, 
 Unlesse you'l thaw at this celestiall fire 
 And melt into one mind and holy sense, 
 With Him that doth all heavenly hearts inspire, 
 So may you with my soul in one assent conspire. 
 
 53 
 But what's within, uneath is to convey 
 To narrow vessels that are full afore. 
 And yet this truth as wisely as I may 
 I will insinuate, from senses store 
 Borrowing a little aid. Tell me therefore 
 When you behold with your admiring eyes 
 Heavens Canopie all to be spangled o're 
 With sprinkled stars, what can you well devize 
 Which causen may such carelesse order in the skies ? 
 
 54 
 A peck of peasen rudely poured out 
 On plaister fiore, from hasty heedlesse hond 
 Which lie all carelesse scattered about, 
 To sight do in as seemly order stond, 
 As those fair glistering lights in heaven are found. 
 If onely for this world they were intended, 
 Nature would have adorn'd this azure Round 
 With better Art, and easily have mended 
 This harsh disord'red order, and more beauty lended. 
 
 55 
 But though these lights do seem so rudely throwen 
 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 chearfully 
 Their daily task. No blemish may deface 
 The worlds in severall deckt with all art and grace : 
 
 56 
 But the appearance of the nightly starres 
 Is but the by-work of each neighbour sun ; 
 Wherefore lesse marvell if it lightly shares 
 Of neater Art ; and what proportion 
 Were fittest for to distance one from one 
 (Each world I mean from other) is not clear. 
 Wherefore it must remain as yet unknown 
 Why such perplexed distances appear 
 Mongst the dispersed lights in Heaven thrown here and 
 there. 
 
 57 
 Again that eminent similitude 
 Betwixt the starres and Phoebus fixed light, 
 They being both with steddinesse indu'd, 
 No whit removing whence they first were pight ; 
 No serious man will count a reason slight 
 To prove them both, both fixed suns and stars 
 
 And Centres all of severall worlds by right ; 
 For right it is that none a sun debarre 
 Of Planets, which his just and due retinue are. 
 
 58 
 If Starrs be merely starres, not centrall lights, 
 Why swell they into so huge bignesses ? 
 For many (as Astronomers do write) 
 Our sun in bignesse many times surpasse. 
 If both their number and their bulks were lesse 
 Yet lower placed, light and influence 
 Would flow as powerfully, & the bosome presse 
 Of the impregned Earth, that fruit from hence 
 As fully would arise, and lordly affluence. 
 
 59 
 
 Wherefore these fixed Fires mainly attend 
 Their proper charge in their own Universe, 
 And onely by the by of court'sie lend 
 Light to our world, as our world doth reverse 
 His thankfull rayes so far as he can pierce 
 Back unto other worlds. But farre aboven. 
 Further then furthest thought of man can traverse, 
 Still are new worlds aboven and still aboven, 
 
 In th'endlesse hollow Heaven, and each world hath his 
 Sun. 
 
 60 
 An hint of this we have in winter-nights, 
 When reason may see clearer then our eye. 
 Small subtil starres appear unto our sights 
 As thick as pin-dust scattered in the skie. 
 Here we accuse our seeing facultie 
 Of weaknesse, and our sense of foul deceit, 
 We do accuse and yet we know not why. 
 But the plain truth is, from a vaster hight 
 
 The numerous upper worlds amaze our dazzled sight. 
 61 
 Now sith so farre as sense can ever try 
 We find new worlds, that still new worlds there be. 
 And round about in infinite numbers lie, 
 Further then reach of mans weak phantasie 
 (Without suspition of temerity) 
 We may conclude ; as well as men conclude 
 That there is air farre 'bove the mountains high. 
 Or that th' Earth a sad substance doth include 
 
 Even to the Centre with like qualities indu'd. 
 
 62 
 For who did ever the Earths Centre pierce, 
 And felt or sand or gravell with his spade 
 At such a depth ? what Histories rehearse 
 That ever wight did dare for to invade 
 Her bowels but one mile in dampish shade ? ' 
 Yet I'll be bold to say that few or none 
 But deem this globe even to the bottome made 
 Of solid earth, and that her nature's one 
 Throughout, though plain experience hath it never shown . 
 
 63 
 
 But sith sad earth so farre as they have gpne 
 They still descry, eas'ly they do inferre 
 
THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 97 
 
 Without all check of reason, were they down 
 Never so deep, like substance would appear, 
 Ne dream of any hollow horrour there. 
 My mind with like uncurb'd facility 
 Concludes from what by sight is seen so clear : 
 That ther's no barren wast vacuity 
 Above the worlds we see, but still new worlds there ly, 
 
 64 
 
 And still and still even to infinity : 
 Which point, since I so fitly have propos'd, 
 Abating well the inconsistency 
 Of harsh infinitude therein suppos'd 
 And prov'd by reasons never to be loos'd, 
 That infinite space and infinite worlds there be ; 
 This load laid down, I'm freely now dispos'd 
 A while to sing of times infinity ; 
 May infinite Time afford me but his smallest fee. 
 
 65 
 
 For smallest fee of time will serve my turn 
 
 This part for to dispatch, sith endlesse space 
 
 (Whose perplext nature well mans brains might turn, 
 
 And weary wits disorder and misplace) 
 
 I have already passed : for like case 
 
 Is in them both. He that can well untie 
 
 The knots that in those infinite worlds found place, 
 
 May easily answer each perplexity 
 
 Of these worlds infinite matters endlesse durancie. 
 
 66 
 The Cuspis and the Basis of the Cone 
 Were both at once dispersed every where ; 
 But the pure Basis that is God alone : 
 Else would remotest sights as big appear 
 Unto our eyes as if we stood them near. 
 And if an Harper harped in the Moon, 
 His silvered sound would touch our tickled ear : 
 Or if one hollowed from highest Heaven aboven, 
 In sweet still Evening-tide, his voice would hither roame. 
 
 67 
 This all would be if the Cuspe of the Cone 
 Were very God. Wherefore I rightly 't deem 
 Onely a Creaturall projection, 
 Which flowing yet from God hath ever been, 
 Fill'd the vast empty space with its large streem. 
 But yet it is not totall every where 
 As was even now by reason rightly seen : 
 Wherefore not God, whose nature doth appear 
 
 Entirely omnipresent, weigh'd with judgement clear. 
 68 
 A reall infinite matter, distinct 
 And yet proceeding from the Deitie, 
 Although with different form as then untinct, 
 Has ever been from all Eternity. 
 Now what delay can we suppose to be, 
 Since matter alway was at hand prepar'd 
 Before the filling of the boundlesse sky 
 With framed Worlds ; for nought at all debar'd, 
 
 Nor was His strength ungrown, nor was His strength 
 empair'd. 
 
 19 
 
 How long would God be forming of a fly ? 
 Or the small wandring moats that play in th' sun ? 
 Least moment well will serve none can deny, 
 His Fiat spoke and streight the thing is done. 
 And cannot He make all the World as soon ? 
 For in each Atom of the matter wide 
 The totall Deity doth entirely won, 
 His infinite presence doth therein reside, 
 And in this presence infinite powers do ever abide. 
 
 70 
 
 Wherefore at once from all eternity 
 The infinite number of these Worlds He made, 
 And will conserve to all infinitie, 
 And still drive on their ever-moving trade, 
 And steddy hold whatever must be staid ; 
 Ne must one mite be minish'd of the summe, 
 Ne must the smallest atom ever fade, 
 But still remain though it may change its room ; 
 This truth abideth strong from everlasting doom. 
 
 71 
 
 Ne fear I what hard sequel after-wit 
 Will draw upon me ; that the number's one 
 Of years, moneths, dayes, houres, and of minutes flee : 
 Which from eternitie have still run on. 
 I plainly did confesse awhile agone 
 That be it what it will that's infinite, 
 More infinites will follow thereupon, 
 But that all infinites do justly fit 
 And equall be, my reason did not yet admit. 
 
 72 
 But as my emboldened mind, I know not how, 
 In empty Space and pregnant Deitie 
 Endlesse infinitude dares to allow, 
 Though it begets the like perplexitie : 
 So now my soul drunk with Diuinitie, 
 And born away above her usuall bounds 
 With confidence concludes infinitie 
 Of Time of Worlds, of firie flaming Rounds ; 
 Which sight in sober mood my spirits quite confounds : 
 
 73 
 
 And now I do awhile but interspire, 
 A torrent of objections 'gainst me beat, 
 My boldnesse to represse and strength to tire. 
 But I will wipe them off like summer sweat, 
 And make their streams streight back again retreat. 
 If that these worlds, say they, were ever made 
 From infinite time, how comes't to passe that yet 
 Art is not perfected, nor metalls fade, 
 Nor mines of grimie coal low-hid in griesly shade. 
 
 74 
 But the remembrance of the ancient Floud 
 With ease will wash such arguments away. 
 Wherefore with greater might I am withstood : 
 The strongest stroke wherewith they can assay 
 
 N 
 
9 3 
 
 THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 To vanquish me is this ; The Date or Day 
 Of the created World, which all admit ; 
 Nor may my modest Muse this truth gainsay 
 In holy Oracles so plainly writ : 
 Wherefore the Worlds continuance is not infinite. 
 
 75 
 
 Now lend me, Origen! a little wit 
 This sturdy stroke right fairly to avoid, 
 Lest that my rasher rhymes, while they ill fit 
 With Moses pen, men justly may deride 
 And well accuse of ignorance or pride. 
 But thou, O holy Sage ! with piercing sight 
 Who readst those sacred rolls, and hast well tride 
 With searching eye thereto what fitteth right, 
 Thy self of former Worlds right learnedly dost write : 
 
 76 
 To weet that long ago there Earths have been 
 Peopled with men and beasts before this Earth, 
 And after this shall others be again 
 And other beasts and other humane birth. 
 Which once admit, no strength that reason bear'th 
 Of this worlds Date and Adams efformation ; 
 Another Adam once received breath 
 And still another in endlesse repedation, 
 And this must perish once by finall conflagration. 
 
 77 
 Witnesse ye Heavens if what I say's not true, 
 Ye flaming Comets wandering on high, 
 And new fixt starres found in that Circle blue, 
 The one espide in glittering Cassiopie, 
 The other near to Ophiucbus thigh. 
 Both bigger then the biggest starres that are, 
 And yet as farre remov'd from mortall eye 
 As are the furthest, so those Arts declare 
 Unto whose reaching sight Heavens mysteries lie bare. 
 
 78 
 Wherefore these new-seen lights were greater once 
 By many thousand times then this our sphear 
 Wherein we live, 'twixt good and evil chance. 
 Which to my musing mind doth strange appear 
 If those large bodies then first shaped were. 
 For should so goodly things so soon decay ? 
 Neither did last the full space of two year. 
 Wherefore I cannot deem that their first day 
 Of being, when to us they sent out shining ray. 
 
 79 
 But that they were created both of old, 
 And each in his due time did fair display 
 Themselves in radiant locks more bright then gold, 
 Or silver sheen purg'd from all drossie clay, 
 But how they could themselves in this array 
 Expose to humane sight who did before 
 Lie hid, is that which well amazen may 
 The wisest man and puzzle evermore : 
 Yet my unwearied thoughts this search could not give 
 o're. 
 
 Which when I'd exercis'd in long pursuit 
 To finden out what might the best agree 
 With wary reason, at last I did conclude 
 That there's no better probability 
 Can be produe'd of that strange prodigie, 
 But that some mighty Planet that doth run 
 About some fixed starre in Cassiopie 
 As Saturn paceth round about our Sun, 
 
 Unusuall light and bignesse by strange fate had wonne. 
 81 
 Which I conceive no gainer way is done 
 Then by the seazing of devouring fire 
 On that dark Orb, which 'fore but dimly shone 
 With borrowed light, not lightened entire, 
 But halfed like the Moon. 
 And while the busie flame did siez throughout, 
 And search the bowels of the lowest mire 
 Of that Saturnian Earth ; a mist broke out, 
 
 And immense mounting smoke arose all round about. 
 82 
 Which being gilded with the piercing rayes 
 Of its own sun and every neighbour starre, 
 It soon appear'd with shining-silver blaze, 
 And then gan first be seen of men from farre. 
 Besides that firie flame that was so narre 
 The Planets self, which greedily did eat 
 The wastning mold, did contribute a share I 
 Unto this brightnesse ; and what I conceit 
 
 Of this starre, doth with that of Ophiuchus fit. 
 
 33 
 And like I would adventure to pronounce 
 Of all the Comets that above the Moon, 
 Amidst the higher Planets rudely dance 
 In course perplex, but that from this rash doom 
 I'm bet off by their beards and tails farre strown 
 Along the skie, pointing still opposite 
 Unto the sunne, however they may roam ; 
 Wherefore a cluster of small starres unite 
 
 These Meteors some do deem, perhaps with judgement 
 right. 
 
 84 
 And that their tayls are streams of the suns light 
 Breaking through their near bodies as through clouds. 
 Besides the Optick glasse has shown to sight 
 The dissolution of these starrie crouds. 
 Which thing if't once be granted and allow'd, 
 I think without all contradiction 
 They may conclude these Meteors are routs 
 Of wandering starres, which though they one by one 
 
 Cannot be seen, yet joyn'd, cause this strange vision. 
 
 85 
 
 And yet methinks, in my devicefull mind 
 
 Some reasons that may happily represse 
 
 These arguments it's not uneath to find. 
 
 For how can the suns rayes that be transmisse 
 
 Through these loose knots in Comets, well expresse 
 
 Their beards or curld tayls utmost incurvation ? 
 
THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 99 
 
 Beside, the conflux and congeries 
 Of lesser lights a double augmentation 
 Tmplies, and 'twixt them both a lessening coarctation. 
 
 86 
 
 For when as once these starres are come so nigh 
 As to seem one, the Comet must appear 
 In biggest show, because more loose they lie 
 Somewhat spread out, but as they draw more near 
 The compasse of his head away must wear, 
 Till he be brought to his least magnitude ; 
 And then they passing crosse he doth repair 
 Himself, and still from his last losse renew'd 
 
 Grows, till he reach the measure which we first had 
 view'd. 
 
 87 
 And then farre-distanc'd they bid quite adiew, 
 Each holding on in solitude his way. 
 Ne any footsteps in the empty Blew 
 Is to be found of that farre-shining ray. 
 Which processe sith no man did yet bewray, 
 It seems unlikely that the Comets be 
 Synods of starres that in wide Heaven stray : 
 Their smallnesse eke and numerositie 
 
 Encreaseth doubt and lessens probabilitie. 
 
 88 
 A cluster of them makes not half a Moon, 
 What should such tennis-balls do in the skie? 
 And few 11 not figure out the fashion 
 Of those round firie Meteors on high. 
 Ne ought their beards much move us, that do lie 
 Ever cast forward from the Morning sunne 
 Nor back-cast tayls turn'd to our Evening-eye, 
 That fair appear whenas the day is done : 
 This matter may lie hid in the starres shadowed Cone. 
 
 89 
 For in these Planets conflagration, 
 Although the smoke mount up exactly round, 
 Yet by the suns irradiation 
 Made thin and subtil no where else its found 
 By sight, save in the dim and duskish bound 
 Of the projected Pyramid opake ; 
 Opake with darknesse, smoke and mists unsound 
 Yet gilded like a foggie cloud doth make 
 Reflexion of fair light that doth our senses take. 
 
 90 
 This is the reason of that constant site 
 Of Comets tayls and beards : and that there show's 
 Not pure Pyramidall, nor their ends seem streight 
 But bow'd like brooms, is from the winds that blow, 
 I mean Ethereall winds, such as below, 
 Men finden under th' Equinoctiall line. 
 Their widend beards this aire so broad doth strow 
 Incurvate, and or more or lesse decline : 
 If not let sharper wits more subtly here divine. 
 
 91 
 
 But that experiment of the Optick glasse 
 The greatest argument of all I deem. 
 
 Ne can I well encounter nor let passe 
 So strong a reason if I may esteem 
 The feat withonten fallacie to been, 
 Nor judge these little sparks and subtile lights 
 Some ancient fixed starres though now first seen, 
 That near the ruin'd Comets place were pight, 
 On which that Optick instrument by chance did light. 
 
 92 
 Nor finally an uncouth after-sport 
 Of th' immense vapours that the searching fire 
 Had boyled out, which now themselves consort 
 In severall parts and closely do conspire, 
 Clumper'd in balls of clouds and globes entire 
 Of crudled smoke and heavy-clunging mists ? 
 Which when they've stayed a while at last expire ; 
 But while they stay any may see that lists 
 So be that Optick Art his naturall sight assists. 
 
 93 
 If none of these wayes I may well decline 
 The urging weight of this hard argument. 
 Worst is but parting stakes and thus define : 
 Some Comets be but single Planets brent, 
 Others a synod joyn'd in due consent : 
 And that no new-found Meteors they are, 
 Ne further may my wary mind assent 
 From one single experience solitaire, 
 Till all-discovering Time shall further truth declare. 
 
 94 
 But for the new-fixt starres there's no pretence, 
 Nor beard nor tail to take occasion by, 
 To bring in that unluckie inference 
 Which weaken might this new built mysterie : 
 Certes in raging fire they both did frie. 
 A signe whereof you rightly may aread 
 Their colours changeable varietie, 
 First clear and white, then yellow, after red. 
 Then blewly pale, then duller still, till perfect dead. 
 
 95 
 
 And as the order of these colours went, 
 So still decreas'd that Cassiopean starre, 
 Till at the length to sight it was quite spent : 
 Which observations strong reasons are, 
 Consuming fire its body did empare 
 And turn to ashes. And the like will be 
 In all the darksome Planets wide and farre. 
 Ne can our Earth from this state standen free, 
 A Planet as the rest, and Planets fate must trie. 
 
 96 
 Ne let the tender heart too harshly deem 
 Of this rude sentence : for what rigour more 
 Is in consuming fire then drowning stream 
 Of Noahs floud which all creatures chok'd of yore, 
 Saving those few that were kept safe in store 
 In that well-builded ship ? All else beside 
 Men, birds, and beasts, the lion, buck, and bore 
 Dogs, kine, sheep, horses all that did abide 
 Upon the spacious Earth, perish'd in waters wide. 
 
THE INFINITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 97 
 Nor let the slow and misbelieving wight 
 Doubt how the fire on the hard earth may seize ; 
 No more then how those waters earst did light 
 Upon the sinfull world. For as the seas 
 Boyling with swelling waves aloft did rise, 
 And met with mighty showers and pouring rain 
 From Heavens spouts, so the broad-flashing skies 
 With brimstone thick and clouds of fiery bain, 
 
 Shall meet with raging Etna's and Vesuvius flame. 
 9 8 
 The burning bowels of this wasting ball 
 Shall gullop up great flakes of rolling fire, 
 And belch out pitchie flames, till over all 
 Having long rag'd, Vulcan himself shall tire 
 And (th' earth an asheap made) shall then expire : 
 Here Nature laid asleep in her own Urn 
 With gentle rest right easly will respire, 
 Till to her pristine task she do return 
 
 As fresh as Phenix young under th' Arabian Mora. 
 
 99 
 O happy they that then the first are born, 
 While yet the world is in her vernall pride : 
 For old corruption quite away is worn 
 As metall pure so is her mold well-tride. 
 Sweet dews, cool breathing airs, and spaces wide 
 Of precious spicery wafted with soft wind : 
 Fair comely bodies, goodly beautifi'd, 
 Snow-limb'd, rose-cheek'd, ruby-lip'd, pearl-teeth'd, 
 star-eyn'd : 
 Their parts, each fair, in fit proportion all combin'd. 
 
 IOO 
 For all the while her purged ashes rest, 
 These relicks dry suck in the heavenly dew, 
 And roscid Manna rains upon her breast, 
 And fills with sacred milk, sweet, fresh, and new, 
 Where all take life, and doth the world renew ; 
 And then renew'd with pleasure be yfed. 
 A green soft mantle doth her bosome strew 
 With fragrant herbs and flowers embellished, 
 Where without fault or shame all living creatures bed. 
 
 Ne ought we doubt how nature may recover 
 In her own ashes long time buried. 
 For nought can e'er consume that centrall power 
 Of hid spermatick life, which lies not dead 
 In that rude heap, but safely covered ; 
 And doth by secret force suck from above 
 Sweet heavenly juice, and therewith nourished 
 Till her just bulk, she doth her life emprove ; 
 Made mother of much children that about her move. 
 
 Witnesse that uncouth bird of Arable 
 Which out of her own mines doth revive 
 With all th' exploits of skilfull Chymistrie, 
 Such as no vulgar wit can well believe. 
 
 Let universall Nature witnesse give 
 
 That what I sing's no feigned forgerie. 
 
 A needlesse task new fables to contrive, 
 
 But what I sing is seemly verity, 
 Well-suting with right reason and Philosophic 
 103 
 
 But the fit time of this mutation 
 
 No man can finden out with all his pains. 
 
 For the small sphears of humane reason run 
 
 Too swift within his narrow-compast brains. 
 
 But that vast Orb of Providence contains 
 
 A wider period ; turneth still and slow. 
 
 Yet at the last his aimed end he gains, 
 
 And sure at last a fire will overflow 
 The aged Earth, and all must into ashes go. 
 
 104 
 
 Then all the stately works and monuments 
 Built on this bottome, shall to ruine fall. 
 And all those goodly Statues shall be brent 
 Which were erect to the memoriall 
 Of Kings, and Kaesars, ne may better 'fall 
 The boastfull works of brave Poetick pride 
 That promise life and fame perpetuall ; 
 Ne better fate may these poore lines abide. 
 Betide what will to what may live no lenger tide 
 
 105 
 This is the course that never-dying Nature 
 Might ever hold, from all Eternitie 
 Renuing still the faint decayed creature, 
 Which would grow stark and drie as aged tree, 
 Unlesse by wise-preventing Destinie 
 She were at certain periods of years 
 Reduced back unto her Infancie, 
 Which well-fram'd argument (as plainly appears) 
 My ship from those hard rocks and shelves right safely 
 stears. 
 
 106 
 
 Lo ! now my faithfull muse hath represented 
 Both frames of Providence to open view, 
 And hath each point in orient colours painted, 
 Not to deceive the sight with seeming shew 
 But earnest to give either part their due ; 
 Now urging th' uncouth strange perplexitie 
 Of infinite worlds and Time, then of anew 
 Softening that harsher inconsistency 
 
 To fit the immense goodnesse of the Deity. 
 107 
 And here by curious men 't may be expected 
 That I this knot with judgement grave decide, 
 And then proceed to what else was objected. 
 But, ah ! What mortall wit may dare t' areed 
 Heavens counsels in eternall horrour hid ? 
 And Cynthius pulls me by my tender ear, 
 Such signes I must observe with wary heed : 
 Wherefore my restlesse Muse at length forbear, 
 
 Thy silver-sounded Lute hang up in silence here. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 
ANTIPSYCHOPANNYCHIA 
 
 OR 
 
 The third Book of the fong of the 
 
 SOUL: 
 
 Containing a Confutation of the sleep 
 of the Soul after death. 
 
 By H. M. Master of Arts, and Fellow of Christs 
 Colledge in Cambridge. 
 
 To \i\v rrjs alcrdrjo-ews, \pv\rjs «rriv ei8ovo-r]S. "Ocrov yap ev crw/iari 
 ^vx^s, tovto evSec, i] 8e dXijdivr] eypijy opens, dXrjdtvfj ixtto crw^a- 
 tos, ov p.era o-wp.aTOS dvdo~Tao~is. 
 
 Plotin. Ennead. 3. 
 
 'Eytu elftt ■>] dvao-Tao-is Kal tj £w>;. '0 TrujTtvuv els ip.e kJ.v diroddvtj 
 ^o-ctcu, Kal Trds 6 £wv Kal TTLCTTevoiv els ep,e, ov p.rj a7roddvr} els rbv 
 alwva. John II. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the 
 
 Univerfitie. 1647. 
 
The Preface to the Reader. 
 
 flO preface much concerning these little after- 
 pieces of Poetry, I hold needlesse, having 
 spoke my mind so fully before. The motives 
 that drew me to adde them to the former 
 are exprest 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 con- 
 trived, which I set to skirmish and conflict with all the 
 furious phansies of Epicurisme and Atheisme. But here's 
 my disadvantage, that victory will be no victory, unlesse 
 the adversary acknowledge himselfe overcome. None 
 can acknowledge himself overcome, unlesse he perceive 
 the strength, and feel the stroke of the more powerfull 
 arguments. But the exility and subtilty of many, and 
 that not of the meanest, is such (nor can they be other- 
 wise) that they will (as that kind of thunder which the 
 Poets do commonly call d/ryifa, from its over-quick and 
 penetrating energie) go through their more porous and 
 spongy minds without any sensible impression. 
 
 Sure I am that sensuality is alwayes an enemy to sub- 
 tilty of reason, which hath its rise from subtilty of 
 phansie : so that the life of the body, being vigorous and 
 radiant in the soul, hinders us of the sight of more 
 attenuate phantasmes ; but that being supprest 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 illus- 
 tration 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 glasse is pervious and trans- 
 parent ? Surely reflexion in the ordinary apprehension 
 is but a conceit. The darknesse behind the glasse 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 starres shine and fill the air with their species by 
 day, but are to be seen onely in a deep pit, which may 
 fence the Suns 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 
 Starrs, viz. propinquitie. But put out the candle, and 
 you will presently find the moon-light 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 shew, how the stronger or nearer 
 atcrdyfJ-a doth obscure the weaker or further off; and 
 how that one being removed, the energie of the other 
 will easily appear. 
 
 Now that our comparison may be the fitter, let us con- 
 sider what Aristotle saith of phansie, that it is aiaOrjals rts 
 dcdev^. Thus much I will take of him, that Phansie is 
 sense ; and adde to it that <pdvTaa/j.a is also aladriixa, and 
 atadij/Jia, <$>dvra.<sp.a.' and what I have intimated in some 
 passages of these Poems, that the soul doth alwayes 
 feel it self, its own actuall Idea, by its omniform centrall 
 self. So that the immediate sense of the soul is nothing 
 else but to perceive its own energie. 
 
 Now sith that, that which we call outward sense, is 
 indeed the very energie of the soul, and inward sense 
 which is phansie can be no other, there seems to be no 
 reall and intrinsecall difference betwixt the (pdvTacfxa 
 and atad-qfia of any form ; no more then there is betwixt 
 a frog born by the Sunne and mere slime, and one born 
 by copulation : For these are but extrinsecall relations. 
 Wherefore (pduraa/xa and a.i<rd7)/j.a. in the soul it self is 
 all one. 
 
 But now sith 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 energeti- 
 call as when we wake. 
 
 But here these aiffdrifiara or (pavrdcrfxara (for I have 
 prov'd 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 perpetuall sensuall 
 energie, if we foster this and unite our minds, will, and 
 animadversion with it, will by its close nearenesse with 
 the soul dim and obscure those more subtil and exile 
 phantasms or alcrdTi/xara risen from the soul it self, or 
 occasioned by other mens writings. For they will be in 
 the flaring light or life of the body as the starres in the 
 beams of the Sunne scarce to be seen, unlesse we with- 
 draw our selves out of the flush vigour of that light, into 
 the profoundity of our own souls, as into some deep 
 pit. 
 
 Wherefore men of the most tam'd 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 lesse 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 intend to prove, I doubt not but 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 i°3 
 
 they will have the happinesse to be overcome, and to 
 prove gainers by my victory. 
 
 To say anything more particularly concerning these 
 last I hold it needlesse. Onely let me excuse my self, 
 if any chance to blame me for my 'AjTtyu.ovoi/'i'X'a, 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, *Apo yap ws cltto fu.ds 7) 
 /j.ia at iracrai. The latter member is that, which my 
 arguments conclude against, though they were dirb puds 
 yet were we safe enough ; as safe as the beams of the 
 Sun the Sun existing. But the similitude of Praxiteles 
 broken glasse is brought in, according to the apprehension 
 of such, as make the image to vanish into nothing, the 
 glasse 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 ones working in divers bodies, yet there is but 
 one soul ; and understanding sense and motion to be the 
 acts of this one soul informing severall bodies. 
 
 This is that which both Plotinus and I endeavour to 
 destroy, which is of great moment : For if one onely 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 doubtfull. When the most High divided to the 
 nations their inheritance, when he separated the sonnes 
 of Adam he set the bounds of the people, ko.t dpi.dfj.dv 
 dyy^Xon/ Qeov. 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 perusall 
 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 fleep of the Soul. 
 
 Cant. I. 
 Adams long sleep, will, mind compard 
 
 With low vitality. 
 The fondnesse plainly have unbar d 
 
 Of Psychopannychie. 
 
 He 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 mortall wit, I fear, she'll tire 
 
 To trace her. Then a while I did respire. 
 But now my beating veins new force again 
 Invades, and holy fury doth inspire. 
 Thus stirred up, I'll adde a second strain, 
 Lest, what afore was said may seem all spoke in vain. 
 
 For sure in vain do humane souls exist 
 After this life, if lull'd in listlesse sleep 
 They senselesse lie, wrapt in eternal mist, 
 Bound up in foggy clouds, that ever weep 
 
I04- 
 
 THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Benumming tears, and the souls centre steep 
 With H uniting liquor, that she never minds 
 Or feeleth ought. Thus drench'd in Lethe deep, 
 Nor misseth she her self, nor seeks nor finds 
 Her self. This mirksome state all the souls actions 
 binds. 
 
 3 
 
 Desire, fear, love, joy, sorrow, pleasure, pain, 
 Sense, phancy, wit, forecasting providence, 
 Delight in God, and what with sleepy brain 
 Might sute, slight dreams, all banish'd farre from 
 
 hence. 
 Nor pricking nor applauding conscience 
 Can wake the soul from this dull Lethargie ; 
 That 'twixt this sleepy state small difference 
 You'll find and that men call Mortality : 
 Plain death's as good as such a Psychopatmychie. 
 
 What profiteth this bare existency, 
 If I perceive not that I do exist? 
 Nought 'longs to such, nor mirth nor misery. 
 Such stupid beings write into one list 
 With stocks and stones. But they do not persist, 
 You'll say, in this dull dead condition ; 
 But must revive, shake off this drowsie mist 
 At that last shrill loud-sounding clarion 
 Which cleaves the trembling earth, rives monuments of 
 stone. 
 
 s 
 
 Has then old Adam snorted all this time 
 Under some senselesse sod with sleep ydead? 
 And have those flames, that steep Olympus climbe 
 Right nimbly wheeled ore his heedlesse head 
 So oft, in heaps of years low buried : 
 And yet can ken himself when he shall rise 
 Wakend by piercing trump, that farre doth shed 
 Its searching sound ? If we our memories 
 And wit do lose by sicknesse, falls, sloth, lethargies : 
 
 If all our childhood quite be waste away 
 With its impressions, so that we forget 
 What once we were, so soon as age doth sway 
 Our bowed backs, sure when base worms have eat 
 His mouldring brains, and spirits have retreat 
 From whence they came, spread in the common fire, 
 And many thousand sloping sunnes have set 
 Since his last fall into his ancient mire, 
 How he will ken himself reason may well admire : 
 
 For he must know himself by some impression 
 Left in his ancient body unwash'd out ; 
 Which seemeth strange ; for can so long succession 
 Of sliding years that great Colosses mought 
 Well moulder into dust, spare things ywrought 
 So slightly as light phantasms in our brain, 
 
 Which oft one yeare or moneth have wrenched out 
 And left no footsteps of that former stain, 
 No more then's of a cloud quite melted into rain ? 
 
 8 
 
 And shall not such long series of time, 
 When Nature hath dispread our vitall spright 
 And turn'd our body to its ancient slime, 
 Quite wash away whatever was empight 
 In that our spirit ? If flesh and soul unite 
 Lose such impressions, as were once deep seald 
 And fairly glistered like to comets bright 
 In our blew Chaos, if the soul congeald 
 With her own body lose these forms as I reveald, 
 
 9 
 
 Then so long time of their disjunction 
 (The body being into dust confract, 
 The spright diffused, spread by dispersion) 
 And such Lethean sleep that doth contract 
 The souls hid rayes that it did nothing act, 
 Must certainly wipe all these forms away 
 That sense or phansie ever had impact. 
 So that old Adam will in vain assay 
 
 To find who here he was ; he'll have no memory. 
 IO 
 Nor can he tell that ere he was before : 
 And if not tell, he's as if then first born. 
 If as first born, his former life's no store. 
 Yet when men wake they find themselves at morn. 
 But if their memory away were worn 
 With one nights sleep, as much as doth respect 
 Themselves, these men they never were beforn, 
 This day's their birth day : they can not conject 
 
 They ever liv'd till now, much lesse the same detect. 
 II 
 So when a man goes hence, thus may he say, 
 As much as me concerns I die now quite. 
 Adiew, good self ! for now thou goest away, 
 Nor can I possibly thee ever meet 
 Again, nor ken thy face, nor kindly greet. 
 Sleep and dispersion spoyls our memory. 
 So my dear self henceforth I cannot weet. 
 Wherefore to me its perfectly to die, 
 
 Though subtiler Wits do call't but Psychopannychie. 
 12 
 Go now you Psychopannychites I perswade 
 To comely virtues and pure piety 
 From hope of ioy, or fear of penance sad. 
 Men promptly may make answer, Who shall try 
 That pain or pleasure ? When death my dim eye 
 Shall close, I sleep not sensible of ought : 
 And tract of time at least all memory 
 Will quite debarre, that reacquainten mought 
 
 My self with mine own self, if so my self I sought. 
 
 13 
 
 But I shall neither seek my selfe, nor find 
 My self unsought : Therefore not deprehend 
 
THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 105 
 
 My self in joy or wo. Men ought to mind 
 What 'longs unto them. But when once an end 
 Is put unto this life, and fate doth rend 
 Our retinence ; what follows nought at all 
 Belongs to us : what need I to contend, 
 And my frail spright with present pain to gall 
 For what I nere shall judge my self did ere befall ; 
 
 14 
 
 This is the uncouth state of sleeping soul, 
 Thus weak of her own self without the prop 
 Of the base body, that she note out-roll 
 Her vitall raies : those raies Death down doth lop, 
 And all her goodly beauty quite doth crop 
 With his black claws. Wisdome, love, piety, 
 Are straight dried up : Death doth their fountain stop, 
 This is those sleepers dull Philosophy, 
 Which fairly men invites to foul impiety. 
 
 IS 
 
 But if we grant, which in my former song 
 I plainly prov'd, that the souls energie 
 Tends not on this base corse, but that self-strong 
 She by her self can work, then when we fly 
 The bodies commerce, no man can deny 
 But that there is no interruption 
 Of life ; where will puts on, there doth she hie 
 Or if she's carried by coaction, 
 That force yet she observes by presse adversion. 
 
 16 
 
 And with most lively touch doth feel and find 
 Her self. For either what she most doth love 
 She then obtains ; or else with crosse, unkind 
 Contrary life since her decease sh' hath strove, 
 That keeps her wake, and with like might doth move 
 To think upon her self, and in what plight 
 She's fallen. And nothing able to remove 
 Deep searching vengeance, groans in this sad Night, 
 And rores, and raves, and storms, and with her self doth 
 fight. 
 
 17 
 But hearty love of that great vitall spright, 
 The sacred fount of holy sympathy ; 
 Prepares the soul with its deep quickning might 
 To leave the bodies vain mortality. 
 Away she flies into Eternity, 
 Finds full accomplishment of her desire ; 
 Each thing would reach its own centrality : 
 So Earth with Earth, and Moon with Moon conspire. 
 Our selves live most, when most we feed our Centralize. 
 
 18 
 Thus is the soul continually in life 
 Withouten interruption, if that she 
 Can operate after the fatall kn ife 
 Hath cut the cords of lower sympathy : 
 WrUchshe can do, if that some^hergie 
 She exercise (immur'd in this base clay) 
 
 19 
 
 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 Gods decree 
 Or prudent sufferance, sweetly spread, dilate, 
 Stretch'd out t' embrace each act or entity 
 That creep from hidden cause that none can see 
 With outward eyes. Next Intellect, whose hight 
 Of working's then, whenas it stands most free 
 From sense and grosser phansie, deep empight 
 
 In this vild corse, which to purg'd minds yields small 
 delight. 
 
 20 
 Both Will and Intellect then worketh best, 
 When Sense and Appetite be consopite, 
 And grosser phansie lull'd in silent rest : 
 Then Will grown full with a mild heavenly light 
 Shines forth with goodly mentall rayes bedight, 
 And finds and feels such things as never pen 
 Can setten down, so that unexpert wight 
 May reade and understand. Experienc'd men 
 
 Do onely know who like impressions sustain : 
 
 So far's the Soul from a dependency 
 (In these high actions) on the body base. 
 And further signe is want of memory 
 Of these impressions wrought in heavenly place, 
 I mean the holy Intellect: they passe 
 Leaving no footsteps of their former light, 
 Whenas the soul from thence descended has, 
 Which is a signe those forms be not empight 
 In our low proper Chaos or Corporeall spright. 
 
 For then when we our mind do downward bend 
 Like things we here should find : but all is gone 
 Soon as our flagging souls so low descend 
 As that straight spright. Like torch that droppeth 
 
 down 
 From some high tower, held steddy, clearly shone, 
 But in its fall leaves all its light behind, 
 Lies now in darknesse on the grail, or stone, 
 Or dirty earth : That erst so fully shin'd, 
 Within a glowing coal hath now its light confin'd. 
 
 23 
 So doth the soul when from high Intellect 
 To groveling sense she takes her stooping flight, 
 Falling into her body, quite neglect, 
 Forget, forgo her former glorious sight. 
 Grosse glowing fire for that wide-shining light ; 
 For purest love, foul fury and base passion ; 
 For clearest knowledge, fell contentious fight 
 Sprong from some scorching false inust impression 
 Which she'll call truth, she gains. O witlesse Commu- 
 tation ! 
 
io6 
 
 THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 24 
 But still more clear her independent might 
 In understanding and pure subtile will 
 To prove : I will assay t' explain aright 
 The difference ('ccording to my best skill) 
 'Twixt these and those base faculties that well 
 From union with the low consistency 
 Of this Out-world, that when my curious quill, 
 Hath well describ'd their great disparity, 
 To th' highest we may give an independency. 
 
 25 
 The faculties we deem corporeall, 
 And bound unto this earthy instrument 
 (So bound that they no'te operate at all 
 Without the body there immerse and meint) 
 Be hearing, feeling, tasting, sight, and sent. 
 Adde lower phansie, Mundane memory : 
 Those powers be all or more or lesse ypent 
 In this grosse life : We'll first their property 
 Set down, and then the others contrariety. 
 
 26 
 This might perceives not its own instrument. 
 The taste discovers not the spungy tongue ; 
 Nor is the Mundane spright (through all extent) 
 From whence are sense and lower phansie sprong 
 Perceived by the best of all among 
 These learned Five, nor yet by phantasie : 
 Nor doth or this or those so nearly throng 
 Unto themselves as by propinquity 
 To apprehend themselves. They no'te themselves des- 
 cry ; 
 
 27 
 Nor e're learn what their own impressions be. 
 The mind held somewhere else in open sight, 
 Whatever lies, unknown unto the eye 
 It lies, though there its image be empight, 
 Till that our soul look on that image right. 
 Wherefore themselves the senses do not know, 
 Nor doth our phansie ; for each furious wight 
 Hath phansie full enough, so full 't doth show 
 As sense ; nor he, nor 's phansie doth that phansie know. 
 
 28 
 Age, potent objects, too long exercise 
 Do weaken, hurt, and much debilitate 
 Those lower faculties. The Sun our eyes 
 Confounds with dazeling beams of light, so that 
 For a good while we cannot contemplate 
 Ought visible : thus thunder deafs the eare, 
 And age hurts both, that doth quite ruinate 
 Our sense and phansie : so if long we heare 
 Or see, 't sounds not so sweet, nor can we see so clear. 
 
 29 
 Lastly, the Senses reach but to one kind 
 Of things. The eye sees colours, so the eare 
 
 Hears sounds, the nostrills snuff perfumed wind ; 
 What grosse impressions the out-senses bear 
 The phansie represents ; sometimes it dare 
 Make unseen shapes, with uncouth transformation, 
 Such things as never in true Nature are, 
 But all this while the phansies operation 
 To laws bodily is bound : such is her figuration. 
 
 This is the nature of those faculties 
 That of the lower Mundane spright depend. 
 But in our Intellect farre otherwise 
 We'st see it, if we pressely will attend 
 And trace the parallels unto the end. 
 There's no self-knowledge. Here the soul doth find 
 Her self. If so, then without instrument. 
 For what more fit to show our inward mind 
 Then our own mind ? But if 't be otherwise defin'd ; 
 
 31 
 
 Then tell me, Knows she that fit instrument ? 
 If she kens not that instrument, how can 
 She judge, whether truely it doth represent 
 Her self? there may be foul delusion. 
 But if she kens this Organ ; straight upon 
 This grant, I'll ask how kens she this same tole ? 
 What ? by another ? by what that ? so go on 
 Till to infinity you forward roll, 
 An horrid monster count in Philosophick school. 
 
 32 
 The soul then works by 't self, and is self-liv'd, 
 Sith that it acts without an instrument : 
 Free motions from her own self deriv'd 
 Flow round. But to go on. The eyes yblent 
 Do blink, even blind with objects vehement, 
 So that till they themselves do well recure 
 Lesse matters they no'te see. But rayes down sent 
 From higher sourse the mind doth maken pure, 
 Do clear, do subtilize, do fix, do settle sure. 
 
 33 
 
 That if so be she list to bend her will 
 To lesser matters, she would it perform 
 More excellently with more art and skill : 
 Nor by long exercise her strength is worn ; 
 Witnesse wise Socrates, from morn to morn 
 That stood as stiff as any trunck of tree : 
 What eye could bear in contemplation 
 So long a fix'dnesse? none so long could see, 
 Its watery tears would wail its frail infirmity. 
 
 34 
 Nor feeble eld, sure harbinger of death, 
 Doth hinder the free work of th' Intellect. 
 When th' eye growes dim and dark that it unneath 
 Can see through age, the mind then close collect 
 Into her self, such mysteries doth detect 
 By her far-piercing beams, that youthfull heat 
 
THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 107 
 
 Doth count them folly and with scorn neglect ; 
 His ignorance concludes them but deceit ; 
 He hears not that still voyce, his pulse so loud doth beat. 
 
 35 
 Lastly sense, phansie, though they be confin'd 
 To certain objects, which to severall 
 Belong ; yet sure the Intellect or mind 
 Apprehends all objects, both corporeall, 
 As colours, sounds ; and incorporeall, 
 As virtue, wisdome, and the higher spright, 
 Gods love and beauty intellectuall ; 
 So that its plain that she is higher pight 
 Then in all acts to 'pend on any earthly might : 
 
 36 
 
 If will and appetite we list compare, 
 Like difference we easly there discover, 
 This pent, contract, yfraught with furious jar 
 And fierce antipathy. It boyleth over 
 With fell revenge ; or if new chance to cover 
 The former passion ; suppose lust or fear : 
 Yet all are tumults, but the will doth hover, 
 No whit enslav'd to what she findeth here, 
 But in a free suspence her self doth nimbly bear. 
 
 37 
 Mild, gentle, calm, quick, large, subtill, serene, 
 These be her properties which do increase 
 The more that vigour in the bodies vein 
 Doth waste and waxen faint. Desires decrease 
 When age the Mundane spright doth more release 
 From this straight mansion. But the will doth flower 
 And fairly spread, near to our last decease 
 Embraceth God with much more life and power 
 Then ever she could do in her fresh vernall hower. 
 
 38 
 
 Wherefore I think we safely may conclude 
 That Will and Intellect do not rely 
 Upon the body, sith they are indew'd 
 With such apparent contrariety 
 Of qualities to sense and phantasie, 
 Which plainly on the body do depend : 
 So that departed souls may phantasms free 
 Full well exert, when they have made an end 
 Of this vain life, nor need to Lethe Lake descend. 
 
 The Argument of 
 ANTI PSYCH OPAN NYC HI A 
 
 Or, 
 
 The Confutation of the Sleep of the Soul. 
 
 Cant. II. 
 Bondage and freedom s here set out 
 
 By an inverted Cone : 
 The self-form d soul may work without 
 
 Incorporation. 
 
 I 
 
 jjOuntain of beings ! the vast deep abysse 
 Of Life and Love and penetrating Will, 
 That breaks through narrow Night, & so 
 transmiss 
 At last doth find it self ! What mortall skill 
 
 Can reach this mystery ? my trembling quill 
 Much lesse may set it forth ; yet as I may 
 I must attempt this task for to fulfill. 
 He guide my pen while I this work assay 
 Who All, through all himself doth infinitely display. 
 
 My end's loose largenesse and full liberty 
 
 To finden out ; Most precious thing I ween. 
 
 When centrall life her outgone energy 
 
 Doth spreaden forth, unsneep'd by foe-man keen, 
 
io8 
 
 THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 And like unclouded Sunne doth freely shine ; 
 This is right Liberty, whose first Idee 
 And measure is that holy root divine 
 Of all free life, hight Abad, Unitie: 
 In all things He at once is present totally. 
 
 Each totall presence must be infinite : 
 So is He infinite infinity, 
 Those infinites you must not disunite : 
 So is He one all-spreaden Unity. 
 Nor must you so outspread this Deitie, 
 But that infinitie so infinite 
 Must be in every infinite : so we 
 Must multiply this infinite single sight 
 Above all apprehension of a mortall wit. 
 
 4 
 What is not infinitely infinite, 
 It is not simply infinite and free : 
 For straitnesse (if you do conceive aright) 
 Is the true daughter of deficiency. 
 But sith there's no defect in Unity, 
 Or Abad, (Abad this first centre hight : 
 In Poetry as yet to vulgar eye 
 Unpublish'd). Him first freedome infinite 
 We may well style. And next is that eternall Light 
 
 Sonne unto Abad, sEoti we him name 
 (In that same Poem) like his father free, 
 Even infinitely free I him proclaim 
 Everywhere all at once. And so is she 
 Which Psyche hight : for perfect Unity 
 Makes all those one. So hitherto we have 
 Unmeasurable freedome. Semele 
 Is next, whom though fair fluttering forms embrave, 
 Yet motion and defect her liberty deprave. 
 
 6 
 
 Imagination 's not infinite, 
 Yet freer farre than sense ; and sense more free 
 Then vegetation or spermatick spright. 
 Even absent things be seen by phantasie ; 
 By sense things present at a distancie ; 
 But that spermatick spright is close confin'd 
 Within the compasse of a stupid tree, 
 Imprison'd quite in the hard rugged rind, 
 Yet their defective Replication we find : 
 
 7 
 
 Farre more defective then in phantasie 
 Or sense ; yet freer is the plastick spright 
 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 rayes to bear ; 
 If there be such, to Hyle they do verge most near. 
 
 But Hyle's self is perfect penurie, 
 And infinite straitnesse : here we finden nought, 
 Nor can do ought. If curiously we prie 
 Into this mirksome corner quite distraught 
 From our own life and being, we have brought 
 Our selves to nothing. Or the sooth to sayen 
 The subtilest soul her self hath never wrought 
 Into so strait a place, could nere constrain 
 Herself to enter, or that Hagge to entertain. 
 
 Lo ! here's the figure of that mighty Cone, 
 From the strait Cuspis to the wide-spread Base 
 Which is even all in comprehension. 
 What's infinitely nothing here hath place ; 
 What's infinitely all things steddy stayes 
 At the wide Basis of this Cone inverse, 
 Yet its own essence doth it swiftly chace, 
 Oretakes at once ; so swiftly doth it pierce 
 That motion here's no motion. 
 
 Suppose the Sunne so much to mend his pace, 
 That in a moment he did round the skie, 
 The nimble Night how swiftly would he chace 
 About the earth ? so swift that scarce thine eye 
 Could ought but light discern. But let him hie 
 So fast, that swiftnesse hath grown infinite, 
 In a pure point of time so must he flie 
 Around this ball, and the vast shade of Night 
 Quite swallow up, ever steddy stand in open sight. 
 
 II 
 
 For that which from its place is not away 
 One point of time, how can you say it moves ? 
 Wherefore the Sunne doth alwayes steddy stay 
 In our Meridian, as this reason proves. 
 And sith that in an instant round he roves, 
 The same doth hap in each Meridian line ; 
 For in his instantaneous removes 
 He in them all at once doth fairely shine. 
 Nor that large stretchen space his freenesse can confine. 
 
 12 
 
 The Sun himself at once stands in each point 
 Of his diurnall circle : Thus we see 
 That rest and motion cannot be disjoynt, 
 When motion's swift even to infinity. 
 Here contrarieties do well agree, 
 Eternall shade and everlasting light 
 With one another here do well comply ; 
 Instant returns of Night make one long Night. 
 Wherefore infinity is freedome infinite. 
 
 13 
 
 No hinderance to ought that doth arrive 
 
 To this free camp of fair Elysium, 
 
 But nearer that to Hyle things do dive, 
 
 They are more pent, and find much lesser room. 
 
THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 109 
 
 Thus sensuall souls do find their righteous doom 
 Which Nemesis inflicts, when they descend 
 From heavenly thoughts that from above do come 
 To lower life, which wrath and grief attend, 
 And scorching lust, that do the souls high honour blend. 
 
 Wherefore the soul cut off from lowly sense 
 By harmlesse fate, farre greater liberty 
 Must gain : for when it hath departed hence 
 (As all things else) should it not backward hie 
 From whence it came ? but such divinity 
 Is in our souls that nothing lesse then God 
 Could send them forth (as Plato's schools descry) 
 Wherefore when they retreat, a free abode 
 They'll find, unlesse kept off by A T emesis just rod. 
 
 But if kept off from thence, where is she then? 
 She dwells in her own self ; there doth reside. 
 Is her own world, and more or lesse doth pen 
 Her self, as more or lesse she erst did side 
 With sense and vice, while here she did abide. 
 Steril defect and nere-obtaind desire 
 Create a Cone, whose Cusp is not more wide 
 Then this worlds Cone. Here close-contracted fire 
 Doth vex, doth burn, doth scorch with searching heat 
 and ire. 
 
 16 
 
 Nor easly can she here fall fast asleep 
 To slake her anguish and tormenting pain : 
 What drisling mists may here her senses steep ? 
 What foggie fumes benumb her moistned brain? 
 The fiitten soul no sense doth then retain. 
 And sleep ariseth from a sympathie 
 With these low sprights that in this flesh remain. 
 But when from these the soul is setten free, 
 What sleep may bind her from continuall energie ? 
 
 17 
 Here they'll reply, It is not a grosse sleep 
 That binds the soul from operation. 
 But sith that death all phantasms clean doth wipe 
 Out of the soul, she no occasion 
 Can have of Will or Intellection. 
 The corpse doth rot, the spirit wide is spread, 
 And svith the Mundatu life fallen into one : 
 So then the soul from these quite being fled, 
 Unmov'd of ought must lie, sunk in deep drowsihead. 
 
 18 
 Nought then she hath whereon to contemplate, 
 Her ancient phantasms melt and glide away, 
 Her spright suck'd back by all-devouring fate 
 And spread abroad, those forms must needs decay 
 That were therein imprinted. If they stay, 
 Yet sith the soul from them is disunite, 
 Into her knowledge they can never ray. 
 So wants she objects the mind to excite : 
 Wherefore asleep she lies wrapt in eternall Night. 
 
 19 
 To which I answer, though she corporate 
 With no world yet, by a just Nemesis 
 Kept off from all ; yet she thus separate 
 May oft be struck with potent rayes transmisse 
 From divers worlds, that with such mockeries 
 Kindling an hungry fire and eager will, 
 They do the wretched soul but Tantalize, 
 And with fierce choking flames and fury fill, 
 So vext, that if she could, in rage herself she'd kill. 
 
 If any doubt of this perplexitie, 
 And think so subtil thing can suffer nought : 
 What's gnawing conscience from impietie 
 By highest parts of humane soul ywrought ? 
 For so our very soul with pain is fraught, 
 The body being in an easie plight. 
 Through all the senses when you've pressly sought, 
 In none of them you'll find this sting empight : 
 So may we deem this dart the soul it self to hit. 
 
 21 
 
 Again, when all the senses be ybound 
 In sluggish sloth, the soul doth oft create 
 So mighty pain, so cruelly doth wound 
 Herself with tearing tortures, as that state 
 No man awake could ever tolerate. 
 Which must be in herself : for once return' d 
 Unto her body new resuscitate 
 From sleep, remembring well how erst she mourn'd, 
 Marvels how all so soon to peace and ease is turn'd. 
 
 Wherefore the soul itself receiveth pain 
 From her own self, withouten sympathie 
 With something else, whose misery must constrain 
 To deep compassion. So if struck she be 
 With secret ray, or some strong energie 
 Of any world, or Lives that there remain, 
 She's kept awake. Besides fecunditie 
 Of her own nature surely doth contain 
 Innate /dees; This truth more fully I'll explain. 
 
 23 
 
 Strong forward-bearing will or appetite, 
 A never-wearied importunitie, 
 Is the first life of this deep centrall spright : 
 Thus thrusts she forth before her some Idee 
 Whereby herself now actuall she doth see. 
 Her mighty Fiat doth command each form 
 T appear : As did that ancient Majestie 
 This world of old by his drad Word efform, 
 And made the soul of man thus divine Dei form. 
 
 24 
 Thus in a manner th' humane soul creates 
 The image of her will, when from her centre 
 
THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Her pregnant mind she fairly explicates 
 By actuall forms, and so doth safely enter 
 To knowledge of her self. 
 Flush light she sendeth forth, and live I dees : 
 Those be the glasse whereby the soul doth paint her. 
 Sweet centrall love sends out such forms as please ; 
 But centrall hate or fear foul shapes with evil ease. 
 
 25 
 The manner of her life on earth may cause 
 Diversity of those eruptions, 
 For will, desire, or custome do dispose 
 The soul to such like figurations : 
 Propension brings imaginations, 
 Unto their birth. And oft the soul lets flie 
 Such unexpected eructations, 
 That she her self cannot devisen why, 
 Unlesse she do ascribe it to her pregnancy. 
 
 26 
 
 It is an argument of her forms innate 
 Which blazen out, perchance when none descry. 
 This light is lost, sense doth so radiate 
 With Mundane life, till this poor carcase die. 
 As when a lamp, that men do sitten by, 
 In some wide hall in a clear winter night, 
 Being blown out or wasted utterly, 
 Unwares they find a sly still silver light ; 
 The moon the wall or pavement with mild rayes hath 
 dight. 
 
 27 
 
 So when the oyl of this low life is spent, 
 Which like a burning lamp doth waste away ; 
 Or if blown out by fate more violent ; 
 The soul may find an unexpected ray 
 Of light ; not from full-faced Cynthia, 
 But her own fulnesse and quick pregnancy : 
 Unthought of life her Nature may display 
 Unto her self ; not by forc'd industry, 
 But naturally it sprouts from her fecundity. 
 
 28 
 Now sith adversion is a property 
 So deeply essentiall to the rationall soul, 
 This light or life from her doth not so fly, 
 But she goes with it as it out doth roll. 
 All spirits that around their raies extoll 
 Possesse each point of their circumference 
 Presentially. Wherefore the soul so full 
 Of life, when it raies out, with presse presence 
 Oretakes each outgone beam ; apprends it by advertence. 
 
 Thus plainly we perceive th' activity 
 Of the departed soul ; if we could find 
 Strong reason to confirm th' innate idee, 
 Essentiall forms created with the mind. 
 But things obscure no'te easly be defin'd. 
 Yet some few reasons I will venture at, 
 
 To show that God's so liberall and kind 
 As, when an humane soul he doth create, 
 To fill it with hid forms and deep idees innate. 
 
 30 
 Well sang the wise Empedocles of old, 
 That earth by earth, and sea by sea we see, 
 And heaven by heaven, and fire more bright than gold 
 By flaming fire ; so gentle love descry 
 By love, and hate by hate. And all agree 
 That like is known by like. Hence they confesse 
 That some externall species strikes the eye 
 Like to its object, in the self-same dresse. 
 But my first argument hence I'll begin to presse. 
 
 31 
 
 If like be known by like, then must the mind 
 Innate idolums in it self contain, 
 To judge the forms she doth imprinted find 
 Upon occasions. If she doth not ken 
 These shapes that flow from distant objects, then 
 How can she know those objects ? a dead glasse 
 (That light and various forms do gaily stain) 
 Set out in open streets, shapes as they passe 
 As well may see ; Lutes hear each soaming diapase. 
 
 32 
 But if she know those species out-sent 
 From distant objects ; tell me how she knows 
 These species. By some other? You nere ment 
 To answer so. For straight the question goes 
 Unto another, and still forward flows 
 Even to infinity. Doth th' object serve 
 Its image to the mind for to disclose ? 
 This answer hath as little sense or nerve : 
 Now reel you in a circle if you well observe. 
 
 33 
 
 Wherefore no ascititious form alone 
 Can make us see or hear ; but when this spright 
 That is one with the Mundane' s hit upon 
 (Sith all forms in our soul be counite 
 And centrally lie there) she doth beget 
 Like shapes in her own self ; that energie 
 By her own centrall self who forth it let, 
 Is view'd. Her centrall omniformity 
 Thus easly keepeth off needlesse infinity. 
 
 34 
 
 For the quick soul by 't self doth all things know. 
 And sith withouten apt similitude 
 Nought's known, upon her we must needs bestow 
 Essentiall centrall forms, that thus endew'd 
 With universall likenesse ever transmew'd 
 Into a representing energie 
 Of this or that, she may have each thing view'd 
 By her own centrall self-vitality 
 Which is her self-esscntiall omniformity. 
 
THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 in 
 
 35 
 
 If plantall souls in their own selves contain 
 That vitall formative fecundity, 
 That they a tree with different colour stain, 
 And divers shapes, smoothnesse, asperity, 
 Straightnesse, acutenesse, and rotundity, 
 A golden yellow, or a crimson red, 
 A varnish'd green with such like gallantry ; 
 How dull then is the sensitive ? how dead, 
 If forms from its own centre it can never spread ? 
 
 36 
 Again, an Universall notion, 
 What object ever did that form impresse 
 Upon the soul ? What makes us venture on 
 So rash a matter, as ere to confesse 
 Ought generally true ? when neverthelesse 
 We cannot e're runne through all singulars. 
 Wherefore in our own souls we do possesse 
 Free forms and immateriall characters. 
 Hence 'tis the soul so boldly generall truth declares. 
 
 37 
 What man that is not dull or mad would doubt 
 Whether that truth (for which Pythagoras, 
 When he by subtile study found it out, 
 Unto the Muses for their helping grace 
 An Hecatomb did sacrifice) may passe 
 In all such figures wheresoever they be? 
 Yet all Rectangle Triangles none has 
 Viewed, as yet, none all shall ever see. 
 Wherefore this free assent is from th' innate Idee. 
 
 38 
 Adde unto these incorporeity 
 Apprehended by the soul, when sense nere saw 
 Ought incorporeall. Wherefore must she 
 From her own self such subtile Idols draw. 
 Again, this truth more clearly still to know, 
 Let's turn again to our Geometry. 
 What body ever yet could figure show 
 Perfectly perfect, as rotundity 
 Exactly round, or blamelesse angularity? 
 
 39 
 Yet doth the soul of such like forms discourse, 
 And finden fault at this deficiency, 
 And rightly term this better and that worse ; 
 Wherefore the measure is our own Idee, 
 Which th' humane soul in her own self doth see. 
 And sooth to sayen when ever she doth strive 
 To find pure truth, her own profundity 
 She enters, in her self doth deeply dive ; 
 From thence attempts each essence rightly to descrive. 
 
 40 
 Last argument, which yet is not the least. 
 Wise Socrates dispute with Thesetete 
 Concerning learning fitly doth suggest. 
 A midwifes sonne ycleeped Phenarete, 
 He calls himself : Then makes a quaint conceit, 
 That he his mothers trade did exercise. 
 All witlesse his own self yet well did weet 
 By his fit questions to make others wise ; 
 A midwife that no'te bear, anothers birth unties. 
 
 Thus jestingly he flung out what was true, 
 That humane souls be swoln with pregnancy 
 Of hidden knowledge ; if with usage due 
 They were well handled, they each verity 
 Would bringen forth from their fecunditie ; 
 Wise-framed questions would facilitate 
 This precious birth, stirre up th' inward Idee, 
 And make it streme with light from forms innate. 
 Thus may a skilfull man hid truth elicitate. 
 
 42 
 What doth the teacher in his action 
 But put slight hints into his scholars mind? 
 Which breed a solemn contemplation 
 Whether such things be so ; but he doth find 
 The truth himself. But if truth be not sign'd 
 In his own Soul before, and the right measure 
 Of things propos'd, in vain the youth doth wind 
 Into himself, and all that anxious leasure 
 In answering proves uselesse without that hid treasure. 
 
 43 
 Nor is his masters knowledge from him flit 
 Into his scholars head : for so his brain 
 In time would be exhaust and void of wit, 
 So would the sory man but little gain 
 Though richly paid. Nor is't more safe to sain 
 As fire breeds fire, art art doth generate, 
 The soul with Corporeity 't would stain : 
 Such qualities outwardly operate, 
 The soul within ; her acts there closely circulate. 
 
 44 
 Wherefore the soul it self by her Idee, 
 Which is her self, doth every thing discover ; 
 By her own Central! Omniformity 
 Brings forth in her own self when ought doth move 
 
 her ; 
 Till mov'd a dark indifferency doth hover. 
 But fierce desire, and a strong piercing will 
 Makes her those hidden characters uncover. 
 Wherefore when death this lower life shall spill, 
 Or fear or love the soul with actuall forms shall fill. 
 
The Argument of 
 
 ANTIPSYCHOPANNYCHIA 
 
 Or, 
 
 The Confutation of the Sleep of the Soul. 
 
 Cant. III. 
 Departed souls by living Night 
 
 Suckt in, for pinching wo 
 A r o'te sleep; or if with God unite, 
 
 For joyes with which they flow. 
 
 Y hardest task is gone, which was to prove 
 That when the soul by death's cut off from 
 
 all, 
 Yet she within her self might live and move, 
 Be her own world, by life imaginall. 
 But sooth to sain, 't seems not so naturall. 
 For though a starre, part of the Mundane spright, 
 Shine out with rayes circumferentiall 
 So long as with this world it is unite ; 
 Yet what t' would do cut off, so well we cannot weet. 
 
 But sith our soul with God himself may meet, 
 Inacted by His life, I cannot see 
 What scruple then remains that moven might 
 Least doubt, but that she wakes with open eye, 
 When Fate her from this body doth untie. 
 Wherefore her choisest forms do then arise, 
 Rowz'd up by union and large sympathy 
 With Gods own spright ; she plainly then descries 
 Such plentitude of life, as she could nere devise. 
 
 If God even on this body operate, 
 And shakes this Temple when he doth descend, 
 Or with sweet vigour doth irradiate, 
 And lovely light and heavenly beauty lend. 
 Such rayes from Moses face did once extend 
 Themselves on Sinai hill, where he did get 
 Those laws from Gods own mouth, mans life to mend 
 And from Messias on mount Saron set 
 Farre greater beauty shone in his disciples sight. 
 
 Als Socrates, when (his large Intellect 
 Being fill'd with streaming light from God above) 
 To that fair sight his soul did close collect, 
 That inward lustre through the body drove 
 Bright beams of beauty. These examples prove 
 That our low being the great Deity 
 Invades, and powerfully doth change and move. 
 Which if you grant, the souls divinity 
 More fitly doth receive so high a Majesty. 
 
 5 
 
 And that God doth illuminate the mind, 
 Is well-approv'd by all antiquity ; 
 With them Philosophers and Priests we find 
 All one : or else at least Philosophy 
 Link'd with Gods worship and pure piety : 
 Witnesse Pythagoras, Aglaophemus, 
 Zoroaster, thrice-mighty Mercury, 
 Wise Socrates, nothing injurious, 
 Religious Plato, and vice-taming Orpheus. 
 
 All these, addicted to religion, 
 Acknowledg'd God the fount of verity. 
 From whence flows out illumination 
 Upon purg'd souls. But now, O misery ! 
 To seek to God is held a phantasie, 
 But men hug close their loved lust and vice, 
 And deem that thraldome a sweet liberty ; 
 Wherefore reproch and shame they do devise 
 Against the braver souls that better things emprise. 
 
 But lo ! a proof more strong and manifest : 
 Few men but will confesse that prophesie 
 Proceeds from God, when as our soul's possest 
 By his All-seeing spright ; als ecstasie 
 
THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 ii3 
 
 Wherein the soul snatch'd by the Deity. 
 And for a time into high heaven hent 
 Doth contemplate that blest Divinity 
 So Paul and John that into Patmos went, 
 Heard and saw things inestimably excellent. 
 
 Such things as these, men joyntly do confesse 
 To spring from Gods own spirit immediately : 
 But if that God ought on the soul impresse 
 Before it be at perfect liberty, 
 Quite rent from this base body ; when that she 
 Is utterly releast, she'll be more fit 
 To be inform'd by that divine Idee 
 Hight Logos, that doth every man enlight 
 That enters into life, as speaks the sacred Writ. 
 
 Behold a fit resemblance of this truth, 
 The Sun begetteth both colours and sight, 
 Each living thing with life his heat indew'th, 
 He kindles into act each plastick spright : 
 Thus he the world with various forms doth dight 
 And when his vigour hath fram'd out an eye 
 In any living wight, he fills with light 
 That Organ, which can plainly then descry 
 The forms that under his far-shining beams do ly. 
 
 IO 
 
 Even so it is with th' intellectuall sunne, 
 Fountain of life, and all-discovering light, 
 He frames our souls by his creation, 
 Als he indews them with internall sight, 
 Then shines into them by his lucid spright. 
 But corporall life doth so obnubilate 
 Our inward eyes that they be nothing bright ; 
 While in this muddy world incarcerate 
 They lie, and with blind passions be intoxicate. 
 
 Fear, anger, hope, fierce vengeance, and swoln hate, 
 Tumultuous joy, envie and discontent, 
 Self-love, vain-glory, strife and fell debate, 
 Unsatiate covetise, desire impotent, 
 Low-sinking griefe, pleasure, lust violent, 
 Fond emulation, all these dim the mind 
 That with foul filth the inward eye yblent, 
 That light that is so near it cannot find. 
 So shines the Sunne unseen on a trees rugged rind. 
 
 12 
 But the clean soul by virtue purifi'd 
 Collecting her own self from the foul steem 
 Of earthly life, is often dignifi'd 
 With that pure pleasure that from God doth streem, 
 Often's enlightn'd by that radiant beam, 
 That issues forth from his divinity, 
 Then feelingly immortall she doth deem 
 Her self, conjoynd by so near unity 
 With God, and nothing doubts of her etemitie. 
 
 19 
 
 13 
 
 Nor death, nor sleep nor any dismall shade 
 Of low contracting life she then doth fear, 
 No troubled thoughts her settled mind invade, 
 Th' immortall root of life she seeth clear, 
 Wisheth she were for ever grafted here : 
 No cloud, no darknesse, no deficiency 
 In this high heavenly life doth ere appear ; 
 Redundant fulnesse, and free liberty, 
 Easie-flowing knowledge, never weary energy, 
 
 Broad open sight, eternall wakefulnesse, 
 Withouten labour or consuming pain : 
 The soul all these in God must needs possesse 
 When there deep-rooted life she doth obtain, 
 As I in a few words shall maken plain. 
 This bodies life by powerfull sympathy 
 The soul to sleep and labour doth constrain, 
 To grief, to wearinesse and anxiety, 
 In fine, to hideous sense of dread mortality. 
 
 is 
 
 But sith no such things in the Deity 
 Are to be found ; Shee once incorporate 
 With that quick essence, she is setten free 
 From ought that may her life obnubilate, 
 What then can her contract or maken strait ? 
 For ever mov'd by lively sympathy 
 With Gods own spright, an ever- waking state 
 She doth obtain. Doth heavens bright blazing eye 
 Ever close, ywrapt in sleep and dead obscurity ? 
 
 16 
 
 But now how full and strong a sympathy 
 Is caused by the souls conjunction 
 With the high God, I'll to you thus descry. 
 All men will grant that spread dispersion 
 Must be some hinderance to close union : 
 Als must confesse that closer unity 
 More certainly doth breed compassion ; 
 Not that there's passion in the Deity, 
 But something like to what all men call Sympathy. 
 
 17 
 
 Now sith the soul is of such subtlety, 
 And close collectednesse, indispersion , 
 Full by her centrall omniformity. 
 Pregnant and big without distension ; 
 She once drawn in by strong attraction, 
 Should be more perfectly there counite 
 In this her high and holy union 
 Then with the body, where dispersion's pight : 
 (But such hard things I leave to some more learned 
 wight) 
 
 18 
 The first pure Being s perfect Unity, 
 And therefore must all things more strongly bind 
 Then Lives corporeall, which dispersed be. 
 He also the first Goodnesse is defin'd 
 
114 
 
 THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Wherefore the soul most powerfully's inclin'd 
 And strongly drawn to God. But life that's here, 
 When into it the soul doth closely wind, 
 Is often sneep'd by anguish and by fear, 
 With vexing pain and rage that she no"te easly bear. 
 
 19 
 Farre otherwise it fares in that pure life 
 That doth result in the souls Unity 
 With God : For there the faster she doth strive 
 To tie her selfe, the greater liberty 
 And freer welcome, brighter purity 
 She finds, and more enlargement, joy and pleasure 
 O'reflowing, yet without satietie, 
 Sight without end, and love withouten measure : 
 This needs must close unite the heart to that hid 
 treasure. 
 
 20 
 
 This plainly's seen in that mysterious Cone 
 Which I above did fairly well descrive : 
 Their freenesse and incarceration 
 Were plainly setten forth. What down doth dive 
 Into the straitned Cuspis needs must strive 
 With stringent bitternesse, vexation, 
 Anxious unrest ; in this ill plight they live : 
 But they that do ascend to th' top yflown 
 Be free, yet fast unite to that fair vision. 
 
 Thus purged souls be close conjoyn'd to God, 
 And closer union surer sympathy ; 
 Wherefore so long as they make their abode 
 In Him, incorp'rate by due Unitie 
 They liven in eternall energie. 
 For Israels God nor slumbers, nor doth sleep ; 
 Nor Israel lost in dull lethargie 
 Must listlesse ly, while numbing streams do steep. 
 His heavy head, overwhelmed in oblivion deep. 
 
 22 
 But here more curious men will straight enquire. 
 Whither after death the wicked soul doth go, 
 That long hath wallowed in the sinfull mire. 
 Before this question I shall answer to, 
 Again the nature of the soul I'll show. 
 She all things in her self doth centrally 
 Contain ; whatever she doth feel or know, 
 She feels or knows it by th' innate Idee : 
 She's all proportion'd 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 straight possesse that fitting vitall vein 
 That 'longs unto her, so her proper room 
 She takes as mighty Nemesis doth give the doom. 
 
 24 
 Now (which I would you presly should observe) 
 Though oft I have with tongue balbutient 
 Prattled to th" weaker ear (lest I should sterve 
 My stile with too much subtilty) I nere ment 
 To grant that there's any such thing existent 
 As a mere body : For all's life, all spright, 
 Though lives and sprights be very different. 
 Three generall sprights there be, Eternall Light 
 Is one, the next our World, the last I nf email Night. 
 
 25 
 
 This last lies next unto old Nothingnesse 
 Hight Hyle, whom I term'd point of the Cone : 
 Her daughter Night is full of bitternesse, 
 And strait constraint, and pent privation : 
 Her sturdy ray's scarce conquer'd by the moon. 
 The earths great shade breaks out from this hid 
 
 spright, 
 And active is ; so soon the Sun is gone, 
 Doth repossesse the aire shotten forth right 
 From its hid centrall life, ycleep'd Infernall Night. 
 
 26 
 
 In this drad world is scorching Phlegethon ; 
 Hot without flame, burning the vexed sense ; 
 There hatefull Styx and sad Cocytus run, 
 And silent Acheron. All drink from hence, 
 From this damn'd spright receiven influence, 
 That in our world or poyson do outspue, 
 Or have an ugly shape and foule presence : 
 That deadly poison and that direfull hue 
 From this Nocturnall spright these ugly creatures drew. 
 
 27 
 This is the seat of Gods eternall ire. 
 When unmixt vengeance he doth fully powre 
 Upon foul souls, fit for consuming fire : 
 Fierce storms and tempests strongly doth he showre 
 Upon their heads : His rage doth still devoure 
 The never-dying soul. Here Satanas 
 Hath his full swing to torture every houre 
 The grisly ghosts of men ; when they have passe 
 From this mid world to that most direfull dismall place. 
 
 28 
 Did Nature but compile one mighty sphere 
 Of this dark Stygian spright, and close collect 
 Its scatter'd being, that it might appear 
 Aloft in the wide heaven, it would project 
 Dark powerfull beams, that solar life ycheckt 
 With these dull choking rayes, all things would die. 
 Infernall poyson the earth would infect, 
 Incessant showrs of pitchie shafts let flie 
 Against the Sun with darknesse would involve the skie. 
 
 29 
 Nor is my Muse wox mad, that thus gives life 
 To Night or Darknesse, sith all things do live. 
 But Night is nothing (straight I'll end that strife) 
 Doth no impressions to the sense derive ? 
 
THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 "5 
 
 If without prejudice you'll deigne to dive 
 Into the matter, as much realty 
 To darknesse as to coldnesse you will give. 
 Certes both night and coldnesse active be, 
 Both strike the sense, they both have reall entity. 
 
 30 
 Again, 'tis plain that that nocturnall spright 
 Sends forth black eben-beams and mirksome rayes, 
 Because her darknesse as the Sunne his light 
 More clearly doth reflect on solid place, 
 As when a wall, a shade empighten has 
 Upon it, sure that shade farre darker is 
 Then is the aire that lies in the mid space. 
 What is the reason ? but that rayes emisse 
 From centrall Night the walls reflexion multiplies. 
 
 31 
 
 The light's more light that strikes upon the wall, 
 And much more strongly there affects the eye, 
 Then what's spread in the space aereall : 
 So 'tis with shadows that amid do he 
 In the slight air ; there scarce we them descrie, 
 But when they fall upon the wall or ground, 
 They gain a perfect sensibilitie. 
 Scarce ought in outgone light is to be found 
 But this Nocturnall ray's with like indowments crown'd. 
 
 32 
 
 But why doth my half-wearied mind pursue 
 Dim sculking darknesse, a fleet nimble shade ? 
 If Moses and wise Solomon speak true, 
 What we assert may safely well be said. 
 Did not a palpable thick Night invade 
 The Land of Egypt, such as men might feel 
 And handle with their hands ? That darknesse ray'd 
 From nether Hell, and silently did steal 
 On th' enemies of God, as Scripture doth reveal. 
 
 33 
 The womb of Night then fully flowred out : 
 For that all-swaying endlesse Majestie 
 Which penetrateth those wide worlds throughout, 
 This thin spread darknesse that dispers'd doth he 
 Summon'd by his drad voice, and strong decree. 
 Much therefore of that spirit close unite 
 Into one place did strike the troubled eye 
 With horrid blacknesse, and the hand did smite 
 With a clam pitchie ray shot fiom that Centrall Night. 
 
 34 
 This Centrall Night or Universall spright 
 Of wo, of want, of balefull bitternesse, 
 Of hatred, envy, wrath, and fell despight, 
 Of lust, of care, wasting disquietnesse, 
 Of warre, contention, and bloud-thirstinesse, 
 Of zeal, of vengeance, of suspicion 
 Of hovering horrour, and sad pensivenesse ; 
 This Stygian stream through all the world doth run, 
 And many wicked souls unto it self hath wonne. 
 
 35 
 Lo ! here's the portion of the Hypocrite, 
 That serveth God but in an outward show. 
 But his drad doom must passe upon his sprite, 
 Where it propends there surely must he go. 
 Due vengeance neither sleepeth nor is slow. 
 Hell will suck in by a strong sympathie 
 What's like unto it self : So down they flow, 
 Devouring anguish and anxietie 
 Do vex their souls, in piteous pains, alas ! they he. 
 
 36 
 Thus with live Hell be they concorporate, 
 United close with that self-gnawing sprite : 
 And this I wot will breed no sleeping state. 
 Who here descends finds one long restlesse Night. 
 May this the dreaming Psychopannychite 
 Awake, and make him seriously prepare 
 And purge his heart, lest this infernall might 
 Suck in his soul 'fore he be well aware. 
 Kill but the seeds of sinne then are you past this fear. 
 
 37 
 Thus have I prov'd by the souls union 
 With heaven and hell, that she will be awake 
 When she from this mid Nature is ygone. 
 But still more curious task to undertake ; 
 And spenden time to speak of Lethe lake, 
 And whether at least some souls fall not asleep. 
 (Which if they do of Hell they do partake) 
 Whether who liv'd like plant or grazing sheep, 
 
 Who of nought else but sloth and growth doth taken 
 keep ; 
 
 38 
 Whose drooping phansie never flowred out, 
 Who relish'd nought but this grosse bodies food, 
 Who never entertaind an active thought, 
 But like down-looking beasts was onely mov'd 
 To feed themselves, whither this drousie mood 
 So drench the lowring soul and inly steep 
 That she lies senselesse drownd in Lethe floud ; 
 Who will let dive into this mysterie deep : 
 
 Into such narrow subtilties I list not creep. 
 
 39 
 But well I wote that wicked crueltie, 
 Hate, envie, malice, and ambition, 
 Bloud-sucking zeal, and lawlesse tyrannie, 
 In that Nocturnall sprite shall have their wonne. 
 Which like this world admits distinction. 
 But like will like unto it strongly draw : 
 So every soul shall have a righteous doom. 
 According to our deeds God will bestow 
 Rewards : Unto the cruell he'll no mercy show. 
 40 
 Where's Nimrod now, and dreadfull Hannibal ? 
 Where's that ambitious pert Pellean lad, 
 Whose pride sweld bigger then this earthly ball ? 
 Where's cruell Nero, with the rest that had 
 
u6 
 
 THE SLEEP OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Command, and vex'd the world with usage bad? 
 They're all sunk down into this nether hell ; 
 Who erst upon the Nations stoutly strad 
 Are now the Devils footstool. His drad spell 
 Those vassals doth command, though they with fury 
 swell. 
 
 41 
 Consuming anguish, styptick bitternesse, 
 Doth now so strangle their imperious will, 
 That in perpetuall disquietnesse 
 They roll and rave, and roar and rage their fill, 
 Like a mad bull that the slie hunters skill 
 Hath caught in a strong net. But more they strive 
 The more they kindle that tormenting ill. 
 Wo's me ! in what great miserie they live ! 
 Yet wote I not what may these wretched thralls relieve. 
 
 42 
 The safest way for us that still survive 
 Is this, even our own lust to mortifie ; 
 So Gods own Will will certainly revive. 
 Thus shall we gain a perfect libertie, 
 And everlasting life. But if so be 
 We seek our selves with ardent hot desire, 
 From that I nf email Night we are not free ; 
 But living Hell will kindle a fierce fire. 
 And with uncessant pains our vexed soul will tire. 
 
 43 
 
 Then the wild phansie from her horrid wombe 
 Will senden forth foul shapes. O dreadfull sight ! 
 Overgrown toads fierce serpents thence will come, 
 Red-scaled Dragons with deep burning light 
 In their hollow eye-pits : With these she must fight ; 
 Then thinks her self ill-wounded, sorely stung. 
 Old fulsome Hags with scabs and skurf bedight, 
 Foul tarry spittle tumbling with their tongue 
 On their raw lether lips, these near will to her clung, 
 
 44 
 And lovingly salute against her will, 
 Closely embrace, and make her mad with wo : 
 She'd lever thousand times they did her kill, 
 Then force her such vile basenesse undergo. 
 Anon some Giant his huge self will show, 
 Gaping with mouth as vast as any Cave, 
 With stony staring eyes, and footing slow : 
 She surely deems him her live-walking grave, 
 From that dern hollow pit knows not her self to save. 
 
 45 
 After a while, tost on the Ocean main 
 A boundlesse sea she finds of misery; 
 The fiery snorts of the Leviathan 
 (That makes the boyling waves before him flie) 
 She hears, she sees his blazing morn-bright eye : 
 If here she scape, deep gulfs and threatning rocks 
 
 Her frighted self do straightway terrifie ; 
 Steel-coloured clouds with rattling thunder knocks, 
 With these she is amaz'd, and thousand such like mocks. 
 
 46 
 All which afflict her even like perfect sense : 
 For waxen mad with her sore searching pain 
 She cannot easly find the difference, 
 But toils and tears and tugs, but all in vain ; 
 Her self from her own self she cannot strain. 
 Nocturnall life hath now let ope th' Idee 
 Of innate darknesse, from this fulsome vein 
 The soul is fill'd with all deformity. 
 But Night doth stirre her up to this dread energie. 
 
 47 
 But here some man more curious then wise 
 Perhaps will aske, where Night or Hell may be : 
 For he by his own self cannot devise, 
 Sith chearfull light doth fill the open sky. 
 And what's the earth to the souls subtilty ? 
 Such men I'd carry to some standing pool, 
 Down to the water bid them bend their eye. 
 They then shall see the earth possest and full 
 Of heaven, dight with the sunne or starrs that there do 
 roll. 
 
 Or to an hill where's some deep hollow Cave 
 Dreadfull for darknesse ; let them take a glasse, 
 When to the pitchy hole they turned have 
 Their instrument, that darknesse will find place 
 Even in the open sunne-beams, at a space 
 Which measures twice the glasses distancy 
 From the Caves mouth. This well discovered has 
 How Hell and Heaven may both together lie, 
 Sith darknesse safely raies even in the sunny skie. 
 
 49 
 But further yet the mind to satisfie 
 That various apprehensions bearen down, 
 And to hold up with like variety 
 Of well-fram'd phantasms, lest she sink and drown 
 Laden with heavie thoughts sprong from the ground, 
 And miry clods of this accursed earth ; 
 Whose dull suffusions make her often sown, 
 Orecome with cold, till nimble Reason bear'th 
 Unto her timely aid and on her feet her rear'th : 
 
 50 
 I will adjoyn to those three former wayes 
 To weet, of the Souls self-activity 
 Of Union with Hell, and Gods high rayes 
 A fourth contrivement, which all souls doth ty 
 To their wing'd Chariots, wherein swift they fly. 
 The fiery and airy Vehicles they hight 
 In Plato's school known universally. 
 But so large matter can not well be writ 
 In a few lines for a fresh Canticle more fit. 
 
THE 
 
 PR^EXISTENCY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SOUL, 
 
 Added as an Appendix to this third part of 
 the Song of the Soul. 
 
 By H. M. Mafter of Arts, and Fellow of Chrifts 
 Colledge in Cambridge. 
 
 Tt's oTSev el to ffjv [ikv ecrrt KarOaveiv, 
 To Kardavdv 8k tfjv. Euripid. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the 
 
 Univerfitie. 1647. 
 
The Preface to the Reader. 
 
 Lthough 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 then by Reason ; yet so heavie prejudice lying upon 
 us both from Naturall diffidence in so high Points, and from our common Education, I thought it 
 fit, for securing my self, from suspicion of overmuch lightnesse, to premize thus much : That that 
 which I have taken the pains and boldnesse 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. Menassch Ben-Israel, doth abundantly attest in his 15. Problem. De Creationej 
 avouching that it is the common Opinion of all the Hebrews, and that it was never called into con- 
 troversie, but approved of, by the common consent and suffrage of all wise men. 
 
 And himself doth by severall 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 confesse, 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. 4, 5. Mark 8. v. 27, 28. all those places do seem so naturally to favour this 
 Probability, that if it had pleas'd the Church to have concluded it for a standing Truth ; He that 
 would not have been fully convinc'd upon the evidence of these passages of Scripture, would 
 undoubtedly, have been held a man of a very timorous & Scepticall constitution, if not something 
 worse. 
 
 Nor is the feeblenesse and miserable ineptnesse of Infancy any greater damp to the belief of 
 this Preexistency then the dotage and debility of old Age, to the hope of the Souls future subsist- 
 ency after death. 
 
 Nor, if we would fetch an argument from Theologie, is Gods Justice, and the divine Nemesis 
 lesse set out, by supposing that the Souls of men, thorough their own revolting from God before they 
 came into the body, have thus in severall measures engaged themselves in the sad, dangerous, and 
 almost fatall entanglements of this Corporeall World ; then it is, by conceiving that they must 
 needs survive the Body, that the judgement of the Almighty may passe upon them, for what they 
 have committed in the flesh. 
 
 Nor lastly, is it harder to phansie, how these Prasexistent Souls insinuate into seed, Embryos, 
 or Infants, then how Created ones 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 Prae- 
 existency of the Soul, is true, but that it is not such a self-condemned Falsity r but that I might with- 
 out justly incurring the censure of any Vainnesse or Levity, deem it worthy the canvase and 
 discussion of sober and considerate men. 
 
 Yours H. M. 
 
"i^^^Wf^ 
 
 The Praeexiftency of the 
 SOUL. 
 
 The Argument : 
 
 Of the Souls Prceexistency 
 Her Orb of Fire and Aire, 
 
 Of Ghosts, of Goblins, of Sorcery, 
 This Canto doth declare. 
 
 ©J 
 
 Ise then Aristo's son ! assist my Muse 
 Let that hie spright which did inrich thy 
 
 brains 
 With choice conceits, some worthy thoughts 
 infuse 
 Worthy thy title and the Readers pains. 
 And thou, O Lycian Sage I 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. 
 
 For I would sing the Prasexistency 
 Of humane souls, and live once ore again 
 By recollection and quick memory 
 All what is past since first we all began. 
 But all too shallow be my wits to scan 
 So deep a point and mind too dull to clear 
 So dark a matter ; but Tbou, O more then man ! 
 Aread thou sacred Soul of Plotin deare 
 Tell what we mortalls are, tell what of old we were. 
 
 A spark or ray of the Divinity 
 Clouded in earthy fogs, yclad in clay, 
 A precious drop sunk from ^Eternitie, 
 Spilt on the ground, or rather slunk away. 
 For then we fell when we gan first t' assay 
 By stealth, of our own selves something to been, 
 Uncentring our selves from our great stay. 
 Which fondly we new liberty did ween 
 And from that prank right jolly wights our selves did 
 deem. 
 
 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 sEon, then from Psyche free, 
 We after fell into low phantasie, 
 And after that into corporeall sense, 
 And after sense embarkd as in a tree, 
 (First sown in earthly slime, then sprung from thence) 
 A fading life we lead in deadly influence. 
 
 5 
 
 Thus groping after our own Centres near 
 And proper substance, we grew dark, contract, 
 Swallow'd up of earthly life, ne what we were 
 Of old, through ignorance can we detect. 
 Like noble babe by fate or friends neglect 
 Left to the care of sorry salvage wight, 
 Grown up to manly years cannot conject 
 His own true parentage, nor read aright 
 
 What Father him begot, what womb him brought to 
 light : 
 
 6 
 So we as stranger Infants elsewhere born 
 Can not divine from what spring we did flow 
 Ne dare these base alliances to scorn, 
 Nor lift our selves a whit from hence below, 
 Ne strive our Parentage again to know ; 
 Ne dream we once of any other stock, 
 Since foster'd upon Rhcas knees we grow, 
 In Satyres arms with many a mow and mock 
 
 Oft danc'd, and hairy Pan our cradle oft hath rock'd. 
 
 But Pan nor Rhea be our Parentage 
 We been the Of-spring of all-seeing Jove 
 Though now, whether through our own miscariage 
 Or secret force of fate, that all doth move 
 We be cast low ; for why ? the sportfull love 
 Of our great Maker (like as mothers dear 
 In pleasance from them do their children shove 
 That back again they may recoyl more near) 
 Shoves of our souls a while, the more them to endear. 
 
THE PRjEEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Or whether Justice and due Equity 
 Expects the truth of our affection, 
 And therefore sets us 'twixt the Deitie 
 And the created world, that thereupon 
 We may with a free resignation 
 Give up our selves to him deserves us best. 
 That love is none that's by coaction : 
 Hence he our souls from his own self releast 
 And left us free to follow what the most us pleas' d. 
 
 9 
 
 And for this purpose did enrich our choice 
 By framing of the outward Universe. 
 The framing of this world a meet devise 
 Whereby Gods wisedome thorough all may pierce, 
 From hight to depth. In depth is vengeance fierce, 
 Whereby transgressing souls are sorely scourged 
 And back again are forced to reverse 
 By Nemesis deep-biting whips well urged, 
 And in sad sorrows bath well drench'd and soundly 
 purged. 
 
 IO 
 
 Thus nothing's lost of Gods fecundity. 
 But stretching out himself in all degrees 
 His wisedome, goodnesse and due equity 
 Are rightly rank'd, in all the soul them sees. 
 O holy lamps of God ! O sacred eyes 
 Filled with love and wonder every where ! 
 Ye wandring tapers to whom God descryes 
 His secret paths, great Psyches darlings dear ! 
 Behold her works, but see your hearts close not too near. 
 
 II 
 
 But they so soon as vitall Orbs were made 
 That rolled round about each starry fire 
 Forth-with pursue, and strive them to invade ; 
 Like evening flies that busily conspire 
 Following a Jade that travail long doth tire, 
 To seize his nodding head and suck his sweat. 
 But they suck'd in into the vitall mire 
 First died and then again reviv'd by heat, 
 Did people all the Orbs by this audacious feat. 
 
 But infinite Myriads undipt as yet 
 Did still attend each vitall moveing sphear, 
 And wait their turnes for generation fit 
 In airy bodies wafted here and there, 
 As sight and sympathy away did bear. 
 These corporate with bloud, but the first flight 
 Of fallen souls, ymeint with slimy gear 
 Rose from their earth, breaking their filmes slight : 
 As Storyes say, Nile living shapes sends forth to sight. 
 
 13 
 Here their third chariot cleep'd terrestiall 
 Great Psyches brood did enter ; for before 
 They rode more light ; first in ccelestiall 
 Or fiery chariots, wherein with Uranore 
 
 The care and thought of all the world they bore. 
 This is the Orb of pure quick life and sense 
 Which the thrice mighty Mercury of yore 
 Ascending, held with Angels conference,, 
 And of their comely shapes had perfect cognoscence. 
 
 14 
 
 In this the famous Tyanean swain, 
 Lifted above the deadly charming might 
 Of the dull Carkasse could discover plain 
 From seven-hill'd Rome with speedy piercing sight 
 What they in Egypt did as Stories write. 
 This is that nimble quick vivacious Orb 
 All ear, all eye, with rayes round shining bright ; 
 Sphear of pure sense which noe perpessions curb 
 Nor uncouth shapen Spectres ever can disturb. 
 
 15 
 
 Next this is that light Vehicle of air, 
 Where likewise all sense is in each part pight. 
 This is more grosse subject to grief and fear 
 And most what soil'd with bodily delight ; 
 Sometimes with vengeance, envie, anger, spight. 
 This Orb is ever passive in sensation. 
 But the third wagon of the soul that hight 
 The terrene Vehicle, beside this passion 
 Hath organized sense, distinct by limitation. 
 
 16 
 
 These last be but the souls live sepulchres 
 Where least of all she acts, but afterward 
 Rose from this tomb, she free and lively fares 
 And upward goes if she be not debar' d 
 By Adrastias law nor strength empar'd 
 By too long bondage, in this Cave below. 
 The purged souls ascent nought may retard ; 
 But earthly-mindednesse may eath foreslow 
 Their flight, then near the ground in airy weeds they \ 
 
 17 
 
 Awak'd to life more ample then before, 
 If they their fortune good could then pursue. 
 But sith unwillingly they were ytore 
 From their dear carkasses their fate they rue, 
 And terrene thoughts their troubled minds embue : 
 So that in languishment they linger near 
 Their wonted homes and oft themselves they shew ; 
 Sometimes on purpose, sometimes unaware 
 That wak'd by hasty call they streightway disappear. 
 
 18 
 For men that wont to wander in their sleep 
 By the fixt light of inward phantasie, 
 Though a short fit of death fast bounden keep 
 Their outward sense and all their Organes tye ; 
 Yet forth they fare steared right steddily 
 By that internall guide : even so the ghosts 
 Of men deceas'd bedewed with the sky 
 And nights cold influence, in sleep yclos'd 
 Awake within, and walk in their forewonted coast. 
 
THE PR.EEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 19 
 
 In shape they walk much like to what they bore 
 Upon the earth : For that light Orb of air 
 Which they inact must yielden evermore 
 To phansies beck, so when the souls appear 
 To their own selves alive as once they were, 
 So cloath'd and conversant in such a place, 
 The inward eyes of phansie thither stear 
 Their gliding vehicle, that bears the face 
 Of him that liv'd, that men may reade what wight it was. 
 
 And often ask'd what would they, they descry 
 Some secret wealth, or hidden injury. 
 That first they broach that over oft doth ly 
 Within their minds : but vanish suddenly 
 Disturb' d by bold mans importunity. 
 But those that on set purpose do appear 
 To holden talk with frail mortality 
 Make longer stay. So that there is no fear 
 That when we leave this earthly husk we perish clear. 
 
 21 
 
 Or what is like to perfect perishing, 
 That inert deadlinesse our souls shall seize, 
 That neither sense nor phansies fountains spring, 
 But ever close in dull unactive ease. 
 For though that Death our spirits doth release 
 From this distinguish'd organizate sense, 
 Yet we may hear and see, what, where we please, 
 And walk at large when we are gone from hence 
 And with both men and ghosts hold friendly conference ; 
 
 22 
 And all in virtue of that airy Waine 
 In which we ride when that of earth is gone, 
 Unlesse no terrene tinctures do us stein, 
 For then forthwith to heaven we be yflone. 
 In our swift fiery chariot thither drawn. 
 But least men deem me airy notions feigne : 
 All stories this sure truth do seem to own. 
 Wherefore my Muse ! some few do not disdain, 
 Of many, to relate, more firm assent to gain. 
 
 23 
 But first lay out the treasures of the Air 
 That immense womb from whence all bodies spring ; 
 And then the force of Phantasie declare. 
 Of Witches wonnes a while then maist thou sing. 
 Their Stygian rites, and nightly revelling. 
 Then to the wished port to draw more near 
 Als tell of the untimely wandering 
 Of the sad ghosts of men that oft appear, 
 All which to the hard search of truth, joynt light do bear ; 
 
 24 
 Shew fitly how the praeexistent soul 
 Inacts and enters bodies here below, 
 And then entire, unhurt, can leave this moul 
 And thence her airy Vehicle can draw, 
 
 19 
 
 In which by sense and motion they may know 
 Better then we what things transacted be 
 Upon the Earth ; and when they list, may show 
 Themselves to friend or foe, their phantasie 
 Moulding their airy Orb to grosse consistency. 
 
 25 
 
 For sooth to sayn, all things of Air consist 
 
 And easly back again return to air. 
 
 Witnesse the carkases of man and beast 
 
 Which wast though teeth of Wolves them never tear, 
 
 Nor Crow nor Vulture do their flesh empare, 
 
 Yet all is wast and gone, no reliques seen 
 
 Of former shape, saving the bones bare, 
 
 And the bare bones by Time and Art, I ween, 
 
 First into liquour melt to air ychanged been. 
 26 
 Besides experience doth maken plain 
 How clouds be but the cradling of the air. 
 Take a round glasse let 't nought but air contain, 
 Close it with Hermes seal, then cover it over 
 With cinders warm, onely the top discover, 
 The gentle fire hard at the bottome pight 
 Thins the low air, which got above doth hover 
 Like a white fume embodying in the hight 
 
 With cooler parts, then turns to drops all crystall bright. 
 
 27 
 Not much unlike to the experiment 
 That learned Leech professes to have seen 
 Amongst the Alps, where the wind violent 
 Hammered out clouds with his strong blustring, keen 
 'Gainst a steep rock, which streight themselves did teem 
 Upon the Earth and wet the verdant Plain, 
 Dissolved by the sight of Phoebus sheen. 
 But sometimes clouds afford, not onely rain 
 
 But bloud, stones, milk, corn, frogs, fire, earth and all 
 contain. 
 
 28 
 Wherefore all bodies be of air compos'd 
 Great Natures all-complying Mercury, 
 Unto ten thousand shapes and forms dispos'd : 
 Like nimble quick-silver that doth agree 
 With gold with brasse or with what ere it be 
 Amalgamate, but brought unto the fire 
 Into an airy fume it all doth flie, 
 Though you before might turn to earth and mire 
 
 What into ancient air so quickly doth retire. 
 
 29 
 Wherefore the soul possest of matter meet 
 If she hath power to operate thereon 
 Can eath transform this Vehicle to sight, 
 Dight with due colour, figuration ; 
 Can speak, can walk, and then dispear anon 
 Spreading her self in the dispersed air ; 
 Then if she please recall again what's gone. 
 Those th' uncouth mysteries of phansie are 
 Then thunder farre more strong, more quick then light- 
 ning far. 
 
THE PRsEEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 Some heavings toward this strange activity 
 We may observe even in this mortall state. 
 Here health and sicknesse of the phantasie 
 Often proceed, which working minds create, 
 And pox and pestilence do malleate, 
 Their thoughts still beating on those objects ill, 
 Which doth the mastered bloud contaminate, 
 And with foul poysonous impressions fill 
 And last, the precious life with deadly dolour kill. 
 
 31 
 And if t be true that learned Clerks do sayen 
 His phantasie whom a mad dog hath bit 
 With shapes of dogs doth all his Urine stain. 
 Women with child, if in their longing fit 
 They be differ' d, their eager appetite 
 So sharply edges the quick phantasie 
 That it the Signature doth carve and write 
 Of what she long'd for, on the Infants body, 
 Imprinting it so plain that all the world may see. 
 
 32 
 Those streaked rods plac'd by that Syrian swain 
 Before the sheep when they receiv'd the ramme, 
 (Whence the best part of Labans flock became 
 All spotted ore, whereby his shepheard wan 
 The greater wages,) show what phansie can. 
 And boyes ore night when they went to their rest 
 By dreams grown up to th' stature of a man ; 
 And bony shapes in mens sad hearts exprest 
 Dear image of their love, and wrought by loves unrest : 
 
 33 
 
 Things farre more wonderfull then Cippus horn 
 Who in the field with so much eamestnesse 
 Viewing the fight of bulls rose in the Morn 
 With forked front : for though the fight did cease 
 Amongst th' enraged heards, yet ne're the lesse 
 His working phansie did the war revive. 
 Which on the bloud did make so strong impresse 
 In dewy sleep, that humours did arrive 
 His knobby head and a fair pair of horns contrive : 
 
 34 
 All these declare the force of phantasie 
 Though working here upon this stubborn clay. 
 But th' airy Vehicle yields more easily, 
 Unto her beck more nimbly doth obey. 
 Which truth the joynt confessions bewray 
 Of damned Hags and Masters of bold skill, 
 Whose hellish mysteries fully to display 
 With pitchy darknesse would the Heavens fill, 
 The earth would grone, trees sigh, and horrour all ore 
 spill. 
 
 35 
 
 But he that out of darknesse giveth light 
 He guide my steps in this so uncouth way, 
 And ill done deeds by children of the Night 
 Convert to good, while I shall thence assay 
 
 The noble souls conditions ope to lay, 
 And show her empyre on her ayry sphear 
 By what of sprights and specters Stories say. 
 For sprights and spectres that by night appear 
 Be or all one with souls or of a nature near. 
 
 36 
 
 Up then renowned Wizard, Herrnite sage ! 
 That twice ten years didst in the desert wonne, 
 Convers'dst with sprights in thy hid Hermitage 
 Since thou of mortals didst the commerce shun, 
 Well seen in these bad arts that have foredone 
 Many a bold wit ; Up Marcus I tell again 
 That story of thy Thrax, who has thee wonne, 
 To Christian faith, the guise and haunts explain 
 Of all air-trampling ghosts that in the world remain. 
 
 37 
 There be six sorts of sprights. Lelurion 
 Is the first kind, the next are nam'd from Air ; 
 The first aloft, yet farre beneath the Moon, 
 The other in this lower region fare. 
 The third Terrestriall, the fourth Watery are, 
 The fift be Subterranean, the last 
 And worst, Light-hating ghosts more cruel farre 
 Then Bear or Wolf with hunger hard opprest, 
 But doltish yet and dull like an unweildy beast. 
 
 38 
 If this sort once possesse the arteries 
 Of forlorn man : Madnesse and stupor seize 
 His salvag'd heart, and death dwels in his eyes. 
 Ne is there remedy for this sad disease. 
 For that unworthy guest so senselesse is 
 And deaf, no Exorcist can make him hear, 
 But would in vain with Magick words chastise. 
 Others the thundering threats of Tartar fear, 
 And the drad names of Angels that this office bear. 
 
 39 
 For they been all subject to passion. 
 Some been so grosse they hunger after food, 
 And send out seed of which worms spring anon, 
 And love to liggen warm in living bloud, 
 Whence they into the veins do often crowd 
 Of beasts as well as men ; wherein they bathe 
 Themselves, and sponge-like suck that vitall flood, 
 As they done also in their aery path 
 Drink in each unctuous steam, which their dire thirst 
 allayth. 
 
 40 
 
 Such be the four last kinds, foul, dull, impure 
 Whose inward life and phansy's more inert 
 And therefore usually in one shape endure. 
 But those of aire can easily convert 
 Into new forms and then again revert ; 
 One while a man, after a comely maid, 
 And then all suddenly to make the stert, 
 Like leaping Leopard he'll thee invade, 
 Then made a man again he'll comfort thee afraid. 
 
THE FR.EEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 123 
 
 41 
 Then straight more quick then thought or cast of eye 
 A snarling Dog, or brisled Boar he'll be ; 
 Anon a jugge of milk if thou be dry, 
 So easily' s turned that aire-consistency 
 Through inward sport and power of phantasie. 
 For all things virtually are containd in aire. 
 And like the sunne, that fiery spirit free 
 Th* internall soul, at once the seed doth rear 
 Waken and ripe at once as if full ag'd they were. 
 
 42 
 Cameleon-like thus they their colour change 
 And size contract, and then dilate again : 
 Like the soft earthworm hurt by heedlesse chance 
 Shrinks in her self to shun or ease her pain. 
 Nor done they onely thus themselves constrain 
 Into lesse bulk, but if with courage bold 
 And flaming brond thou strike these shades in twain, 
 A sudden smart they feel that cannot hold, 
 Close quick as cloven aire. So sang that Wizzard old. 
 
 43 
 And truth he said whatever he has told, 
 As even this present Age may verifie, 
 If any lists its stories to unfold 
 Of Hags, of Hobgoblings, of Incubi, 
 Abhorred dugs by devils sucken dry, 
 Of leaping lamps and of fierce-flying stones, 
 Of living wool, and such like witchery, 
 Or prov'd by sight or self confessions, 
 Which things much credence gain to past traditions. 
 
 44 
 Wherefore with boldnesse we will now relate 
 Some few in breif, as of th' Astorgan lad, 
 Whose peevish mother in fell ire and hate 
 Quite drunk with passion, through quick cholar mad 
 With execrations bold the devil bad, 
 Take him alive, which mood the boy no'te bear 
 But quits the room, walks out with spirit sad 
 Into the court, where, Lo ! by night appear 
 Tall Giants with grim looks, rough limbs, black grizely 
 hair. 
 
 45 
 
 These in a moment hoist him into th' air, 
 Away him bear more swift then bird can fly, 
 Straight to the destin'd place arrived are 
 Mongst craggy rocks, and bushy Mountains high, 
 Where up and down they drag the sorry boy ; 
 His tender skin and goary flesh they tear 
 Till he gan on his Maker call and cry. 
 Which forc'd the villains home again him bear. 
 Where he the story told, restor'd by Parents care. 
 
 46 
 The walking Skeleton in Bolonia 
 Laden with rattling chains, that showd his grave 
 To th' watchfull Student, who without dismay 
 Bid tell his wants, and speak what he would have : 
 
 Thus cleared he the house by courage brave. 
 Nor may I passe the fair Cerdinian maid 
 Whose love a jolly swain did kindly crave, 
 And oft with mutuall solace with her stay'd ; 
 Yet was no jolly swain but a deceitful shade. 
 
 47 
 More harmlesse mirth may that mad spright commend 
 Who in an honest widows house did won 
 At Salamanca, who whole showers would send 
 Of stones that swifter then a whirlwind come 
 And yet whereere they hit no hurt is done. 
 But cursed cruell be those wicked Hags 
 Whom poysonous spight, envy and hate have won 
 T' abhorred sorcery, whose writhled bags 
 Fould feinds oft suck and nestle in their loathsome rags. 
 
 48 
 Such as the Devil woes in homely form 
 Of swarthy man, or some black shaggy Curre, 
 Or vermine base, and in sad case forlorn 
 Them male-content to evil motions stirre ; 
 Proffer their service, adding a quick spurre 
 To meditated vengance, and fell teen, 
 Whose hellish voice they heare without demur, 
 Abjure God and his Sonne, who did redeem 
 The world, give up themselves to Satan and foul sinne. 
 
 49 
 Thus 'bodyed into that Stygian crue 
 Of damned wights made fast by their own blond 
 To their bad Master, do his service due, 
 Frequent the assemblies, dance as they were wood 
 Around an huge black Goat, in loansome wood 
 By shady night, farre from or house or town, 
 And kisse with driveling lips in frantick mood 
 His sacred breech. Catch that catch may anon 
 Each Feind has got his Hag for copulation. 
 
 50 
 O loathsome law ! O filthy fond embrace ! 
 The other root of cursed sorcery. 
 For if the streams of this bad art we trace 
 They lead to two foul springs, th' one Veneris 
 And coarsest Lust, the other near doth lie 
 And is ycleeped Vengeance, Malice, Hate, 
 Or restlesse Envy that would all destroy. 
 But both but from one seed do germinate 
 Hight uncurb'd Will, or strong Desire inordinate. 
 
 51 
 Wherefore I needs must humbly here adore 
 Him whose chaste soul enwombd in Virgin chast, 
 As chast a body amongst mortals wore, 
 Who never woman knew, ne once did taste 
 Of Hymens pleasures while this life did last. 
 Ah ! my dear Lord ! dread Sovereigne of souls 
 Who with thy life and lore so warmed hast 
 My wounded heart, that when thy Storie's told, 
 Sweet Love, methinks, in 's silver wings me all infolds. 
 
i-4 
 
 THE PR^EEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 How do I hang upon thy sacred lips 
 More sweet then Manna or the hony-dew ! 
 Thy speech, like rosie drops doth cool my wits 
 And calme my fierce affections untrue, 
 And winne my heart unto obeisance due. 
 Blest O thrice blessed be that holy hill 
 Whereon thou did'st instruct thy faithfull crue 
 In wayes of peace, of patience and good-will 
 Forbidding base self-love, revenge and speeches ill. 
 
 53 
 Meek Lambe of God ! the worlds both scourge and 
 
 scorn ! 
 How done th' infernall feinds thy face envy ! 
 Thou light, they darknesse, they Night, thou the Morn ! 
 Mild chariot of Gods lovely Majesty ! 
 Exalted Throne of the Divinitie ! 
 As thou with thine mak'st through the yielding aire 
 How do thy frighted foes before thee fly ! 
 And grin and gnash their teeth for spight and fear 
 To see such awfull strength quite to themselves con- 
 traire. 
 
 54 
 Ho ! you vain men that follow filthy lust 
 And swallow down revenge like pleasant wine, 
 Base earthly spirits ! fly this sinfull dust. 
 See with what hellish Comrades you combine, 
 Als see whose lovely friendship you decline. 
 Even his whose love to you more strong then death 
 Did death abide, foul shame and evil tine ; 
 But if sweet love your hearts may move uneath 
 Think how one fatall flame, shall burn all underneath. 
 
 55 
 
 Pans pipe shall then be mute, and Satyrs heel 
 Shall cease to dance ybrent in scorching fire ; 
 For pleasure then each earthly spright shall feel 
 Deep searching pain ; Revenge and base desire 
 Shall bear due vengeance, reap their worthy hire ; 
 From thee, great Prince of souls ! shall be their 
 
 doome. 
 Then thou and thy dear Saints ascending higher 
 Shalt fly the fate, and quit this stinking room 
 With smouldry smoak, fierce fire, and loathsome stench 
 o'rerun. 
 
 56 
 
 Go now you cursed Hags, salute your Goat 
 Whether with driveling lips or taper end, 
 Whereby at last you fire his hispide coat, 
 And then the deadly dust on mischief spend 
 As your Liege Lord these ashes doth commend 
 For wicked use, thundring this precept drad, 
 Revenge, revenge, or I shall on you send 
 Due vengeance : Thus dismist th' Assembly bad 
 Hoyst up into the Air, fly home through clammy shade. 
 
 57 
 Which stories all to us do plainly prove 
 That airy sprights both speak, and hear, and see. 
 Why do not then the souls of mortalls move 
 In airy Chariots but stupid lie 
 Lock'd up in sloth and senselesse Lethargic 
 Certes our soul's as well proportionate 
 To this aeriall weed as spirits free : 
 For neither can our souls incorporate 
 With naked Earth, the Air must ever mediate. 
 
 58 
 Which that bold Art which Necromancy hight 
 Doth know too well, and therefore doth prepare 
 A vap'rous vehicle for th' intended spright, 
 With reek of oyl, meal, milk, and such like gear, 
 Wine, water, hony ; Thus souls fitted are 
 A grosser Carkas for to reassume. 
 And though Thessalia?i Hags their pains do spare 
 Sometimes they enter without Magick fume ; 
 Witnesse ye Cretick wives, who felt their fruitlesse 
 spume. 
 
 59 
 
 And therefore to prevent such hellish lust 
 They did by laws Municipall provide 
 That he that dar'd to rise out of his dust 
 And thus infest his wife, a stake should gride 
 His stubborn heart and 's body burn beside ; 
 Hereto belongs that story of the spright 
 Of fell Asuitus noted far and wide, 
 And of his faithfull comrade Asmund hight ; 
 
 Twixt whom this law was made, as Danish Records 
 write : 
 
 6o 
 Which of them two the other did survive 
 Must be intomb'd with 's fellow in one grave. 
 Dead Asuit therefore with his friend alive 
 His dog and horse all in one mighty Cave 
 Be shut together, yet this care they have, 
 That faithfull Asmund, be not lost for meat : 
 Wherefore he was well stor'd his life to save 
 And liv'd sometime in that infernall seat, 
 
 Till Errick King of Sweads the door did open break. 
 
 6l 
 
 For well he ween'd there was some treasure hid 
 Which might enrich himself, or 's Army pay. 
 But when he had broke ope the brasen lid 
 Nought but a sory wight they finden may, 
 Whom out of darknesse brought to open day 
 The King beheld ; dight with most deadly hue, 
 His cheek all gore, his ear quite bit away. 
 Then gan the King command the cause to shew, 
 To which Asmundus answers, as doth here ensue : 
 
 62 
 
 Why gaze you thus on my sad squalid face, 
 Th' alive needs languish must amongst the dead, 
 
THE PRjEEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 125 
 
 But this sore wound that further doth deface 
 My wasted looks, Asuitus (who first fed 
 On 's horse and dog, and then with courage dred, 
 At me let fly), Asuit this wound me gave, 
 But well I quit my self, took off his head 
 With this same blade, his heart nayl'd to the Cave : 
 Thus I my self by force did from the monster save. 
 
 63 
 
 The soul of Naboth lies to Ahab told, 
 As done the learned Hebrew Doctours write, 
 His foe in mischief thereby to infold. 
 Go up to Ramoth Gilead and fight, 
 Go up and prosper, said the lying spright, 
 The angry ghost of Naboth whom he slew 
 Unjustly, and possest his ancient right. 
 Hence his revengefull soul with speech untrue 
 Sat on his Prophets lips, and did with lies embue. 
 
 64 
 
 Ne may I passe that story sad of Saul 
 And Samuels ghost, whom he in great distresse 
 Consulted, was foretold his finall fall 
 By that old man, whom Endors sorceresse 
 Awak'd from pleasant vision and sweet ease, 
 Straitning a while his wonted liberty 
 By clammy air more close and thick compresse ; 
 Then gan the mantled Sage Sauls destiny 
 To reade, and thine with his, dear Jonathan / to tye. 
 
 65 
 That lovely lasse Pausanias did kill 
 Through ill surmise she ment him treachery ; 
 How did her angry spirit haunt him still 
 That he could no where rest, nor quiet ly : 
 Her wronged ghost was ever in his eye. 
 And he that in his anger slew his wife, 
 And was exempt by Law from penalty, 
 Poore sorry man he led a weary life 
 Each night the Shrow him beat with buffes and boxes 
 rife. 
 
 66 
 
 And love as well as hate the dead doth reach, 
 As may be seen by what Albumaron 
 Did once befall, that learnd Arabian Leach. 
 He of a late-deceas'd Physition 
 Upon his bed by dream or vision 
 Receiv'd a soveraign salve for his sore eye, 
 And just Simonides compassion 
 Unto the dead that did unburied ly 
 On washed shore, him sav'd from jaws of destinie. 
 
 67 
 For he had perish'd in th' unruly waves, 
 And sudden storm, but lo ! the thankfull spright 
 Of the interr'd by timely counsell saves, 
 Warning him of the danger he would meet 
 
 In his intended voyage, 
 Simonides desists by 's counsell won : 
 The rest for want of faith or due foresight, 
 A prey to the devouring Seas become, 
 Their dashed bodies welter in the weedy scum. 
 
 68 
 In Artick Climes, an Isle that Thule hight 
 Famous for snowy monts, whose hoary head's 
 Sure signe of cold, yet from their fiery feet 
 They strike out burning stones with thunders dread, 
 And all the Land with smoak, and ashes spread : 
 Here wandring Ghosts themselves have often shown, 
 As if it were the region of the dead, 
 And men departed met with whom they've known, 
 In seemly sort shake hands, and ancient friendship own. 
 
 69 
 A world of wonders hither might be thrown, 
 Of Sprights and spectres, as that frequent noise 
 Oft heard upon the Plane of Marathon, 
 Of neighing horses and of Martiall boyes. 
 The Greek, the Persian, nightly here destroyes 
 In hot assault, embroyl'd in a long war. 
 Foure hundred years did last these dreadfull toyes, 
 As doth by Attick Records plain appear, 
 The seeds of hate, by death so little slaked are. 
 
 70 
 
 Nor lists me speak of Remus Lemures, 
 Nor haunted house of slain Caligula, 
 Nor Julius stern Ghost, who will, with ease 
 May for himself of old or new purvey. 
 Thousand such stories in mens mouths do stray, 
 But sith it much perplexeth slower minds 
 To think our souls unhurt can passe away 
 From their dear corps, so close thereto confin'd ; 
 From this unweildy thought let's now their wits unbind. 
 
 71 
 For if that spirits can possesse our veins 
 And arteries (as usuall stories tell) 
 Use all our Organes, act our nerves and brains, 
 And by our tongue can future things foretell, 
 And safely yet keep close in this warme cell 
 For many years, and not themselves impare 
 Nor lose ymeint with the bloud where they dwel, 
 But come out clever when they conjured are, 
 And nimbly passe away soft -gliding through the air : 
 
 72 
 Why scape not then the souls of men as clear 
 Since to this body they 're no better joyn'd 
 Then thorough it to feel, to see, to hear 
 And to impart the passions of the mind ? 
 All which done by th' usurping spright we find. 
 As witnesse may that maid in Saxony, 
 Who meanly born of rude unlearned kind, 
 Not taught to reade, yet Greek and Latine she 
 Could roundly speak and in those tongues did prophesie. 
 
126 
 
 THE PR^EEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 73 
 Timothtus sister down in childbed laid 
 Disturb, all-phrantick thorough deadly pain 
 Tearing the clothes, which much her friends dismai'd, 
 Mumbling strange words as confus'd as her brain 
 At last was prov'd to speak Ar menia* , 
 For an old man that was by chance in town 
 And from his native soyle Armenia came, 
 The woman having heard of his renown 
 Sent to this aged Sire to this sick wight to come. 
 
 74 
 Lo ! now has entred the Armenian Sage 
 With scalp all bald, and skin all brown and brent, 
 The number of his wrinkles told his age : 
 A naked sword in his dry hand he hent. 
 Thus standing near her bed strong threats he sent 
 In his own language, and her fiercely chid. 
 But she well understanding what he meant 
 Unto his threats did bold defiance bid ; 
 Ne could his vaunts as yet the sturdy spirit rid. 
 
 75 
 Then gan he sternely speak and heave his hond 
 And feign'd himself enrag'd with hasty ire 
 As ready for to strike with flaming brond, 
 But she for fear shrunk back and did retire 
 Into her bed and gently did respire, 
 Muttering few easie words in sleepy wise. 
 So now whom erst tumultuous thoughts did tire 
 Compos'd to rest doth sweetly close her eyes, 
 Then wak'd, what her befell, in sober mood descryes. 
 
 7 6 
 Now, Thrax ! thy Story adde of A lytas 
 Who got his freind into a Mountain high 
 Where he with him the loansome night did passe 
 In Stygian rites and hellish mystery. 
 First twiches up an herb that grew thereby, 
 Gives him to taste, then doth his eyes besmear 
 With uncouth salves, wherewith all suddenly 
 Legions of spirits flying here and there 
 Around their cursed heads do visibly appear. 
 
 77 
 Lastly into his mouth with filthy spaul 
 He spot, which done, a spirit like a Daw 
 His mouth did enter, and possessed all 
 His inward parts. From that time he gan know 
 Many secret things, and could events foreshow. 
 This was his guerdon tins his wicked wage 
 From the inwoning of that Stygian Crow. 
 But who can think this bird did so engage 
 With flesh that he no'te scape the ruin of the cage. 
 
 78 
 
 No more do souls of men. For stories sayen 
 Well known 'mongst countrey folk, our spirits fly, 
 From twixt our lips, and thither back again, 
 Sometimes like Doves, sometime like to a Bee, 
 
 And sometime in their bodyes shape they be ; 
 But all this while their carkase lyes asleep 
 Drownd in dull rest, son of mortality ; 
 At last these shapes retum'd do slily creep 
 Into their mouth, then the dead clouds away they wipe. 
 
 79 
 
 Nor been these stories all but Countrey fictions, 
 For such like things even learned Clerks do write, 
 Of brasen sleep and bodi's derelictions. 
 That Proconnesian Sage that Athens hight 
 Did oft himself of this dull body quit, 
 His soul then wandring in the easie aire. 
 But as to smoking lamp but lately light 
 The flame catch'd by the reek descends from farre, 
 So would his soul at last to his warm blood repair. 
 
 80 
 And Hermotime the Clazomenian 
 Would in like sort his body leave alone, 
 And view with naked soul both Hill and Plain 
 And secret Groves and every Region, 
 That he could tell what far and near was done : 
 But his curs'd foes the fell Canfkarida 
 Assault his house when he was far from home, 
 Burn down to ashes his forsaken clay : 
 So may his wandring ghost for ever freely stray. 
 
 81 
 
 And 'tis an art well known to Wizards old 
 And wily Hags, who oft for fear and shame 
 Of the coarse halter, do themselves with-hold 
 From bodily assisting their night game : 
 Wherefore their carkasses at home retain, 
 But with their soules at those bad feasts they are, 
 And see their friends and call them by their name, 
 And dance around the Goat and sing, bar, har, 
 And kisse the Devils breech, and taste his deadly chear. 
 
 82 
 A many stories to this purpose might 
 Be brought of men that in this Ecstacy 
 So senselesse ly, that coales laid to their feet 
 Nor nips nor whips can make them ope their eye. 
 Then of a sudden when this fit 's gone by, 
 They up and with great confidence declare 
 What things they heard and saw both far and nie, 
 Professing that their soules unbodied were. 
 And roam'd 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 corps, that no live thing 
 Do tread or touch't, so safely may their spright 
 Spend three whole dayes in airy wandering. 
 A feat that's often done through Magick might, 
 By the Norvegian Hags as learned Authors write. 
 
THE PRsEEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 127 
 
 84 
 But now well-wearied with our too long stay- 
 in these Cimmerian fogs and hatefull mists 
 Of Ghosts, of Goblins, and drad sorcery, 
 From nicer allegations we'll desist. 
 Enough is said to prove that souls dismist 
 From these grosse bodies may be cloth'd in air, 
 Scape free (although they did not 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, mens patiences to prove. 
 
 86 
 But if mens souls be individuous, 
 How can they ought from their own substance shed ? 
 In generation there's nought flows from us 
 Saving grosse sperm yspent in Nuptial bed 
 Drain'd from all parts throughout the body spred, 
 And well concocted where me list not name. 
 But no conveyances there be that lead 
 To the souls substance, whereby her they drain 
 Of loosened parts, a young babe-soul from thence to gain. 
 
 87 
 Wherefore who thinks from souls new souls to bring 
 The same let presse the Sunne beams in his fist 
 And squeez out drops of light, or strongly wring 
 The Rainbow, till it die his hands, well-prest. 
 Or with uncessant industry persist 
 Th' intentionall species to mash and bray 
 In marble morter, till he has exprest 
 A sovereigne eye-salve to discern a Fay : 
 As easily as the first all these effect you may. 
 
 Ne may queint similies this fury damp 
 Which say that our souls propagation 
 Is as when lamp we lighten from a lamp. 
 Which done withouten diminution 
 Of the first light, shows how the soul of man 
 Though indivisible may another rear, 
 Imparting life. But if we rightly scan 
 This argument, it cometh nothing near : 
 To light the lamp's to kindle the sulphurious gear. 
 
 89 
 No substance new that act doth then produce 
 Onely the oyly atomes 't doth excite 
 And wake into a flame, but no such use 
 There is of humane sperm. For our free sprite 
 
 Is not the kindled seed, but substance quite 
 Distinct therefrom. If not, then bodies may 
 So changed be by nature and stiff fight 
 Of hungry stomacks, that what erst was clay 
 Then herbs, in time itself in sense may well display. 
 
 90 
 
 For then our soul can nothing be but bloud 
 Or nerves or brains, or body modifide. 
 Whence it will follow that cold stopping crud, 
 Hard moldy cheese, dry nuts, when they have rid 
 Due circuits through the heart, at last shall speed 
 Of life and sense, look thorough our thin eyes 
 And view the Close wherein the Cow did feed 
 Whence they were milk'd ; grosse Pie-crust will grow 
 wise, 
 And pickled Cucumbers sans doubt Philosophize. 
 
 91 
 This all will follow if the soul be nought 
 But the live body. For mens bodies feed 
 Of such grosse meat, and if more fine be brought, 
 Suppose Snipes heads, Larks heels for Ladies meet, 
 The broth of Barly, or that oily Sweet 
 Of th' unctious Grape, yet all men must confesse 
 These be as little capable of wit 
 And sense, nor can be so transform'd, I wisse : 
 Therefore no soul of man from seed traducted is. 
 
 92 
 
 Ne been they by th' high God then first create 
 When in this earthly mansion they appear. 
 For why should he so soon contaminate 
 So unspotted beauties as mens spirits are, 
 Flinging them naked into dunghills here ? 
 Soyl them with guilt and foul contagion ? 
 Whenas in his own hand they spotlesse were.. 
 Till by an uncouth strange infusion 
 He plung'd them in the deep of Malediction. 
 
 93 
 Besides unworthily he doth surmise 
 Of Gods pure being and bright Majesty, 
 Who unto such base offices him ties, 
 That He must wait on lawlesse Venery ; 
 Not onely by that large Causality 
 Of generall influence (for Creation 
 More speciall concourse all men deem to be) 
 But on set purpose He must come anon, 
 And ratifie the act which oft men wish undone. 
 
 94 
 Which is a rash and shamelesse bad conceit, 
 So might they name the brat Adcodatus, 
 Whatever they in lawlesse love beget. 
 Again, what's still far more prodigious 
 When men are stung with fury poysonous 
 And burn with flames of lust toward brute beasts, 
 
128 
 
 THE PRsEEXISTENCY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 And overcome into conjunction rush, 
 He then from that foul act is not releast, 
 Creates a soul, misplacing the unhappy guest. 
 
 95 
 Wherefore mans soul's not by Creation, 
 Nor is it generate, as I prov'd before. 
 Wherefore let 't be by emanation 
 (If fully it did not prseexist of yore) 
 By flowing forth from that eternall store 
 Of Lives and souls ycleep'd the World of life,. 
 Which was, and shall endure for evermore. 
 Hence done all bodies vitall fire derive 
 And matter never lost catch life and still revive. 
 
 96 
 
 And what has once sprout out doth never cease 
 If it enjoy itself, a spray to be 
 Distinct and actuall, though if God please 
 He can command it into th' ancient tree. 
 This immense Orb of wast vitality 
 With all its Lives and Souls is everywhere, 
 And do's, where matter right-prepar'd doth lie, 
 Impart a soul, as done the sunne beams clear 
 Insinuate themselves, where filth doth not debarre. 
 
 97 
 
 Thus may the souls in long succession 
 Leap out into distinct activity : 
 But sooth to say though this opinion 
 May seem right fair and plausible to be 
 Yet toils it under an hard difficulty. 
 Each where this Orb of life's with every soul ; 
 Which doth imply the souls ubiquity. 
 Or if the whole Extent of Nature's full 
 Of severall souls thick set, what may the furthest pull? 
 
 98 
 What may engage them to descend so low, 
 Remov'd farre from the steam of earthly mire ? 
 My wits been here too scant and faith too slow, 
 Ne longer lists my wearied thoughts to tire. 
 Let bolder spirits to such hight aspire, 
 But well I wote, if there admitted were 
 A 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 sphear 
 Which choice or Nemesis suck'd lower down, 
 Thus without doubt they '11 leave their carcase clear 
 Like dispossessed spright when death doth come 
 And by rude exorcisme bids quit the room. 
 Ne let these intricacies perplex our mind, 
 That we forget that ere we saw the sunne 
 Before this life. For who can call to mind 
 Where first he here saw sunne or felt the gentle wind. 
 
 IOO 
 
 Besides what wonder is 't, when fierce disease 
 Can so empair the strongest memory, 
 That so full change should make our spirits leese 
 What 'fore they had impress'd in phantasie. 
 Nor doth it follow thence that when we die 
 We nought retain of what pass'd in these dayes, 
 For Birth is Death, Death Life and Liberty. 
 The soul's not thence contract but there displayes 
 Her loosened self, doth higher all her powers raise. 
 
 IOI 
 
 Like to a light fast-lock'd in lanthorn dark, 
 Whereby, by night our wary steps we guide 
 In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark, 
 Some weaker rayes through the black top do glide, 
 And flusher streams perhaps from horny side. 
 But when we 've past the perill of the way 
 Arriv'd at home, and laid that case aside, 
 The naked light how clearly doth it ray 
 And spread its joyfull beams as bright as Summers day. 
 
 I02 
 
 Even so the soul in this contracted state 
 
 Confin'd to these strait instruments of sense 
 
 More dull and narrowly doth operate. 
 
 At this hole hears, the sight must ray from thence, 
 
 Here tasts, there smels ; But when she's gone from 
 
 hence, 
 Like naked lamp she is one shining sphear. 
 And round about has perfect cognoscence 
 Whatere in her Horizon doth appear : 
 She is one Orb of sense, all eye, all airy ear. 
 
 103 
 
 Now have I well establish' d the fourth way 
 The souls of men from stupid sleep to save, 
 First Light, next Night, the third the soules Self-ray, 
 Fourth the souls Chariot we named have 
 Whether moist air or fire all-sparkling brave 
 Or temper mixt. Now how these foure agree, 
 And how the soul herself may dip and lave 
 In each by turns ; how no redundancy 
 Ther's in them, might we tell, nor scant deficiency. 
 
 104 
 
 But cease my restlesse Muse be not too free, 
 Thy chiefest end thou hast accomplished 
 Long since, shak'd of the Psychopannychie 
 And rouz'd the soul from her dull drowsiehed. 
 So nothing now in death is to be dred 
 Of him that wakes to truth and righteousnesse. 
 The corps lies here, the soul aloft is fled 
 Unto the fount of perfect happinesse : 
 Full freedome, joy and peace, she lively doth possesse. 
 
ANTIMONOPSYCHIA 
 
 Or 
 
 The fourth part of the Song 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SOUL, v 
 
 Containing 
 A confutation of the Unity of Souls. 
 
 Whereunto is annexed a Paraphrase upon Apollos 
 
 answer concerning Plotinus his Soul 
 
 departed this life. 
 
 By H. M. Master of Arts, and Fellow of Christs 
 Colledge in Cambridge. 
 
 Xcu'pcT', tyu) 8' vfi.lv 0eos a/j,(3poTos ovk 
 €Tl dvrjTOS. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the 
 
 Univerfitie. 1647. 
 
 19 
 
««2_>f**I-3<'* 
 
 The Argument of 
 
 ANTIMONOPSYCHIA 
 
 Or 
 
 Confutation of the Unitie of 
 SOULS. 
 
 The all-devouring Unitie 
 Of Souls I here disprove ; 
 
 Show how they bear their memorie 
 With them when they remove. 
 
 Ho yields himself to learning and the Muse, 
 Is like a man that leaves the steddy shore, 
 And skims the Sea. He nought then can 
 refuse 
 
 Whatever is design'd by Neptunes power, 
 Is fiercely drove in every stormy stoure, 
 Slave to the water and the whistling wind : 
 Even so am I, that whylom meant recover 
 The wished land, but now against my mind 
 Am driven fiercely back, and so new work do find. 
 
 What though the Rationall soul immortall be, 
 And safely doth exist, this body gone, 
 And lies broad wake in her existency ; 
 If all souls that exist do prove but one. 
 Or, though a number, if oblivion 
 Of all things past, put them in such a state 
 That they can no-wise guesse that ere upon 
 This earth they trode ; even this seems to abate 
 Their happinesse. They '11 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. 
 
 Now comes the story of Praxiteles 
 Into my mind, whom looking in a glasse, 
 With surly countenance, it did much displease, 
 That any should so sourely him outface ; 
 Yet whom he saw his dogged self it was : 
 Tho he with angry fist struck his own shade. 
 Thus he the harmlesse mirior shattered has 
 To many shivers ; the same shapes invade 
 Each piece, so numbers he of surly vizards made. 
 
 These shapes appeard from the division 
 Of the broke glasse : so rasher phansies deem 
 That Rationall souls (whom they suppose but one) 
 By the divided matter many seem : 
 Bodies disjoind, broke glasses they esteem : 
 Which if they did into one substance flow, 
 One single soul in that one glasse would shine ; 
 If that one substance also were ygo, 
 One onely soul is left, the rest were but a show. 
 
 Well is their mind by this similitude 
 Explaind. But now lets sift the verity 
 Of this opinion, and with reason rude 
 Rub, crush, touse, rifle this fine phantasie, 
 
THE UNITY OF SOULS. 
 
 131 
 
 As light and thin as cobwebs that do fly 
 In the blew air, caus'd by th' Autumnall sun, 
 That boils the dew that on the earth doth lie. 
 May seem this whitish rag then is the scum, 
 Unlesse that wiser men make't the field-spiders loom. 
 
 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 one soul (though many seem in show) 
 Which in these living bodies here below 
 Doth operate (some such opinion 
 That learned Arab held, hight Aven-Roe) 
 How comes't to passe that she's so seldome known 
 In her own self ? In few she thinks her self but one. 
 
 Seems not this Soul or Intellect very dull, 
 That in so few she can her self discover 
 To be but one in all, though all be full 
 Of her alone ? Besides, no soul doth love her 
 Because she sucks up all : but what should move her 
 Thus to detest her self, if so that she's 
 But one in all ? right reason surely drove her 
 Thus to condemne this lonesome Unitie 
 Of soul : which reasons her own operations be. 
 
 9 
 
 Thoughts good and bad that Universall mind 
 Must take upon 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' universall Intellect doth fill 
 With its own life and motion : what it please 
 That there it acts. What strange absurdities are these ? 
 
 All plotted mischief that sly reason wrought, 
 
 All subtill falsities that nimbly fly 
 
 About the world, that soul them all hath brought ; 
 
 Then upon better thoughts with penalty 
 
 Doth sore afflict her self, doth laugh and cry 
 
 At the same time. Here Aristophanes 
 
 Doth maken sport with some spruse Comedy ; 
 
 There with some Tragick strain sad Sophocles 
 
 Strikes the Spectatours hearts, makes many weeping 
 eyes. 
 
 II 
 Such grief this soul must in her self conceive 
 And pleasure at one time. But nere you'll say 
 We ought not griefe or pleasure for to give 
 Unto the soul. To what then ? This live clay ? 
 It feels no grief if she were gone away : 
 Therefore the soul at once doth laugh and cry. 
 But in this Argument I'll no longer stay, 
 But forward on with swifter course will hie, 
 
 And finden out some grosser incongruity. 
 
 Let now two men conceiven any form 
 Within their selves, suppose of flaming fire ; 
 If but one soul doth both their corpse inform, 
 There's but one onely species intire. 
 For what should make it two? The Idee of fire 
 That is but one, the subject is but one, 
 One onely soul that all men doth inspire. 
 Let one man quench that form he thought upon, 
 That form is now extinct and utterly ygone ; 
 
 13 
 
 So that the other man can think no longer, 
 
 Which all experience doth prove untrue. 
 
 But yet I'll further urge with reason stronger, 
 
 And still more clearly this fond falshood shew. 
 
 Can contraries the same subject imbew ? 
 
 Yes ; black and white, heat, cold may both possesse 
 
 The mind at once ; but they a nature new 
 
 Do there obtain, they're not grosse qualities, 
 But subtill sprights that mutually themselves no'te 
 presse. 
 
 14 
 
 But contradiction, can that have place 
 
 In any soul ? Plato affirms I dees ; 
 
 But Aristotle with his pugnacious race 
 
 As idle figments stifly them denies. 
 
 One soul in both doth thus Philosophise, 
 
 Concludes at once contradictoriously 
 
 To her own self. What man can here devise 
 
 A fit escape, if (what's sure verity) 
 He grant but the souls indivisibility ? 
 
 15 
 
 Which stifly is maintaind in that same song 
 
 Which is ycleeped Psychathanasie, 
 
 And safely well confirm' d by reasons strong : 
 
 Wherefore I list not here the tnith to try, 
 
 But wish the Reader to turn back his eye, 
 
 And view what there was faithfully displaid. 
 
 Now if there be but one centrality 
 
 Of th' Universall soul which doth invade 
 
 All humane shapes ; how come these contradictions 
 made? 
 
 16 
 For that one soul is judge of every thing, 
 And heareth all Philosophers dispute ; 
 Herself disputes in all that jangling. 
 In reasoning fiercely doth her self confute. 
 And contradictions confidently conclude : 
 That is so monstrous that no man can think 
 To have least shew of truth. So this pursuit 
 I well might now leave off : what need I swink 
 
 To prove whats clearly true, and force out needlesse ink. 
 
 17 
 
 Again, she would the same thing will and nill 
 At the same time. Besides, all men would have 
 
132 
 
 THE UNITY OF SOULS. 
 
 The self-same knowledge, art, experience, skill ; 
 The frugall parent might his money save, 
 The Pedagoge his pains : If he engrave 
 His Grammer precepts but in one boyes mind, 
 Or decent manners : He doth thus embrave 
 With single labour all the youth you'll find 
 Under the hollow Heavens, they'll be alike inclin'd. 
 
 18 
 And every man is skill'd in every trade, 
 And every silent thought that up doth spring 
 In one mans brest, doth every man invade ; 
 No counsel-keeper, nor no secret thing 
 Will then be found ; They'll need no whispering 
 Nor louder voice. Let Orators be dumb, 
 Nor need the eager auditours make a ring ; 
 Though every one keep himself close at home, 
 The silent Preachers thoughts through all the world will 
 roam. 
 
 19 
 
 Find each man out, and in a moment hit 
 With unavoided force : Or sooth to sain 
 They all begin at once to think what's fit, 
 And all at once anon leave off again. 
 A thousand such incongruities vain 
 Will follow from the first absurdity, 
 Which doth all souls into one centre strain, 
 And make them void of self-centrality. 
 Strange soul from whence first sprong so uncouth falsity. 
 
 20 
 
 Now all the arguments that I have brought 
 For to disprove the souls strange solitude, 
 That there is not one onely soul, well mought 
 Be urg'd (and will with equall strength conclude) 
 To prove that God his creature hath indew'd 
 With a self-cent rail essence, which from his 
 Doth issue forth, with proper raies embew'd, 
 And that not all the very Godhead is : 
 For that would straight beget the like absurdities. 
 
 21 
 
 For he is indivisibly one being, 
 At once in every place and knoweth all ; 
 He is omnipotent, infinite in seeing ; 
 Wherefore if Creatures intellectuall 
 (And in that order humane souls will fall) 
 Were God himself, they would be alike wise. 
 Know one anothers thoughts imaginall, 
 Which no man doth : such falshoods would arise 
 With many more, which an idiot might well despise. 
 
 22 
 Nor will mens souls that now be different 
 Be God himself hereafter, and all one : 
 For thus they were quite lost ; their life ylent 
 And subtill being quite away are flone. 
 
 This is a perfect contradiction, 
 They are all one with God, and yet they are. 
 If they be one with God, then they alone 
 Did make themselves, and every rolling starre : 
 For God alone made these, and God himself they are. 
 
 23 
 Before the Sun and all the host of heaven, 
 The earth, the sea, and mans deep centrall spright ; 
 Before all these were made, was not God even 
 With his own self? what then him moven might 
 To waste his words and say, Let there be light. 
 If the accomplishment of all things be, 
 That all be God himself. This is not right. 
 No more perfection, no more Entity 
 
 There's then, then was in that eternall Silency. 
 24 
 Or will you say, that God himself delights 
 To do and undo ? But how can this stand 
 With self-sufficiency ? There's nought that might 
 Adde to his happinesse (if I understand 
 His nature right.) But He with open hand 
 Doth easly feed the Creature that he made 
 As easly. Wherefore if the truth be scand 
 This Goodnesse would that nought should be decay'd ; 
 
 His mind is all should liue ; no life he would should fade. 
 
 25 
 
 But if the finall consummation 
 Of all things make the Creature Deiform, 
 As Plato's school doth phrase it ; there is non 
 That thence need fear to come to any harm : 
 For God himself will then inact, inform, 
 And quicken humane souls at the last day ; 
 And though the Devil rore, and rage, and storm, 
 Yet Deaths drad power shall be done away, 
 Nor living Night on men her poysonous beams shall ray. 
 
 26 
 He hasten it that makes that glorious day ! 
 For certainly it is no fearfull thing 
 But unto pride, and love of this base clay : 
 Its their destruction, but the perfecting 
 Of the just souls. It unto them doth bring 
 Their full desire, to be more close unite 
 With God, and utter cleans'd from all their sin. 
 Long was the world involv'd in cloudy Night, 
 But at the last will shine the perfect Christian light. 
 
 27 
 Thus the souls numerous plurality 
 I've prov'd, and shew'd she is not very God ; 
 But yet a decent Deiformity 
 Have given her : thus in the middle trod 
 I safely went, and fairly well have row'd 
 As yet. Part of my voyage is to come, 
 Which is to prove that the souls new aboad 
 In heaven or hell (what ever is her doom) 
 Nought hinders but past forms even there again may 
 bloom. 
 
MEMORY AFTER DEATH. 
 
 '33 
 
 28 
 Which if they did not, she could never tell 
 Why she were thus rewarded, wherefore ill 
 Or good she doth enjoy, whether ill or well 
 She lived here. Remembrance death did spill. 
 But otherwise it fares ; as was her will 
 And inclination of her thirsty spright, 
 Impressions of like nature then doth fill 
 Her lively mind, whether with sad affright 
 Disturb'd, which she long fear'd ; or in hop'd-for delight. 
 
 29 
 The life that here most strongly kindled was 
 (Sith she awakes in death) must needs betray 
 The soul to what nearest affinity has 
 With her own self, and likenesses do sway 
 The mind to think of what ever did play 
 In her own self with a like shape or form ; 
 And contraries do help the memory : 
 So if the soul be left in case forlom, 
 Remembrance of past joy makes her more deeply mourn. 
 
 30 
 Tis also worth our observation, 
 That higher life doth ever comprehend 
 The lower vitall acts : sensation 
 The soul some fitten hint doth promptly lend 
 To find out plantall life ; sense is retaind 
 In subtiller manner in the phantasie ; 
 Als reason phantasies doth well perpend : 
 Then must the souls highest capacity 
 Contain all under life. Thus is their Memory. 
 
 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 subtilty 
 Of Intellect, of Will, nor Phantasie, 
 No Sense, nor uncouth strange impression 
 From damned Night, or the blest Deity, 
 But of all these she hath retention, 
 And at their fresh approach their former shapes can own. 
 
 32 
 This memorie the very bond of life 
 You may well deem. If it were cut away 
 Our being truly then you might contrive 
 Into a point of time. The former day 
 Were nought at all to us : when once we lay 
 Our selves to sleep, we should not know at morn 
 That e're we were before ; nor could we say 
 A whit of sense : so soon as off we turn 
 One word, that's quite forgot. Coherence thus is torn. 
 
 33 
 Now sith it is of such necessitie, 
 And is the bundle of the souls duration, 
 The watchman of the soul, lest she should flie 
 Or steal from her own self, a sure fixation 
 
 And Centrall depth it hath, and free dilation, 
 That it takes notice of each energie 
 Of Phansie, Sense, or any Cogitation. 
 Wherefore this virtue no dependencie 
 Hath of this body, must be safe when it doth die. 
 
 34 
 
 But if dispersed lifes collection, 
 Which is our memory, safely survive 
 (Which well it may, sith it depends not on 
 The Mundane spirit) what can fitly drive 
 It into action. In heaven she doth live 
 So full of one great light, she hath no time 
 To such low trifles, as past sights, to dive. 
 Such as she gathered up in earthly slime : 
 Foreknowledge of herself is lost in light divine. 
 
 35 
 But can she here forget our radiant Sunne ? 
 Of which its maker is the bright Idee, 
 This is His shadow ; or what she hath done 
 Now she's rewarded with the Deitie ? 
 Suppose it : Yet her hid Centralitie 
 So sprightly's quickned with near Union 
 With God, that now lifes wished liberty 
 Is so encreas'd, that infinitely sh' has fun 
 Herself, her deep'st desire unspeakably hath wonne. 
 
 36 
 And deep desire is the deepest act, 
 The most profound and centrall energie, 
 The very selfnesse of the soul, which backt 
 With piercing might, she breaks out, forth doth flie 
 From dark contracting death, and doth descry 
 Herself unto herself ; so thus unfold 
 That actuall life she straightwayes saith, is I. 
 Thus while she in the body was infold, 
 Of this low life, as of herself oft tales she told. 
 
 37 
 In dangerous sicknesse often saith, I die ; 
 When nought doth die but the low plantall man, 
 That falls asleep : and while Nature doth tie 
 The soul unto the body ; she nere can 
 Avoid it, but must feel the self-same pain, 
 The same decay, if hereto she her mind 
 Do bend. When stupid cold her corse oreran, 
 She felt that cold ; but when death quite doth bind 
 The sense, then she herself doth dead and senselesse find. 
 
 38 
 Or else at least just at the entrance 
 Of death she feels that she privation, 
 How now it spreads ore all : so living sense 
 Perceives how sleep creeps on, till quite o'recome 
 With drousinesse, animadversion 
 Doth cease : but (lower sense then fast ybound) 
 The soul bestoweth her adversion 
 On something else : So oft strange things hath found 
 In sleep, from this dull carcase while she was unbound. 
 
«34 
 
 MEMORY AFTER DEATH. 
 
 39 
 
 So though the soul, the time she doth advert 
 The bodies passions takes her self to die : 
 Yet death now finish'd, she can well convert 
 Herself to other thoughts. And if the eye 
 Of her adversion were fast fixt on high, 
 In midst of death 'twere no more fear or pain, 
 Then 'twas unto Elias to let flie 
 His uselesse mantle to that Hebrew Swain, 
 While he rode up to heaven in a bright fiery wain. 
 
 40 
 Thus have I stoutly rescued the soul 
 From centrall death or pure mortalitie, 
 And from the listlesse flouds of Lethe dull, 
 And from the swallow of drad Unitie. 
 And from an all-consuming Deitie. 
 What now remains, but since we are so sure 
 Of endlesse life, that to true pietie 
 We bend our minds, and make our conscience pure, 
 Lest living Night in bitter darknesse us immure. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 THE ORAC LE 
 
 OR, 
 
 A Paraphrasticall Interpretation of the 
 answer of Apollo, when he was con- 
 sulted by A melius whither Plotinus 
 soul went when he de- 
 parted this life. 
 
 Tune my strings to sing some sacred verse 
 Of my dear friend ; in an immortall strain 
 His mighty praise I loudly will rehearse 
 With hony-dewed words : some golden vein 
 The strucken chords right sweetly shall resound. 
 Come, blessed Muses, let's with one joynt noise, 
 With strong impulse, and full harmonious sound, 
 Speak out his excellent worth. Advance your voice, 
 As once you did for great ^Eacides, 
 Rapt with an heavenly rage, in decent dance, 
 Mov'd at the measures of Meonides. 
 Go to, you holy Quire, let's all at once 
 Begin, and to the end hold up the song, 
 Into one heavenly harmony conspire ; 
 I 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 loos'd, broke from Necessitie. 
 
 From bodies storms, and frothie working sands 
 
 Of this low restlesse 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 uprore ; 
 
 Well hast thou swommen out, and left that stage 
 
 Of wicked Actours, that tumultuous rout 
 
 Of ignorant men. Now thy pure steps thou stay'st 
 
 In that high path, where Gods light shines about, 
 
 And perfect Right its beauteous beams displayes. 
 
 How oft, when bitter wave of troubled flesh, 
 
 And whirl-pool-turnings of the lower spright, 
 
 Thou stoutly strov'st with, Heaven did thee refresh, 
 
 Held out a mark to guide thy wandring flight ! 
 
 While thou in tumbling seas didst strongly toyl 
 
 To reach the steddie Land, struckst with thy arms 
 
 The deafing surges, that with rage do boyl ; 
 
 Stear'd by that signe thou shunn'st those common harms 
 
 
THE ORACLE. 
 
 135 
 
 How oft when rasher cast of thy souls eye 
 
 Had thee misguided into crooked wayes, 
 
 Wast thou directed by the Deitie ? 
 
 They held out to thee their bright lamping rayes : 
 
 Dispers'd the mistie darknesse, safely set 
 
 Thy feeble feet in the right path again. 
 
 Nor easie sleep so closely ere beset 
 
 Thy eyelids, nor did dimnesse ere so stain 
 
 Thy radiant sight, but thou such things didst see 
 
 Even in that tumult, that few can arrive 
 
 Of all are named from Philosophic 
 
 To that high pitch, or to such secrets dive. 
 
 But sith this body thy pure soul divine 
 Hath left, quite risen from her rotten grave, 
 Thou now among those heavenly wights dost shine, 
 Whose wonne this glorious lustre doth embrave : 
 There lovely Friendship, mild smiling Cupid's there, 
 With lively looks and amorous suavitie, 
 Full of pure pleasure, and fresh flowring chear ; 
 Ambrosian streams sprung from the Deitie 
 Do frankly flow, and soft love-kindling winds 
 Do strike with a delicious sympathie 
 Those tender spirits, and fill up their minds 
 With satisfying joy. The puritie 
 Of holy fire their heart doth then invade, 
 And sweet Perswasion, meek Tranquillitie, 
 
 The gentle-breathing Air, the Heavens nought sad. 
 Do maken up this great felicitie. 
 Here Rhadamanthus, and just ^Eacus, 
 Here Minos wonnes, with those that liv'd of yore 
 I' th' golden age, here Plato vigorous 
 In holy virtue, and fair Pythagore, 
 These been the goodly Off-spring of Great Jove, 
 And liven here, and whoso fill'd the Quire 
 And sweet assembly of immortall Love, 
 Purging their spirits with refining fire ; 
 These with the happy Angels live in blisse, 
 Full fraught with joy, and lasting pure delight. 
 In friendly feasts, and life-outfetching kisse. 
 But, ah I dear Plotin what smart did thy sprite 
 Indure, before thou reach'st this high degree 
 Of happinesse ? what agonies, what pains 
 Thou underwent'st to set thy soul so free 
 From baser life ? She now in heaven remains 
 Mongst the pure Angels. O thrice-happy wight ! 
 That now art got into the Land of Life, 
 Fast plac'd in view of that Eternall Light, 
 And sitt'st secure from the foul bodies strife. 
 But now, you comely virgins, make an end. 
 Break off this musick, and deft seemly Round, 
 Leave off your dance : For Plotin my dear friend 
 Thus much I meant my golden harp should sound. 
 
Notes upon Pfy chozoi a. 
 
 CANT. I. 
 
 Stanz. i. Vers. 6. Psyche I'll sing &c. 
 
 He 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 Of-spring. 
 
 The three first are dispatched in the first Canto of 
 Psychozoia, the last in the two latter Cantoes 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 
 severall states of the Soul in good and evill, for this 
 cause chiefly, as also in part, for the description in the 
 first Canto of that life deriv'd from Ahad and sEon to 
 Psyche, and that which flows from her ko.6' inroaroKriv 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 Alter ity I 
 For what is time but the perseverance of the motion 
 of the soul of the world, while she by her restlesse 
 power brings forth these things in succession, that 
 Eternity hath at once altogether. For such is the 
 nature of s£on or Eternity, viz. A life exhibiting all 
 things at once, and in one. AiaffTaais o5v j"u>7)r xpt> vov 
 d\ev, but distance of life makes time, and the proroga- 
 tion of life continueth time, the praeterition of life is the 
 praeterition of time, but Psyche is the fountain of this 
 evolved life, whence she is also the very life of time. 
 And all A I ferity. 
 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 poten- 
 tially. Eternity hath all the world in an indivisible in- 
 distant way at once, and that actually. 
 
 Psyche or the Soul of the world, when she begins this 
 world, begets a grosser kind of Alterity, and dispersed 
 diversity uxnrep £k <nrtpp.a.To$ r)<r6xov i^eXlTTuiv avrbu 
 
 X670J, &c. as the seminall forme spreads out it self, and 
 the body it inacts into distant branches from the quiet 
 and silent seed, making that actuall in time and succes- 
 sion 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. 
 N6os i<r<rt v6ov \ Of minds thou art the Mind. 
 tyvx&v ^vxa, > The Soul of souls. 
 <$u<rts el <pv<rluv) And Nature of each natures kind. 
 Synes. Hymn. 4. 
 
 STANZ. 5. Vers. 9. That same that Atove hight. 
 The deepest Centre of all things, and first root of all 
 beings ; the Platonists call r dyaObv & rb ?v, that is, 
 the Good, and the One. See Plot. Ennead. 1. lid. 7. 
 cap. 1. Mercur. Trismeg. Serm. Univers. ad ALsculap. 
 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 vbov Avdei, as the 
 Oracle speaks, by the flower, or the summity of the 
 Intellect. 
 
 "EffTi 8e drj Tt vorjrbv 5 XPV ffe voeiv V ° 0XJ S-vBei, 
 that is, ivialq. dvvdfiei as Mich. Psellus expounds it, by 
 the unitive power of the Intellect, or by a certain simple 
 and tactuall Energie of the soul when it is roused into 
 act. 
 
 For so is the expression of Plotinus, Ennead. 6. /. 9. 
 c. 7. dXX' i<TTt Tipb" 8wa/xevij> OLyeiv irapbv, ri$b" ical 
 ddwarovvri 011 irdpecm. 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, 
 Kai rb biravda, dye. And there lyeth our happinesse, 
 saith he, and to be removed from hence, is but to par- 
 take lesse 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 intellectuall, 
 Here she is impassible, Here she truly lives indeed. 
 But this life that we live disjoyned from God is but a 
 shadow, and umbratil imitation of that. But that 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 137 
 
 evipyeta pJv vbov, intellectuall energie, an energie that 
 begets Gods ev ijffvxv rjj irpds i Kf.lv eiraipTJ in that still 
 and silent tactuall conjunction with this Universall Good. 
 It begets beauty, it begets righteousnesse, it begets 
 valour ; for these doth the soul bring forth, being once 
 impregned of God, and fil'd 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 
 Kevrpov KeVrpip ffwd^ai, joyne centres, and centres do 
 wholly swallow up one another, so that this union is 
 even more then touch. 
 
 This tactuall conjunction of the soul with God surely 
 in the Christian phrase is no more then 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 denied with earthly 
 love, Tavbypos yevopAvt) Kal olov iraipiadetaa, 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 joyned with him, as a beautifull virgin 
 to a beautifull man, wairep irapdtvos xak^ irpbs KaXbv 
 dvbpa, for so I think the text is to be read, and not 
 irapdevos KaXov irpbs KaXbv tpwra. 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 exquisitly set out. 
 
 Stanza 6, 7. Now can I not, &c. 
 It being acknowledged both in the purest Philosophy 
 and in Christianity, that the root of all things is good- 
 nesse it self, the most genuine consequence of this is, 
 That his providence being measured by himself, good- 
 nesse it self is the measure thereof : so that all Melan- 
 cholick and dismall dreams of idly affrighted men, may 
 well vanish in the clearnesse of this light and truth ; as 
 also the envious, malicious, and bloudy minded man 
 may here consider, how far he hath wandred from the 
 will of God, and the root of his own being. 
 
 Stanza 8. This Ahad of himself the AEonfair, &c. 
 This AZon is all things essentially and truly as Ahad 
 or Atove above all things. It is the very intellectuall 
 world, Eternall life, united ever with the father that 
 brought him forth. The A670S ivbidderos of God, his 
 understanding, or explicit inward comprehension of all 
 things ab aterno, infinite and every where, differing 
 onely from his fountain in this, that he is one simple 
 Unity, this one ever-actuall omniformity, 
 
 votpals ffrpdirrovffa ropalatv. 
 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 
 AZon and On all one : at the fourth Chapter. 
 
 STANZ. 9. This is the ancient Eidos omniform 
 Fount of all beauty, &»c. 
 The description of ASon, which is the first form also 
 or pulchritude, is largely set out : Ennead. 5. lib. 8. 
 irepl rod votjtov KdXXovs, where the condition of that 
 
 19 
 
 Eternall life is thus delineated. KaJ ydp rb pela £weiv 
 ixei, Kal dXr/deia be avrols Kal yevtreipa Kal rpo<pbs, 
 koX oiiffta Kal rpo<pi}' Kal opwai to. irdvra, oi/K ols ytvecns 
 irpbcearw dXX' oh ovala, Kal eavrovs b> dXXots' 5ia<pav7-> 
 yap iravra Kal OKoreivbv ovbe dvrlrxnrw ovbev. dXXd 
 ?raj iravrl <pavepbz eh rb et<ro) Kal irdvra' <pQs yap (purl. 
 Kal yap ?x €l ""«* irdvra ev eavrtp, Kal ad bpq. ev &XXw 
 irdvra' 6ri iravraxod irdvra, Kal wdv, irav, Kal iKaorov 
 irav, Kal Aireipos tj AiyXij. eKao~rov yap afrrQv p^iya. 
 iirel Kal rb ptKpbv p^iya. Kal ijXios iKei iravra &<rrpa, 
 Kal ZKaarov ijXios ad, Kal ir&vra. "Et£e\et. be eveKacrru 
 dXXo, ipxpaivei. be Kal iravra &>c. that is, It is an easie 
 life they live there, for truth is their mother, nurce, sub- 
 stance, 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, sith what is little must be also great : the Sun 
 there is all the starres, and again every starre the Sun, 
 and all things : but every thing is more eminently some 
 one thing, and yet all things fairly shine in every thing, 
 &c. See Plotin. Ennead. 5. lib. 8. cap. 4. 
 
 Stanz. 13. Far otherwise it fares in A*ions 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 dan- 
 ger in AZon land, for the objects there are perfective 
 and not destructive, better then the soul, not baser : 
 and chiefly Abinoam or Ahad which is as it were the 
 Sun of that world, which AZon doth alwayes behold 
 steddy and unmoved, and with him all they that arrive 
 thither. Azons self is also an unspeakable plenitude of 
 life, and it is an unexpresseable perfection of the mind 
 to be joyned with him, so that there is plainly no danger 
 or hurt to desire earnestly the enjoyment of these divine 
 forms, though union with corporeall features may deface 
 the soul. 
 
 STANZ. 14. For AZon land which men Idea call 
 Is nought but life, &c. 
 
 So Plotin. 'H rod vov Kal 6vros tpvats £607x0; io~riv 
 6 iXiidivbt Kal irpwros, oil biaardt &<p' eavrov, ovbe 
 ao-devrji t<J5 p.epio~p$ oiide iXXeixr)*, dXXd 17 iraaa fwfj 
 dvrov Kal iras vov% £v ivl fw<ro koX voovca bp.ov. Kal rb 
 pepoi irapexeTat 6Xov, Kal irav atrip <plXov, ov x w P 1 ' 
 ffOev &XXo air' dXXov oObi Irepov yeyevrjpevov pJtvov 
 Kal rQsv dXXuv dire£evu>p^vov. "Odev oib" dbiKei dXXo, 
 dXXo, ovb' dv rj evavrlov iravraxov be 6v tv «cat rfXeiov 
 birovovv, tcrijKt re Kal aXXolufftv o&k £%«. That is, 
 
 The nature of Intellect and On is the true and first 
 world not distant from it self, 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 it 
 self, not separated one part from another, nor become 
 
■38 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 another alone ; and estrang'd 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 Enncad. 3. lib. 2. cap. 1. 
 
 Stanz. 15. That Virgin wife of Aion Vranore. 
 Vranore or Psyche the wife of Aion, the daughter of 
 Ahad. For indeed all things come from him, but naff 
 viro<rro\r)v ; First rb tv or Ahad, that is a simple unity : 
 then A* on, that's tv ndvra an actuall vnmoveable Omni- 
 formity : Lastly, tv Kal irdvra, that's Vranore, or Psyche, 
 viz. capable of that stable Omniformity, that Fulnesse 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 
 steddily. See Plotin. irepl rdv dpx^X^ v viro<TTd<reuv. 
 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, Aion, and Psyche Kal olv 
 direiKOHrrtov (saith he) rb fitv (purl, rb 5i e<pe%7js 17X1^, 
 rb 5t rplrov rip <T(\r)vr)% dcrrpip KopLi^op^vcp rb <pds 
 ■trap' i)\tov. ipvxy p£v yap itratcrbv vovv tx el ^t'X/w"' 
 vvvra airrty voepav ovaav. vous $k h> avr$ oUe'iov 
 tx*i> ov (puis <$v ptdvov, dXV 6 iim ireQuTiapAvov iv rrj 
 avrov ovirla. rb 5k -rrapixov tovto rb <pws owe &\\o 8v, 
 <pQs ivrlv air\ovv, irap^xov t))v dvvapuv iieelvu tov 
 elvai 6' iaTiv. That is, And we may resemble the first, 
 viz. Ahad, to lux or light, the next to the Sunne ; the 
 third, viz. Psyche, to the Moon, borrowing her light of 
 the Sunne. For Psyche hath but an adventitious In- 
 tellect, which doth as it were colour her, made Intellec- 
 tual. But Intellect or Aion hath in himself proper 
 Intellectuall life, not being that light onely, 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. 
 
 Vers. 4. 5. Because the fire 
 
 Of Aithers essence, &c. 
 That the Intellect in man is clothed with the soul, the 
 soul with fire or spirit ; and that through that instru- 
 ment it governs and orders this grosse body, is the 
 Opinion of Tristneg. in his Clavis ; and the like instru- 
 ment he ascribes to the Maker of the whole World 
 &y\p.LOvpybs yap airavrwv rwv ovpavwv rip irvpl irpbs ttjv 
 drjp.iovpylav xpv rai - The Maker of the Heavens useth 
 fire to his work. But I conceive indeed that the pure 
 Heavens or .<Ether, which is from al$u to burn, is no- 
 thing else but attenuate fire EPtsV, a subtill fiery liquor 
 or liquid fire ; as I have else where intimated. 
 
 Vers. 6. 7. And inward unseen golden hew doth 
 dight, 
 And life of Sense, &c. 
 I cannot better declare this matter then the Philoso- 
 pher hath already, Ennead. 5. lib. 1. cap. 2. 
 
 Let any particular soul, saith he, quietly by her self 
 conceive the whole Universe devoid of life, form, and 
 motion ; let the Earth be still and stupid, the Sea, the 
 Aire, and the Heaven : anon an universall soul flow into 
 
 this torpent masse, inwardly infus'd, penetrating 
 throughout, and illuminating all, as the beams of the 
 Sunne doth some Cloud xP vo ~ oei ?>V 6\f/iv iroiovffai, mak- 
 ing a golden show by their gilding light. Such is the 
 entrance of Psyche into the body of the Vniverse, kind- 
 ling and exciting the dead mist, the utmost projection 
 of her own life into an ^Ethereall vivacity, and working 
 in this, by her plasmaticall Spirits or Archei, all the 
 whole world into order and shape, fitting this sacred 
 Animal for perfect sense, establishing that in being, 
 which before was next to nothing. 
 
 Vers. 8. ALther s the vehicle of touch, smell, sight : 
 Of taste, &c. 
 This is true in the Microcosme as well as in the 
 Macrocosme above described, viz. that the more subtill, 
 fiery and attenuate spirits in mans body, are the medium 
 whereby the soul is joyned to and doth work in the 
 body. 
 
 STANZ. 16. May reach that vast profundity. 
 
 Synesius also calleth it fivQbv irarpuov, the paternall 
 depth. Hymn. 2. 
 
 Stanz. 18. Now rise, my Muse, &c. 
 From this Stanza to the 33. is contained a description 
 of the visible World. 
 
 Vers. 2. Tti outward vest. 
 To make all this visible World the garment of Psyche 
 is no forc'd or new fancy ; sith the Sibyll hath appar- 
 relled God therewith, Sibyll. Orac. lib. I. 
 
 Et'/oii 5' iyu 6 iuv (<rii 5' ivl (ppecn <Trj<Ti vbrjaov) 
 Oiipavbv iv5tSvp.ai, irepl p£j3\7]p.at 5t dakaaaav, 
 Tata 5£ p.01 ar-fipiyp-a irodQv ire pi ffQifia Kix VTCLL > 
 'Aijp 5' -nb' dffrpuv p.e xopbs irepi5£5po/xe tt6.vtt]. 
 
 That is, 
 / am JEHOVAH, well my words perpend, 
 Clad with thefrory Sea, all mantled over 
 With the blew Heavens, shod with the Earth I wend, 
 The Starrcs around me dance, th' Air doth me cover. 
 
 Moses also (if we will believe Philo the Jew) made 
 Aarons garment a symboll of the visible World, and it 
 agrees well with this of the Sibylls. For first upon the 
 top, on his Mitre was the T€Tpaypdp.p.aTov Jehovah ; 
 The shoulder-pieces mought represent the Heavens ; 
 The two Precious-stones there, the two Hemispheres ; 
 The twelve names engraven, the twelve signes of the 
 Zodiack ; The blew Robe, the Air ; ra dvdiva or the 
 flowry work at the hemme of the garment, the earth ; w 
 potcrKoi, the Pomegranets (with an allusion to ptu fluo) 
 the water ; ol Kiiduves the Bells, the harmony, that is, 
 the mixture of earth and water for generation. But as 
 for dvOiva there is nothing answereth to it in the Hebrew 
 Text, and why should pot<ncoi 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 
 seminall fullnesse of the Earth, by its scissure in the 
 side, full of kernells or seeds ? Peradventure had Philo 
 been as well instructed in Pythagorisme, as in Plato- 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 139 
 
 nisme, and had mist the Septuagint's dvdiva & pour/coi, 
 he would hit of another harmony, then the mixture of 
 Water and Earth doth make : I mean the noise of those 
 Balls mentioned Stanza 30. And so the order of 
 having every Bell joyned with a Pomegranet, would 
 have signified the many and numerous Globes at the 
 severall 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 Aarons robe : but I hold not this 
 Argument apodicticall. Phil, de vita Mosis. 
 
 Vers. 7. The many Plicatures. 
 Every particular body is esteemed but a knot or close 
 folding of that one intire Out-garment of Psyche. 
 
 STANZ. 19. vers. 9. The garment round, &c. 
 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 guesse, mans 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, &c. 
 A glance at Copernicus opinion, as at theirs also that 
 make the fixt starres so many Sunnes, 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, &c. 
 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 AZon 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 universall soul of the 
 world finds all things in s£on, and knows also exactly 
 inferiour things. For her animadversion is not fixed or 
 determined to one, as mans 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, &c. 
 A Christian mystery wrapt up in a Platonicall cover- 
 ing, the reduction of the world to conformity with the 
 Eternall 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 Sonne of 
 God, and the Holy Ghost do thus stirre men up, and 
 invite them to true and lively obedience to the eternall 
 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, &c. 
 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 
 Universall comprehension of Spermaticall life dispersed 
 throughout. This seminall World is neither the very 
 Intellect it self, though it be stored with all forms, nor 
 any kind of pure soul, though depending of both, olov 
 efxXajiti/'ts £% dfj.(f>oiv vov, ical ipvxys, A kind of life eradi- 
 ating and resulting both from Intellect and Psyche. 
 
 This enters and raiseth up into life and beauty, the 
 whole corporeall world, orders the lowest projection of 
 life, viz. the reall Cuspis of the Cone infinitely multi- 
 plied, awaking that immense mist of Atoms into severall 
 energies, into fiery, watery and earthly ; and placing her 
 Magick 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, Earths, &c. and then with a more curious arti- 
 fice, 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 it self, but is as if you should con- 
 ceive, an Artificers imagination separate from the Arti- 
 ficer, and left alone to work by it self without animad- 
 version. Hence Physis or Nature is sometimes puzzeld 
 and bungells in ill disposed matter, because its power is 
 not absolute and omnipotent. See Plot. Ennead. 3. 
 lib. 2. 
 
 STANZ. 59. In midst of this fine web doth Haphe sit. 
 Every sence to be a kind of touch, was the opinion of 
 the ancient Philosophers, as you may see in Theophra- 
 stus irepi alcrdrjaews. Every sense in Psyche is plainly 
 and perfectly Touch, or more then Touch rather, I 
 mean, a nearer union. But this present Stanza respects 
 more properly the nature of sense in particular Animals 
 (so farre 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 rayes of every thing, with our 
 sensorium before we know the things themselves, which 
 rayes we really feeling, perceive those things at distance 
 by this communication. For these rayes alwayes con- 
 vey 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 
 Horison conveighed to our sight by a centrall Touch of 
 those rayes of the objects round about us. 
 
T 4° 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 STANZ. 49. But Haphes Mother hight all-spread 
 community. 
 
 As is plain in the communication of rayes. For I 
 cannot think that union simply with this sensible world, 
 of it self can make us know things at distance, though 
 Plotinus seem inclinable to that Opinion. See Psycha- 
 than., lib. 3, Cant. 1. 
 
 STANZ. 55. All Sense doth in proportion consist. 
 
 Some things are so light that the weight is indiscern- 
 able to some, as the Flie that sat upon the Bulls horns 
 and apologized for her self, as having wearied him, as 
 it is in the Arabian fable, some smells too weak to 
 strike the nostrills 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 inact this All or 
 Universe as a particular Soul doth the body. 
 
 Vers. 9. All life of Sense is in great Haphes list. 
 It must needs be so. For no living soul is sensible of 
 ought in this out-World, but by being joyned in a living 
 manner to it. Therefore Psyche being joyned to it all, 
 must needs perceive all forms and motions in it, that are 
 presented to any particular soul. For these representa- 
 tions be made in some particular body, which is but a 
 part of the whole, a knot as it were of Psyches outward 
 stole, but the universall body of the World, is one un- 
 divided peece, wherefore nor Owl, nor Bat, nor Cat, nor 
 any thing else can possibly see, but Psyche seeth ipso 
 facto, for 'tis part of her body that hath those represen- 
 tations in it ; wherefore man is transfixt through and 
 through by the rayes of the divine Light, besides that 
 more incomprehensible way of omnisciency in God. 
 
 Stanz. 5, 6. Sense and Consent, &c. 
 As Psyche sees all natural things, so she doth allow 
 of them. For contrariety of Spirits is onely betwixt 
 particulars, and uglinesse, and ill-favourednesse are but 
 such to some kinds, nor is poyson poyson 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 Psyches self, motion and mutabilitie 
 have place ; But in AZon and Ahad is steddy and un- 
 alterable rest, t& wocujtws tx 0VTa ' And there hath 
 Psyche the one eye plac'd 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 ?nother 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) inacted by Psyche, if any particular soul exert any 
 imaginative act, needs must for a time at least be col- 
 oured as it were or stained with that impression, so that 
 Psyche must needs perceive it, sith it affects her own 
 
 spirit. See Psychath. lib. 3. Cant. 2. Stanz. 46, 47. 
 Besides this, euery 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 puzled how the phantasie of a 
 mans soul should make an impression upon any part of 
 the universall spirit of the world, and'Semele should not, 
 let him consider, that the imaginative operations of Psy- 
 che are more high, more hovering and suspense from 
 immersion into the grosser spirits of this body, which is 
 little or nothing conscious of whats done so farre above, 
 and so not receiving the impresse of so high acts, it 
 ordinarily happens (even in the exaltation of our own 
 phansie)jthat memory fails. And besides this, as the vigour 
 of sense debilitates or quite extinguisheth the ordinary im- 
 aginations of the soul, so doth her ordinary imaginations, 
 or sense, or both, hinder the animadversion of the im- 
 presses 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 pro- 
 phetick 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 AZon. Because the union betwixt AZoti 
 and Psyche is much more near then between Psyche and 
 the Mundane spirit. And whatsoever is represented in 
 AZon is also clearly in the view of Ahad ; by reason of 
 the unexpresseable close unity of these two ; so that 
 Ahad knowes every individuall thing and motion, as 
 clearly, nay more clearly then any mortall eye can view 
 any one thing, let it look never so steddily on it. 
 
 Thus the thoughts of all mens 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 rouls up into the open air. 
 For the spirit of the Lord fills all the world, and that 
 which conteineth all things hath knowledge of the voyce, 
 yea of the outward shape, gestures, and thoughts too. 
 Wisd. 1. 7. 
 
 Nor is Eternity changed or obscured by the projec- 
 tion of these low shadows. For infinite animadversion 
 can discern all things unmixtly and undisturbedly, not at 
 all loosing it self, though gaining nothing by the sight 
 of inferiour 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, "On 5' r\ 
 roiafjTij vevo~is cujtov irpbs avrbv, otov ivipyeia. otaa 
 avTov Kai ixovrj iv avry rb efeou 8 i(TTi iroiei, fxaprvpei 
 inrorediv Tovvavrlov, 8ti el npbs rb ££o> vetiaeiev avrov, 
 dTToXel rb etvat. 8irep earlv, that is, But that such a kind of 
 inclining himself to himself, being as it were his energie 
 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 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 14' 
 
 being infinitely infinite, without stooping or inclining, 
 can produce all things, and view alwayes his work, 
 keeping his own seat that is himself : for so saith the 
 Philosopher in another place, KoJ tori irpwrij evipyeia 
 inelvov Kal irpurij owla, iKelvov pAvovros £v eai/r<j), that 
 is, That Intellect or On, or the Intellectuall world, is the 
 first energie 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 runne 
 through in my notes on this Canto. Ahad, sEon, 
 Psyche, the Platonick Triad, is rather the rb Oehv then 
 debt, the Divinity rather then the Deity. For God is 
 but one indivisible unmovable self-born Unity, and his 
 first-born creature is Wisdome, Intellect, /Eon, On, or 
 Autocalon, or in a word, the Intellectuall world, whose 
 measure himself is, that is simple and perfect Goodnesse. 
 To bk icrriv dvevbets, Iko.vov eairijS, p.i)8evos bebp-evov, 
 pjrpov irdvruv Kal iripas, doiis e| avrov vovv Kal oixrlav 
 Kal ^/vxv". That is, For he is without need, self-suf- 
 ficient, wanting nothing, the measure and term of all 
 things, yielding out of himself Intellect or On, and 
 Psyche. 
 
 And speaking of Intellect, ''Evepye't pJvroi irepl eKeivov, 
 olov irepl eKetvov £Qv. That intellect is taken up about 
 him, imployed in a kind of vitall operation about him, 
 living in him. 
 
 But of Psyche, 'H 5£ ££w0ev irepl tovtov x°P e ^ ffa<Ta 
 \fn>x^l. Kepi avrbv fHXeirovaa Kal efcrui avrov Qeu)yuevi\, rov 
 deov bi avrov fi\4irei. But Psyche something removed 
 and without, danceth about the Intellect, busily be- 
 holding it, and looking into it, seeth God through it. 
 So that Ahad is the vitall perfection of AZon or Intellect, 
 and AZon and Ahad the happinesse of Psyche and her 
 vitall accomplishment. Ennead. 1. lib. 8. And both 
 .Eon and Psyche, and all things else are from Ahad, 
 Kad' inroiTToXrjv, 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. &c. 
 
 And that the world is inacted by Psyche, and so is 
 (which Trismegist and Plato are not nice to grant) one 
 intire Animal, and that therefore nothing can scape the 
 knowledge of that universall soul, no more then any 
 sensation, imagination, or motion of man can be hid 
 from the soul of man, if she be at leasure to observe it. 
 That Psyche is at leasure 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 bold- 
 nesse 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 my self 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 aime at, then quarrell and entangle them- 
 selves 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 ex- 
 hibited in their Triad, viz. that God is as fully Good- 
 nesse, Wisedome, and powerfull 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 onely Hypostasis, then to perplex my mind with 
 troublesome questions of Three and One, and One and 
 three, &c. 
 
 For the mind of man being so unable to conceive any 
 thing of the naked being of God, those more grosse and 
 figurate representations of Him, so be they be sutable 
 to & expressive of His unquestionable Attributes, are 
 not onely passable but convenient for created under- 
 standings, to lead them on in the contemplation of God 
 in easie Love and Triumph. Whereas by endeavouring 
 more Magisterially and determinately to comprehend 
 and conclude that which is so unconcludible and incom- 
 prehensible to the understanding of man, we work our 
 selves into anxietie and subtile distemper and dry up the 
 more precious outflowings 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 /sis 
 Temple, a notable monument of the great wisedome of 
 the Ancients : 'E7W eifu irav to yeyovbs, Kal 6v Kal 
 iffd/Mevov, Kal rov epMv iriir\ov ovSeis irw Ovip-bs atr- 
 eKd\v\pev, and then pronounce whether there be not 
 roome enough in the Deity for every man to speak 
 diversely one from another, in the representation there- 
 of, and yet no man nor all men together to set out 
 accurately and adequately the nature of God. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Stanz. 6. Its he that made us. 
 
 Et not excluding Ahad. See what's written 
 upon the 23. Stanza of this Canto. 
 
 Stanz. 9. The last extreme, thefardest 
 of from light 
 
 Plotinus Ennead. 4. lib. 3. cap. 9 : describes the pro- 
 duction of the corporeall world after this manner, Psyche 
 cannot issue out into any externall vivificative act, un- 
 lesse you suppose a body, for thats her place properly, 
 and naturally. Wherefore if she will have place for and 
 vitall act, she must produce her self a body. So she 
 keeping steddily her own station, olov iroXv ipws e/cXd/u- 
 \pav eir' S.Kpoa rots io~\drot.i rov irvpos, ckotos eyevero, 
 or rather eyelvaro, like a plentifull flame shining out in 
 the extreme margins of the fire begot a fuliginous dark- 
 nesse ; which she seeing streightway actuated with life 
 and form, yevbpxvos be olov oIkos t*i /caXds Kal irouclXoi 
 ovk direr/j.^dri rov ireironjKdTos, so that darknesse be- 
 coming a variously adorned aedifice is not disjoyned 
 from its builder, but dependeth thence as being the 
 
14: 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 genuine and true energie 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 Interpret. Gen. 
 It's lower then this shadow that Plolinus speaketh of, 
 and which maketh the body of the World. For I con- 
 ceive the body of the World to be nothing else but the 
 reall Cuspis of the Cone even infinitely multiplied and 
 reiterated. Hyle to be nothing else but potentiality : 
 that to be an actuall Centrality, though as low as next 
 to nothing. But what inconvenience is in Tasis, or the 
 corporeall sensible nature, to spring from Hyle, or the 
 scant capacity, or incompossibility of the creature. 
 
 STANZ. 10. Dependance of this All hence doth 
 appear. (to the 17. Stanza. 
 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. Auroupybs ydp u>v, iel Hctiv iv r<p Zpyu, aurbs 
 Cbv 8 Trotei, that is, For God being the sole Artificer, 
 is alwayes in his work, being indeed that which he 
 maketh. According to this tenour is that also in 
 Orpheus. 
 
 Zet>s irpQros yevero, Zeus Vtrrarot, dpxiKipavvos 
 Zei)? K€<pa\r], Zeus pAaca, Aids 5' ex iravTa rirvKrai 
 Zeus irudp.7)v yal-qs re Kal oupavou dcrrepbevTOS. 
 Zeus dpo-rjv yevero, Zeus dfifipOTos fir Xero vuh$t). 
 Zeus Trvoir) irdvTuv, Zeus aKafidrov irvpbs bpp.-q. 
 Zeus irdvTov pt^a, Zeus TjXtos i)8e ffeX-qvij. 
 Zeus fiaaiXeus, Zeus dpxbs airdvTuv dpxt-Kipavvos. 
 Havras yap Kpu\j/as, afidis <f>dos is woXuyridts 
 'E£ lepys Kpa8lr]S dvevtyKaro, fie'pp.epa pdfwv. 
 
 That is, 
 Jov s first, Jov's last, drad Thunderer on high, 
 Jov's head, Jov's navell. Out ofjove all's made. 
 Jov's the depth of the Earth, and starry Skie. 
 Jove is a man, Jov's an immortall Maide. 
 Jove is the breath of all, Jove's restlesse fire, 
 Jov's the Seas root, Jove is both Sun and Moon, 
 Jov's King, Jov's Prince of all and awfull Sire: 
 For having all hid in himself, anon 
 He from his sacred heart them out doth bring 
 To chearfull light, working each wondrous thing. 
 Aristot. De Mundo, cap. 7. 
 
 And this Hyperbolicall expression of the close depend- 
 ance that all things have on God, is not mis-beseeming 
 Poetry. But Trismeg. is as punctuall in this excesse as 
 the Poet, Ad Tat. cap. 5. Atct rl 5e up.vqffu <re; cl>s 
 e/xavrou Civ ; us i\uv rt tbtov ; us &XXos Civ ; cru yap el 
 8 Hat 2i, o~u et 8 edv Xe-yw, <ru yap iravra et, t6 &XXo 
 oiidiv Am* 5 ffou firj iffri o~u el irdv rb yevbfievov, aii rb 
 yuoO yevbfievov, vous /xiv voo^/ievos, irar^p St drjfiioupywv, 
 debs Se evepyuv, dyaObs 8t ical irdvra irotwv v\tjs jiiv 
 
 yap to XeirTO/j.epe'crTaToi' dr/p, dtpos de ^uxv> ^ V XV^ & 
 vous, vou 5e 6 debs. 
 
 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 energie of God, and 
 do as purely depend on him, as the Sun-beams of the 
 Sunne. So that so farre forth as we may say the body, 
 lux fr 3 lumen of the Sunne, all put together is the 
 Sunne ; so farre 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 Stanza will also clear well the 6, 7, and 8 verses 
 of the 15 Stanza, where the whole Universe is exhibited 
 to the mind as one vitall Orb, whose centre is God him- 
 self, or A had. 
 
 Vers, the 9. In every Atom-ball. 
 
 That is, Ahad and s£on are in every Cuspiall particle 
 of the world. 
 
 Stanz. 12. Why may'st not, &c. 
 
 By differentiall profundity is understood the different 
 kinds of things descending naff uttoo-toXt/v 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 spirituall beings 
 where there is no avTiruiria or justling for elbow-room 
 I know not, unlesse you will say there will be then more 
 infinites then one. But those are numbers, and not one. 
 I but those numbers put together are equall to that One. 
 But yet that One may be infinitely better then all : For 
 who will not say that Space or Vacuum is infinitely 
 worse, then any reall thing, and yet its extension is in- 
 finite, as Lucretius stoutly proves in his first Book, De 
 natura rerum. 
 
 Stanz. 15. Throughly possest of lifes community. 
 
 That the World or Universe is indewed 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, tuv els eavrbv, lib. 10. where he calls this 
 Universe to TiXeiov fuov, rb dyaObv, t6 Sinaiov, Kal 
 KaXdv, a compleat Animal, good, just, and beautifull. 
 And Trismeg. cap. 12. de Commun. Intellectu. ad Tat. 
 •0 de o-ufiwas koc/xos oZtos b pAyas debs Kal tou [xel^ovos 
 elKwv, Kal ■ijvup.e'vos iKelvu Kal cruo-ffwfwv ttjv Ta£u> Kal 
 (3o6Xr)ffiv tou irarpbs, irXiypw/td e<rrt rijs farjs, &c. 
 This Universe a great Deity (which I conceive he speaks 
 in reference to Psyche, upon whom such divine excel- 
 lency is derived) and the image of a greater, united also 
 to him, and keeping the will and ordinances of his 
 Father, is one endre fullnesse of life. veKpdv yap oude ?v 
 otire yiyovev, oSre io-rlv, oSre eVrcu, eV r<p Kbc/xcp. 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. shews how Psyche by her vitall power, full of 
 form and vigour, shapes, and adorns, and actuates the 
 World, ola ko.1 ol iv cirtp/jxiTi Xbyoi irXdrToufft Kal 
 /jLop<pov<ri to. fwa olov puKpotis Tivas K6o-p.ous, as the 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 •45 
 
 seminall forms or Archei form and shape out particular 
 Animals, as so many little Worlds. 
 
 Vers. 9. And all the Vests be Seats, &c. i.e. Degrees. 
 
 Stanz. 16. That particular creature throng. 
 In contradistinction to the Universall creature sEon, 
 Psyche, Physis, Tasis, the centre as it were, and more 
 firm essence of the particular creatures. For I must call 
 these universall Orders of life, creatures too, as well as 
 those, and onely one God, from whence is both the 
 sensible and Intellectuall All, and every particular in 
 them both, or from them both. 
 
 STANZ. 23. Each life a severall ray is from, that 
 Sphere, 
 Arachne, Setnel, &c. 
 
 Not as if there were so many souls joyned together, 
 and made one soul, but there is a participation of the 
 virtue at least of all the life that is in the universall Orb 
 of life, at the Creation of Mans soul, of which this place 
 is meant, whence man may well be tearmed a Micro- 
 cosme, or Compendium of the whole World. 
 STANZ. 24. Great Psychany. 
 
 The abode of the body is this Earth, but the habita- 
 tion 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 Sence 
 can reach the starres ; what then can exalted phansie 
 do, or boundlesse Intellect? But if starres be all in- 
 habited, which Writers no way contemptible do assert, 
 how vast their habitation is, is obvious to any phansie. 
 Beside some inhabit God himself, who is unspeakably 
 infinite. 
 
 Stanz. 25. Two mighty Kingdomes, &c. 
 
 Let Psychanie be as big or little as it will, Autasthesia, 
 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 
 A utcesthesians. 
 
 Vers. 4. Autasthesie's divided into tway. 
 
 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 Adamak, which 
 signifieth the corrupt naturall 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 wisdome, and righteousnesse : 
 That which is above, is, saith he, b Ai/Qpuiros 6 aXrjd^s 
 crx^Soy, iieeTva Si rb Xeovrwdes nal rb irotKiXou #Xws 
 dripiov. 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 wickednesse. 'H yap Kaida, <rv/x<pvro$ 
 roh dy plots, as Trismegist. speaks. For vice is conge- 
 nit or connaturall to beasts. See Plotin. Ennead. 1. cap. 
 1. whence it is manifest why we call one thing by these 
 two names of Adamak, and Beirah. 
 
 The other part of Autessthesia is Dizoia, their condi- 
 tion is as this present Stanza declares, mungrill, betwixt 
 Man and Beast, Light and Darknesse, God and the 
 Devill, Jacob and Esau struggle in them. 
 
 Stanz. 26. Great Michael ruleth, &c. 
 
 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 likenesse 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 ^mq iq who is like unto 
 God, for either beautie, or power? who so comely or 
 strong as He ? 
 
 Vers. 5. His name is Daemon. 
 
 Damon the Prince of Autastkesie, i.e. of self-sensed- 
 nesse, it is the very image of the Devil, or the Devil 
 himself, or worse if ought can be worse : it is a life 
 dictating self-seeking, and bottoming a mans self upon 
 himself, a will divided from the will of God, and centred 
 in its self. 
 
 Vers. 7. From his dividing force, &c. 
 All divisions both betwixt God and Man, and Man 
 and Man, are from this self-seeking life. 
 
 Stanz. 28. Autophilus the one ycleeped is. 
 Autophilus, is the souls more subtill and close em- 
 bracements of her self in spirituall arrogancy, as Philo- 
 somatus, the love of her body ; wherefore the one ruleth 
 most in Dizoia, the other in Beirah. 
 
 Vers. 8. Born of the slime o/'Autaesthesia. 
 
 Damon, that is, the authour 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, to povXridrjvai eavrwv elvat, 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 processe of time grew ignorant both of them- 
 selves and of their parents. 
 
 STANZ. 29. Duessa first invented Magick lore. 
 
 Duessa is the naturall life of the body, or the naturall 
 spirit, that, whereby we are lyable to Magick assaults, 
 which are but the sympathies and antipathies of nature, 
 such as are in the spirit of the world, 'H yap akyOivri 
 fiayela i) h> r$ iravrl <pt\ia Kal ikikos a5, /cat 6 7617$ 
 irpwros ko.1 6 <j>apixaKei/s oSto's iori^ The true MagicK 
 (saith he) is nothing else but the concord and discord in 
 the Universe, and he, viz. the world, is the first Magi- 
 cian and Enchanter, others do but learn of him by 
 imitation : wherefore they that are established in a prin- 
 ciple above the world, and are strong in God, which are 
 the true and perfect Israel, are exempt from the danger 
 of this Enchantment, oiiSels yap ovbiv 50varat o6re 
 SaipMvwv ofire &eut> irpbs plav aKT?va tov 6eov, For 
 neither Astrall spirit nor Angel can prevail against one 
 
144 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 ray of the Deity ; as Aesculapius writes to King Ammon. 
 P 'lot in us soul was come to that high and noble temper, 
 that he did not onely keep off Magicall assaults from 
 himself, but retorted them upon his enemy Olympius, 
 which Olympius himself, who practised against him, did 
 confesse 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 travri- 
 Xeia, is an emblem of perfection : for it comprehends all 
 numbers, sith we are fain to come back again to one, 
 two, &c. when we are past 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. 
 ' Anofipaioi, Philo interprets \a\ovvres and it is indeed 
 from icx dixit, the Land of talkers. 
 
 Stanz. 34. Psittacusa land, id est, the land of 
 talkers or Parots. See Don Psittaco, Interpret. Gen. 
 Stanz. 65. Ther's no Society, &c. 
 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 mortall 
 body, or some astrall concordance or hidden harmony 
 of spirits, which also often knits in wedlock those that 
 are farre enough from beauty. 
 
 Vers. 2. But beastlike grazing, &c. 
 Aristotle defines very well and like a Philosopher the 
 genuine society that should be among men, viz. in the 
 communication of reason and discourse. oCtw yap &v 
 5b£eiev rb <rt/fV Xiyeodai iirl rQv dvdptoiruv, Kal ovk 
 uxnrep cttI rdv j3oo~Kr]p.dTuy rb iv T<j) avr$ vi^eadai. 
 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 com- 
 munialty of Pythagoras followers (as Iamblicus describes 
 it, de vita Pythag. lib. 1. cap. 33.) not onely 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. Uap-ijyyeXov yap Odp,a aXXr/Xovs p.r) 5ta- 
 rrirdv top iv eavrois debv. Ovkovv eh deoKpatxlav rtva, 
 xal t^v irpbs debv itvwaiv Kal rrjv rod vov Kowwvlav Kal 
 rrjv tt)s Betas \pi>xv*> dirifiXeirev avroh rj irdaa rrjs 
 fpiXiai utrovS^i 5' Ipyuv re Kal Xbytav. 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 hatefull toad. 
 This Stanza sets out the nature of each Beironite 
 singly considered by himself, which is referable to some 
 bird or heast, 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 know- 
 ledge of God, in obedience and self-deniall, without 
 which, those seeming virtuous dispositions, are but 
 mock-virtues, no other then 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 vitall 
 operation, her vigorous will, and complacency be that 
 which a Beast likes, I cannot see that she is any more 
 then a living Brute, or a dead Man, or a Beast clad in 
 mans cloths. See the 48 Stanza of this Canto. 
 
 Stanz. 138, 139. From the 34. Stanza to the 138 
 are the Religion, Polity, Freindship, or familiar Society 
 and single natures of the Beironites set out. Here now 
 begins the discovery of the way of escape from this 
 bruitish condition, which is by obedience. Now 
 obedience consists in these two : Self-deniall (Auta- 
 parnes), and Patience (Hypomone). Obedience discovers 
 to us the doore of passage out of this pure brutality, 
 viz. Humility. For it is self-conceit and high pre- 
 sumption that we are all well, and wise already, that 
 keeps us in this base condition. 
 
 STANZ. 144. The young mans speech caus'd sad 
 
 perplexity, etc. 
 
 That a man in confuso, or in generall, is more easily 
 
 drawn to entertain obedience, but when it is more 
 
 punctually discovered to him in self-denyall and patience, 
 
 it is nothing so welcome. 
 
 Stanz. 146. For understanding of this Starrza, see 
 Autaparnes in the Interpr. Gen. as also in the 64, 65, 
 66, 67. Stanzas 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 Sunne 
 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. T6re pjkv o$v 
 oOre bpa, oSre Siaxplvei bpQiv otire tftavrd^erai biiu, ctW 
 otov &\Xot yev6p:evos Kal ovk avrbs. 011$' eavrov <rw- 
 reXei eKeT, KaKelvov yevbfievos, 'iv eariv, ibawep Kivrpov 
 Ktvrpq <rwd\f/as. Wherefore then the mind neither 
 sees, nor seeing discerns, nor phansies too, but as it 
 were become another, not her self nor her own, is there, 
 and becoming His is one with Him, as it were joyning 
 centre with centre. Ennead. 6. lib. 9. cap. 10. And 
 that this may not seem a Chimesra, I will annex what 
 the noble Philosopher writes of his own experience, 
 Ennead. 4. lib. 8. cap. 1. HoXXdKts iyeipbfJ-evos eh 
 ipMvrbv iK rov cci/iaToj Kal yevbp-evos tQv flip AXXwv 
 e£«, ip.avrov 8i etcxu, 8avp.acrrbv tjXLkov bpuv K&XXot, 
 etc. I often awaking out of the body into my self, and 
 being without all things but within my self, do then 
 behold an admirable beauty, and become confident of 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 U5 
 
 my better condition, having then so excellent a life, and 
 being made one with the Deity : in which I being 
 placed do set my self above all other Intellectuall beings. 
 But after this my station and rest in God, descending 
 out of Intellect into reason, I am perplext to think both 
 how I now descend, and how at first my soul entred 
 this body, she being such as she appeared to be by her 
 self, although being in the body. Such an union as this 
 that Plotinus professeth himself to have been ac- 
 quainted with, though it be the thing chiefly aimed at 
 in this Stanza, yet I do not confine my Theoprepia to it ; 
 nor think I the soul of man disjoyned 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 it self 
 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. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 STANZA i. Shafts which Uriel, vers. 5. and vers. 7. 
 No other help -we had for Gabriel. 
 
 Riel, ^N»"nH ignis Dei, Angelas Meridional's, 
 He that rules in the power of the Meridian 
 Sunne. Quatuor A ngeli prtzsidentes cardi- 
 nibus Casli, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, 
 Uriel. For Gabriel in this place bears onely a naturall 
 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 Presidents or no. 
 I conceive they be some old Rabbinical inventions or 
 traditions, by the grosse mistake in them. 
 
 For when as they assign to Michael the East, and the 
 West to Raphael, they seem never to have dreamed 
 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 begins to make con- 
 science 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 day- 
 starre, the Sunne of righteousnesse himself. This 
 estate is set out in these 4 Stanzas. 
 
 Stanz. 6, 7, 8, 9. 
 The penitent, perplext, and passionate estate of one 
 that hath the true sight and sense of his sinne, and cor- 
 ruption, but is not rid of them. 
 
 Stanz. 10. Me thought the Sunne it self, etc. 
 The condition of him whose spirits indeed are un- 
 purged, though the fire hath got hold on them, and 
 burns, and glows, as in fowl rubbish. This estate is set 
 
 19 
 
 out by the appearance of the sunne from Ida hill, the 
 description whereof follows in the next Stanz. 
 STANZ. 11. But Phcebus form, &c. 
 
 A sad image of bitter zeal and prascipitant wrath 
 against all those that are not in the same sad condition 
 with our selves, that is, that are either better or worse in 
 life, and different in opinion. 
 
 Vers. 8. Small things they will prize, &c. 
 
 Such men scarce got into the spirit of Elias ; yet 
 esteem their temper above the meeknesse of Christs 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 Gnosticks in Plotinus time, 
 who contemned all beside their own sect, to whom the 
 incomparable Philosopher, gravely and more like a Chris- 
 tian, then those that call themselves by that name, writes 
 to this sense, That if they were so much better then all 
 the world, they ought to be so much the more mild and 
 modest, and not so full of ferocity and rudenesse, and to 
 think that there may be room with God for others also. 
 Tots 5£ &W01S vofiifcip dvcu. x&P av Tapd, tQ 6e$ Kai 
 fir) avrotis fiduovs /xer' iKttvov rd^avras &o~trep ovelpots 
 ir^revOai. And not in placing themselves onely next to 
 God, to sore as it were in a dream, to flie in their sleep. 
 Stanz. 35. Whom with cruel spear. 
 
 The difficulty here is how the eternall Sonne of God 
 may suffer, he being everlasting and immortall life it self, 
 and not contradict what was written, Canto. 1. Stanz. 9. 
 14, 35, 36, 37. For to the impassible eternall being is 
 the inheritance of the world there promised, but here to 
 that which is passible and mortall. I answer, that the 
 eternal and immortall sonne of God is to take possession 
 of the world by that which after a manner is mortall and 
 extinguishable, which is the energie of himself, exerted 
 upon the souls of men, or a kind of life diffused in mans 
 heart and soul, whereby God doth inact us, and is our 
 
 evTekix eia ' as tne sou l * s tne h>TeKix eLa °f th e body and 
 governs and guides it. And if &on as he is the sonne 
 of Ahad or Atove (to speak Platonically) that is, the 
 simple and free good, or in brief as he is the sonne of 
 God, who is the simple good without all self-nesse or 
 straitnesse, even pure and perfect Light it self (for this 
 y£<?« contains in him also the whole creature and is the 
 essence or Idea of all things) I say if he as he is the sonne 
 of God be in us by his imparted life, he then takes pos- 
 session of the world, and God by him. But he hath not 
 yet enquickened men generally with this Deiform life, but 
 it hath lyen 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 vitall rayes of the soul into this mortall body, He 
 shall then as truly govern, rule, and possesse the world 
 as any soul doth her body. 
 
 And that there is an eternall sonne of God, immortall 
 impassible, and not onely in the souls of men, but that 
 fills the whole universe, the Evangelist I think will con- 
 firm. For he ascribes the creation of all things to him, 
 
146 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 yea and calls him God, which makes me wonder that the 
 Turks have so high an esteem of this Gospel of S. John, 
 unlesse they will interpret, Kal Oebs fjv 6 \670s accord- 
 ing to the same tenour that Kai 6 \070s <rap£ eyevero is 
 to be interpreted, neither place then signifying, unity or 
 identity, but union onely 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 eternall principle whereby 
 God made the whole creation. If the godly onely (as he 
 may be said in some more speciall manner to be their 
 maker) how came they not to know him, when he was 
 in them and alive in them ; to 6/x.oiov yap rip dfioiip 
 yivuxTKerai. If the wicked onely, he made them not 
 wicked, so that if he made them at all, he made their 
 naturall being, soul and body, and if them why not all 
 the world ? whence a man may reasonably conclude, that 
 the X070S, that is the Word is eternall and immortall, and 
 invulnerable. And if any Authority will now be worth 
 looking after (S. Johns testimony being so plain) Philo 
 the Jew speaks out to this purpose, A^Xov tk 8ri Kal 7? 
 apxeTVTros a<ppayls, fy <pap.ev eiVcu K.6ap.ov votjtov, 
 avrbs &v etr) to apx^rvwov irapd.5ei.ypa, i5ea tQv Idewv, 
 6 deov \6yos. Ilepl Koapow. p. 3. It is manifest that 
 the Archetypal seal, which we call the intellectuall world, 
 is the very word of God, the Archetypall Paradigme, 
 the Idea of Ideas, or Form of Forms. And in his 
 irepl yeuipyias He plainly ascribes the government of the 
 Universe, Heavens, Starres, Earth, Elements, and all 
 the creatures in them, to that which he tearms rbv dpdbv 
 6eov \6yov irpoiroyovov viov, that is, the upright word 
 of God, his first-born son. Which is pure Platonisme, 
 and may for ought I know go for right Christianisme, so 
 long as the first chapter of S. John for Gospel. 
 Vers. 2, 3, True crucified Sonne 
 
 Of the true God. 
 For the life that is in him and should flow into us, is 
 hindred in its vitall 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-groveling Aptery. 
 From Beirons wall to Pantheothen dwell the Apterites, 
 that is, such as have souls without wings, or \pvxds 
 irTepoppvovaas, as the Platonick 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 some- 
 time full of sorrow and vexation for their grosse vices, 
 but yet in a kind of Hypocriticall humility, acknowledg- 
 ing that to be their destin'd condition, and that it is worse 
 then that condition, to believe that a man by the help of 
 God may get out of it. 
 
 Stanz. 44, 45, 46. Hight Pteroessa. 
 
 The land betwixt Pantheothen and the valley of Ain, 
 is Pteroessa, because the Inhabitants have wings whereby 
 they raise themselves above the mire and dirt of the cor- 
 rupt body. One of the wings is Faith in the power of 
 God against the forces of the Prince of darknesse. 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 sware, &c. 
 
 Gabriel is the strength of God, which will certainly 
 assist them that walk in the precepts of God with sim- 
 plicity of heart. 
 
 Stanz. 49. But I observed well, &c. 
 
 And it is well worth our observation that the main 
 danger of Pteroessa is the making too much haste, or a 
 slubbering speed, promoving our selves 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, &c. 
 See Interpr. Gen. 
 
 Stanz. 51. Vers. 9. Back to retreat, &c. 
 That is, to reassume that more punctuall and vigilant 
 care over our wayes in thought, word, and deed, with a 
 kind of austerenesse 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 deceitfull body. For is 
 it not Hypocrisy or partiality to avoid that our selves, 
 which we often impose upon our young children, whom 
 we oft abridge of things, that are not hurtfull of them- 
 selves, to break them off their stubborn wills ? And be- 
 lieve it ; a grown mans 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 Diony- 
 sius A/er writes, who ascribes this virtue to it. 
 
 $i$« pkv KpvcrTaWov 13' rjep6ecraav"IaffTriv 
 
 'l&xQpty ep.iroij<T7]ffi Kal &X\ots d5w\oicrt,p. 
 It sends forth Crystall and the Jasper green 
 Foe to Empusa's and all spectres seen. 
 And this stone is none of the meanest jewels in the 
 Platonick Diadem. Certainly the purging of our naturall 
 spirits and raising our soul to her due hight 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 out- 
 ward fiends will tremble at his presence, and fly before 
 him as darknesse at lights approch. For the soul hath 
 then ascended her fiery vehicle, and it is noon to her at 
 midnight, be she but awake into her self. 
 
 Stanz. 59. Both love of man, &c. 
 Those virtues there recited are refulgently conspicuous 
 in Platonisme, Pythagorisme, and Stoicisme. Where's 
 then the defect? But I'll first set out their virtues, Plo- 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 H7 
 
 tinus, Ennead. 1. lib. 2. wepl dperr/s, raiseth virtue to 
 her hight by these 4. degrees. The first are Virtutcs 
 poli ticcr, the second Purgatories, the third Animi jam 
 purgati, the fourth and last Paradigmaticce. 
 
 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 naturall imagination before reason hath 
 consulted of them, or it may be phansie clearly appre- 
 hended 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 su- 
 pernall phansie and consultation of reason. Mars. 
 Ficin. upon Plot in. 
 
 Now those virtues that do onely amputate, prune, and 
 more handsomely proportionate these second motions 
 in us, are called Politicall, hecause 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 onely prune but quite 
 pluck up those second enormous motions of the mind 
 are called Purgative. 
 
 Thirdly those that do both extirpate the second irre- 
 gular 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 foure degrees of virtues make so many degrees 
 of men, if I may call them all men. 
 ( UoXitikclI 
 KaOapriKal 
 I A.I ev t<3 Ke/cadapdai 
 UapaSeiyfiartKal 
 
 Politicall 
 
 I Purgative 
 
 I A n i m i jam purgati 
 
 ( Paradigmaticall 
 And this he doth plainly confesse, acknowledging that 
 the motions or passions of the mind are not sins, if 
 guided, directed and subjected to reason, dXX' t\ <ncovhi) 
 ovk l£o> apaprias elvai dXXct Qeov tlvai. But our endea- 
 vour must be not onely to be without sin, but to become 
 God, that is, impassible, immateriall, 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 
 safe castle for his own security ? I can not quite excuse 
 the old man of self-love for that round elegancie Kpeir- 
 rov 5e tov ircuda kclkov elvai 7) ae Ka.Kodaip.ova. It doth 
 not run so well in plain English. It is better thy sonne 
 be wicked then thou miserable, that is, passionate, Epic- 
 tet, Enchirid. cap. 16. Yet to speak the truth, Stoicisme, 
 Platonisme, and Pythagorisme are gallant lights, and a 
 
 ' kperal 
 
 Virtues 
 
 ("Xvdpwirov. 
 1 Qedvdpuirov. 
 J Qeo5aip.ova. 
 ( Bedv. 
 
 SMan. 
 God-man. 
 Angel-god. 
 God. 
 
 noble spirit moves in those Philosophers vains, and so 
 near Christianisme, if a man will look on them favour- 
 ably, that one would think they are baptized already not 
 onely with water, but the holy Ghost. But I not seeing 
 humility and self-denyall and acknowledgement of their 
 own unworthinesse of such things as they aimed at, nor 
 mortification, not of the body (for that's sufficiently in- 
 sisted upon) but of the more spiritual arrogative life of 
 the soul, that subtill ascribing that to our selves 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 self-seeking. But believe it, a man shall often meet 
 with frequent Testimonies of their charity and universall 
 love, of meeknesse and tranquillity of mind, of common 
 care of men, of hearty forgivenesse of offences. Tempe- 
 rance, Justice, and contempt of death, are obvious and 
 triviall ; 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 
 spirituall humility, that any man can have experience of, 
 and a perfect self-deadnesse, which is the begetter indeed 
 of the former. For where selfenesse 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 Messias, 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 Wisedome like the Sunne doth all with light 
 ore-spill 
 This ravishing beauty and love, is lively set out by 
 Plotinus, lib. 6. cap. 5. Ennead. 1. 'E<xvtoi>s 5£ ihbvre% 
 to. Hvdov KaXovs, rl vdcrxeTe ; /ecu ttws dva^aKX^'^de Kal 
 dvaKivetade, Kal eaiToIs avvetvai 7ro0e?re ffv\\e£dp.evoi 
 dirb ewpdrajv ; irdax ovo ~ l t^ v 7<*P Tavra oi dvrws 
 ipuriKoi, draw ij ev avrols iowaiv rj Kal ev dXXy Bed- 
 cruvrai p.iyedos xpvxys, Kal i^tfos dtKatov, Kal ffwtppoovvTjv 
 Kadapdv, Kal dvSpiav pXocrvpbv e'x ovo ~ av Trpbowirov, Kal 
 cefivorrp-a, Kal ai8u> iiridiovaav ev drpe/xet Kal aKvp.ovi 
 Kal diradel 8iadeaei, inl irdai oe toiVois tov Oeoeidfj vovv 
 iTn\dp.irovTa. And when you behold your selves beau- 
 tifull within, How are you affected? How are you 
 moved and ravished? and gathering your selves from 
 your bodies, desire more nearly and closely to embrace 
 your naked selves ? For thus are they affected that are 
 truely amorous, when they either contemplate in them- 
 selves, or behold in others that gallantry and greatnesse 
 of soul, that constantgarb of Justice, pure and undefiled 
 Temperance, manly, and awfull-eyed Fortitude, Gravity 
 
148 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCHOZOIA. 
 
 and Modesty gently mooving in all peaceable stillnesse 
 and steddy Tranquillity and a god-like 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 
 wo, &c. See Autaparn. Interpr. 
 Gen. 
 
 Stanz. 66. This dale hight A in, &c. 
 This valley of Ain is nothing else but self deadnesse, 
 or rather self-nothingnesse : wherefore the fume rising 
 thence must needs be Anautesthesie, that is self-sensles- 
 nesse, no more feeling or relishing a mans self, as con- 
 cerning himself, then if he were not at all. 
 
 Stanz. 67. Here Autaparnes, &c. See Auta- 
 parn. Interpr. Gen. 
 
 Notes upon Pfy c h a t h a n aft a. 
 
 LIB. I. CANTO I. 
 
 Stanz. 10. Like men new made contrivd 
 into a Cave. 
 
 CTI EE Jambiich, Protrcpt. cap. 15. 
 
 Stanz. 12. Vers. 4. Calling thin shad- 
 dows, &c. 
 Udvra ry 6<frda\/jup uTroTrlTTTOVTa et'ScoXd, 
 eo-Ti Kal Cocnrep cKioypacplai. Merc. Trismeg. 6. 
 
 Stanz. 16. This Errors den. 
 The condition of the soul in this life is so disadvan- 
 tagious to her, that the Philosopher in the 3. Chapter 
 of the 8. Book of his 4. Eimead. falleth into these 
 expressions, y Kal oeoyxos to aG>p.a Kal rdcpos, Kal 6 
 k6(T/jlos airy wqXaiov Kal dvrpov. 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, &c. 
 EKdarr) t/Soj't; Kal Xv-mj ticrirep ijXov ^x 0VITa irpoarfXoi 
 ttjv ipvxhv trpbs rb ci/xa ical iroiei (rupaToetdrj, 5o£d- 
 £ovcrav ravra dXrjdrj elvac airep av Kal rb awpa <pij. 
 'Ek ydp rod bp.obo£eiv t<£ ffupiari Kal tois avrols x a ^P ei -f, 
 dvajKa^erai, o'ip.ai, bp-brpowds re Kal bp.6rpo(j)os ylyve- 
 <r6ai. Jambiich. Protrept. cap. 3. pag. 80. Also Plat. 
 Phad. 
 
 Stanz. 18. Th' nnthanke/ull Stagirite. 
 There is notorious testimony of Aristotlcs pride, con- 
 ceitednesse, and unthankfulnesse towards Plato. ALlian. 
 Var. Histor. lib. 3. cap. 19. as also lib. 4. cap. 9. The 
 Title of that Chapter is, FLepl TlXdrcovos drvcpias Kal 
 ' ApuTTortXovs dxapurrLas. Of Plato's humility, and 
 Aristotles ingratitude. 
 
 Vers. 3. Most men prefer 'fore holy Pythagore. 
 See Jambiich. De Vita Pythag. where the purity and 
 holinesse 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 spake, he did it, tvdla Kal 
 d/jupiriTui rivl yaXtjvri, p.r)T€ opyrj wort, p.rjre yiXcari, fi^re 
 frXw, /xTJre (piXovetKela, /xijre tiXXy rapaxfj ?) TrpotreTelqt 
 aX1.aK6p.evos, with inimitable serenity, and sedatenesse of 
 mind, never surpriz'd with anger, laughter, zeal, conten- 
 tion, or any other precipitancy or perturbation. 
 
 Stanz. 21. Love of the Carcas. 
 'Edv p.7] irpGirov to oQ>p.a cov p.io-rjO'ris cD t£kvov, aeavrbv 
 (j>tXrj<ral ou Bvvacrai, (piXrjcras 5e aeavrbv, vovv e|ets, Kal 
 tov vovv efx w,/ K( d TV? eTriaT7ip.7]S p.eTaXr)\pri, Wherefore 
 the love of Mortality, is the Mother of Ignorance, 
 especially, in divine things, for we cannot cleave to 
 both ; rb 5e frepov eXarrwdev ttjv rod eripov icpavfyuaev 
 ivtpyeiav. Mercur. Trismeg. 4. pag. 21. 
 
 Vers. 9. Here will true wiscdome lodge. 
 YVapayivop.ai iyih b vovs rots oalois Kal dyaOois Kai 
 KadapoTs, &c. Pcemandr. pag. 7. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Stanz. 5. Or like a Lamp, &c. 
 See Plotin. Ennead. 4. lib. 1. cap. 8. 6° 12. 
 
 Stanz. 24. Witkouten body having cnergie. 
 'Tis the opinion of Plolinus. '~Ev ti£ Kbo-pup rip 
 voijtu) i] dXrjdtvrj ovala, vovs rb ttpiarov avrov, if/vxal 5e 
 KaKei, eKeidev Kal ivravda. KaKeivos b Kbap.os \(/vxds (Lvff 
 aup-driov ?x el - Ennead. 4. lib. 1. 
 
 Stanz. 57. But if't consist of points, then a Scalene 
 HI prove all one with an Isosceles, &c. 
 
 If quantity consists of Indivisibles or Atoms, it will 
 follow that a Scalenum is all one with an Isosceles, &c. 
 
 Before I prove this and the following conclusions, it 
 will be necessary to set down some few Axioms and 
 Definitions : 
 
 Axioms. 
 
 That a Line hath but two ends. 
 

NOTES UPON PSYCHATHANASIA. 
 
 149 
 
 That Lines that consist of an equall number of 
 Atoms, are equall. 
 
 3- 
 
 That it is indifferent where we pitch upon the first 
 Line in a superficies, so that we fill the whole Area, 
 with Lines parallell to what first we choose. 
 
 4- 
 That no Motion goeth on lesse, then an Atom at a 
 time, or the breadth of a Mathematicall Line. 
 
 Defi?iitions. 
 1. 
 
 An Isosceles, is a Triangle having two equall sides. 
 
 2. 
 A Scalenum, is a Triangle having all sides unequal]. 
 
 Theorem. 1. 
 
 That a Scalenum, and an Isosceles, be all one. 
 
 [See the Plate containing all the diagrams of these 
 Notes.] 
 
 Let A B C be a Scalenum; The same A B C is also an 
 Isosceles. For fill the whole Area ABC with lines par- 
 rallell to A C by the 3. Axiom. There is then as many- 
 points in B A as in B C by the 1. Axiom ; and therefore 
 by the second, B A is equall to B C, and consequently 
 by the 1. Definition, A B C is an Isosceles. 
 
 Appendices. 
 
 The same reason will prove. 1. That every Triangle 
 is an Isopleuron or equilaterall Triangle. 2. That the 
 Diametre of a Quadrangle is equall to any of its sides. 
 3. That the Chord of a segment of a Circle, is equall to 
 the Ark, 6V£. 
 
 Vers. 4. That the crosse Lines of a Rhomboides, 
 
 That from their meeting to all corners presse, 
 Be of one length. 
 
 Theorem. 2. 
 
 That the diagoniall Lines of a Rhomboids be equall. 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 Let A C B D be a Rhomboides, and A B stretch'd out 
 in infinitum, after the infinite productions of C B and 
 AD. I say, that D C will be equall to A B. For E C 
 is equall to E A, and E D to E B, by the precedent 
 Theorem. Wherefore D C and A B are equall. 
 
 The same is also as briefly prov'd by the first or second 
 Appendix of the precedent Theorem. 
 
 Stanz. 58. And with her grasping rayes, &c. 
 
 Theorem. 3. , 
 
 That the Moon sometimes enlightens the whole Earth, 
 and the Sunne sometimes enlightens not the Earth at all. 
 
 To prove this, I must set down some received Pro- 
 positions in Opticks and Astronomic 
 
 Propositions Opticall. 
 
 SPhceriodes luminosum minus sipropinquius est opaco, 
 minorem portionem illustrat quam si remotius 
 ex is tat. 
 
 2. 
 
 Sphcsroides luminosum majus £ propinquo ampliorem 
 partem opaci irradiat quam e remoto. Aguilon. lib. 5. 
 
 Propositions Astronom. 
 1. 
 
 THe greatest distance of the Full or New Moon, from 
 the Centre of the Earth, is 64. semi-diameters 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. 
 
 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. 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 Now let B be the Moons Perigee, A her Apogee, 
 C E G D, the Earth enlightned so farre as D E, by the 
 Moon at B. Let the Moon be now removed from B into 
 A. By this removall into A, the Earth C E G D will be 
 more enlightned by the first propositions Opticall. But 
 I say C E G D is enlightned all over by the Moon in A, 
 for the distance A B is five times bigger then the Diame- 
 ter C G from the Consect. of the first and second pro- 
 positions Astronomicall. But H G is but part of C G, 
 so that A B will be above five times bigger then G H, to 
 which also E G is but equall by the first and second 
 Axiom, or the third appendix of the first Theorem. 
 Wherefore there is above five times as many Atoms in 
 A B as in E G. But in every Atom remove from B to- 
 ward A, the light, has gaind an Atom in E G by the 
 fourth Axiom. Therefore the Moon at B has enlightned 
 the Earth C D G D even unto the utmost point G, long 
 before it be removed to A : so that C D G D when the 
 Moon has got to A will be swallowed over and over 
 again into the Moons rayes. 
 
 But now for the second part of the Theorem. That 
 the Sunne sometimes enlightens not the earth at all. 
 [See plate as before.] 
 Let the Sunne be in his Perigee A, enlightening the 
 Earth CEHDso farre as F G. Remove him from A 
 to his Apogee B. In his recession to B the Earth 
 C E H D is lesse and lesse enlightned by the second 
 Opticall Proposition, I say, it is not enlightned at all. 
 
 For suppose he had gone back but the length of I G, 
 then had F C G been devoyd of light, because that C G 
 hath no more points in it then I C hath, by the first and 
 second Axiom, or third Appendix of the first Theorem. 
 And the light cannot go off lesse then an Atom a time 
 by the fourth Axiom. Much more destitute therefore is 
 
i5o 
 
 NO TES UP ON PS YCHA THA NA SI A . 
 
 the Earth C H E D of light, the Sunne being in B, when 
 as the distance of A B will measure above fifty times C H 
 (which yet is bigger then I C) by the Consect. of the 
 third proposition Astronomical!, so that day will hang 
 in the sky many thousand miles off from us, fastigiated 
 into one conicall point, and we become utterly destitute 
 of light. 
 
 A man might as well with placing the Sunne 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 Universall darknesse and light 
 would possesse the World at the same time, which is 
 little better then a pure contradiction. The matter is 
 very plain at the first sight. 
 
 Stanz. 28. In every place, &c. 
 Tr) pev dr) iracra £u)wi> ttolklXcov ir\r)p7)S Kal pexP 1 * ov- 
 pavov peard iravra. Ennead 2. lib. 9. cap. 7. 
 
 LIB. II. CANTO I. 
 
 Stanz. 10. This is that strange framd statue, 
 &c. 
 
 REad Plotin. Ennead. 6. lib. 4, cap. 14. And cap. 15. 
 'AXXd 7r<£s Trpo<re\rj\v8e rb irpo<Te\rfkv6os ; r) 
 tweedy etriTrideioTrjs avTui izapr\v, $x € Trpbs 8 tu> eiri- 
 Trjoewv, &c. And a little after he saith, that the cor- 
 poreall substance being thus prepared, catches life and 
 soul from the Mundus vita', as Ficinus calls it. OTov 
 yeLrovela KapvhicrapJvov rl &x vos ^'XV* 0VK eKelvrjS 
 p-ipovs, dXX' o'iov 6epp.acrlas tw6s ij iWdpipeios eXcXwc^s, 
 yiveais eTrt$vpuu>v Kal rjbovuiv Kal dXyqbbvtov ev cti/rw 
 £%&<pv, Reade the 14. and 15. chap, of that fourth Book. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Stanz. 12. The naked essence of the body s this. 
 See Body, Interpr. Gener. 
 
 Stanz. 26. But like a Centre that around doth 
 shoot, &c. 
 Aei To'ivvv tovto wtrirep Kivrpov elvaL, Ennead. 4. 
 lib. 7. cap. 6. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Stanz. 3. Knowledge of God. 
 Ei'<re'/3eia bi ecn 6eov yvucris. Merc. Trismeg. q. p. 37. 
 
 LIB. III. CANTO I. 
 Stanz. 14. Three Centres hath mans soul, &c. 
 
 PLotinus, ^nx^s oi ijpwv rb pev del irpbs iKelvois 
 [rip dyadqi drfKovori, ra v6(f, Kal rfj i/a'xf?) rb be 
 trpbs TaOra ix eLV T ° ^ ^ v M^V to6tu)v, (ptiaebis yap 
 oifo"r}s pids iv bvvdpLecn ir\fiocnv, ore pev ttjv trauav 
 Gvp,<pept<rQai. ry dpiemx) avrrjs Kal rod bvros, brk be to 
 
 Xelpov avTTJs Kade\Kv9ev ovveXKtiaaadai rb p.eaov, rb ydp 
 ■Kav avTrjs ovk 1p> dip.t.5 KaOeKKiaai.. The opinion of 
 the Philosopher is here, methinks, something perplext. 
 Nor can we easly gather, whether he makes three 
 essences, or onely three generall faculties. If three es- 
 sences, why sayes he <p{i<rews /uas 8wdp.eo-i ir\elocru> one 
 nature in many faculties ? If but one essence and three 
 faculties, how comes that supernall facultie to be ever em- 
 ployed in intellectuall and divine speculations, and we 
 seldome or never perceive it? See Ennead 2. lib. 9. cap. 2. 
 
 Stanz. 22. Shee sees more clear, &c. 
 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 irepl vorjo-ews Kal aiadi)- 
 crews 9. pag. 39. 40. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Stanz. By his own plastick point, or else deep 
 Night Drawn on, &c. 
 
 PLotinus mentions also a middle way. That the great 
 soul of the World does at least inchoate, and 
 rudely delineate the fabrick of our body at first. The 
 particular soul afterward accomplishes it. It ydp kw- 
 Xi5et ti]v pLev bvvap.LV T17S rod Travrbs ipvxv* irpovvo 
 ypdcpeiv iire \6yov irdvra ofitrav irplv Kal Trap' avTrjs 
 (rfjs iv p.4pei ipvxv*) V Kelv TC ' S '/'i""X<xs 8vvdp.eis Kal 
 tt)v Trpovrroypacprjv, otov irpobpbp.ovs iWdpiij/eis eh rrjv 
 #X?7j> elvai, &c. 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. Aei be 
 p.4veiv pcev ev olkois o~u>p.a ^x ovTai > Karao~Keva<r6eio~iv 
 vrrb tfsi'xvs dbe\<prjs dyadrjs ttoX\t}v btivap.Lv els rb 
 b^piovpyetv dirbvus exovtrr)S. lib. 9. cap. 18. 
 
 Stanz. 5. By what the soul in her self feels and 
 tryes, &c. 
 
 Plotinus professes himself to have frequent experience 
 of this, Ennead 4. lib. 8. cap. 1. 
 
 Stanz. 16. Then like to flowing stream, &c. 
 
 This seems to be the opinion of that learned Knight 
 in his Book of Bodies. But I cannot satisfie my self 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 
 onely those particles of light that are in our eye, so that 
 the Sunne will seem to have neither distance nor due 
 figure. There 's the same reason in colours. 
 
 Mounsier des Chart es his gentle avripeiap-a or renixus 
 of the ^Ethereall 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 
 
NO PES UPON PS YCHA THAN AS I A . 
 
 151 
 
 ir&pepyov. These rayes are here used for illustration 
 rather then proof. 
 
 STANZ. 20. Yet nought at all is lost. 
 See Merc. Trismeg. irpbs t&t. 8. 
 
 STANZ. 21. When that compounded nature is 
 dissolv'd, 
 Each Centre's safe. 
 Qdvaros Si owe dirwXeia tCjv (TivaxBivrwv, Si&Xvcris 
 oe r-rjs evuiaeus iaru Nous 7rpds 'Epfirjv, 11. p. 57. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Stanza. 12. One steddy good centre of Essences. 
 
 See Trismeg. pag. 41, 52, 68, 69. Edit. Turned. 
 STANZ. 38. Nearer the Earth the slower it must go, 
 
 These Arks be lesse, but in the Heavens blew 
 Those Arks increase, it must not be so slow. 
 Thus must it needs return unto its idle Bow. 
 
 An Arrow shot up into the sky, the higher it goes, the 
 faster it circuleth toward the East because the Arches 
 it there moves in are larger, as plainly appears out of the 
 following figure. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 Where let B be the earth. A the East. Let an arrow 
 fly in the line B C, let D E be severall hights of the air. 
 Let the arrow K keep in B C the same line of the air or 
 earthly magnetick spirit. So that B F, B G, B H &c. 
 are not new lines of the air but of immovable imaginary 
 space, which spaces let be sequall one with another. 
 Now let the arrow K moving upward or downward in 
 B C 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 E A to the whole E A. Now 
 E A is far greater then D A, and therefore must the parts 
 of E A be far greater then the parts of D A. And yet in 
 the same time doth the arrow K passe thorough the 
 portion of EA that it doth of DA, otherwise it would 
 not keep in the line B C which is contrary to our hypo- 
 thesis, 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 E A then D A. 
 
 But this may seem strange and uncouth that the arrow 
 should thus moderate it self in its motion, and proportion 
 its swiftnesse to the ark it is in. But I conceive it is no 
 more wonderfull then that water should figure it self ac- 
 cording to the variety of its situations in hight and depth. 
 
 STANZ. 39. Nor ought we wonder that it doth conform 
 Its motions to the circles of the aire, 
 Sith water in a wooden bucket born. 
 Doth fit itself unto each Peripfiere, &c. 
 The truth and sense of this stanza will appear thus. 
 Water is a heavie 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 sphaericall figure. For any other figure though it may 
 . happily let some parts nearer then they be in a sphear, 
 yet it necessarily bears others further off from the Centre 
 
 then the furthest would be, were they all cast into a 
 sphericall, as plainly appears in the following Scheme. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 Where let D A be a proportion of water casting it self 
 into a rectilinear figure. F G the same proportion cast- 
 ing it self into a sphaericall. 'Tis plain that though D A 
 be nearer the Centre at the point C and thereabout then 
 F G at B or any where else, yet the highest point in the 
 surface of F G is not so high, or so far remov'd from the 
 centre I, as any betwixt D K or H A, 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 C L M, which we suppose the same pro- 
 portion of water F G to have done, wherefore the lubri- 
 cous particles of the water DA, will never cease tumbling, 
 as being plac'd in an undue hight, till the surface thereof 
 be concentricall with I. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 This being premised, let E be a vessel of water in 
 severall situations of hight. The first and highest situa- 
 tion of this vessel let be B A B which is plainly the biggest 
 circle. Let C B C be the next, a lesse circle then BAB. 
 The tumour at B is bigger then, then at A, let B C B be 
 the third, lesser then any of the former, the tumour at G 
 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. 48. Venus Orb debars not Mars, &*c. 
 That the Planets get into one anothers supposed Orbs, 
 is plain from their greatest & laste distances from the 
 centre of the Earth, 
 
 Mars his least distance 556 ■ 
 
 Venus greatest distance : 
 
 Venus least distance 399 
 
 Mercuries greatest distance 2176 ) 
 
 Now they that make solid Orbs, must of necessity 
 
 make the Orb of the Planet as high or as low as the 
 
 Planet it self is at least. Wherefore the lowest distance 
 
 of an high Planet being much lower then the highest 
 
 distance of a lower Planet, as appears out of Landsber- 
 
 gius his calculation in his Vranometria, it must needs 
 
 be that their supposed solid orbs will runne one into 
 
 another. But you'll say it is foul play to appeal to 
 
 Landsbergius his Calculation, sith 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 
 fluidnesse of the Planetary heavens is acknowledged 
 even by them that are against the motion of the Earth. 
 As by Tyclw 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 then Venus greatest distance, and Venus lest dis- 
 tance must needs be lower then Mercuries greatest dis- 
 tance. As you may see in the Paradigme. Where it is 
 very plain that Venus sometime is nearer the earth then 
 
 \ 
 
 Semidiam. 
 
152 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCH ATHAN ASIA. 
 
 Mercury, that Mars is sometime nearer the earth then 
 Venus, which cannot be without penetration of dimen- 
 sions in solid Orbs. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 But what an untoward broken system of the world this 
 of Tychds 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 usefull also for the better understanding of some fol- 
 lowing passages. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 It is plain to any man that is not prejudie'd that this 
 System of the world is more naturall & genuine then that 
 of Tycho's. No enterfaring or cutting of circles as in 
 Tychds, where the course of the Sunne cuts Mars his 
 circuit. No such vast eccentricity as there, nor dispro- 
 portionatednesse of Orbs and motions. But I'll leave 
 these things rather for the beholder to spy out then to 
 spend needlesse words in an easie matter. 
 
 Stanz. 56. But that disgracement of Philosophy 
 
 From Flux and Reflux of the Ocean main 
 Their monethly and yearly change, &c. 
 
 How the Flux and Reflux of the sea depends on the 
 motion of the earth I shall endeavour to explain as 
 follows. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 About the Centre A, describe the circumference of the 
 Earths annuall course H B C from West to East. In 
 the point B describe the globe of the earth, D E F G 
 running also from West to East in its diurnall 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 severall 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 G D 
 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 annuall motion, 
 so that the swiftnesse of the motion of those parts of the 
 earth is increased, the annuall and diurnall motion going 
 in one, and tending Eastward. But the parts about F 
 go Westward toward G, so that much of the annuall 
 swiftnesse is taken of by the diurnall motion in these 
 parts, they going a contrary way to the annuall. 
 
 The parts about E and G go not either Westward or 
 Eastward, but are inconsiderable in the annuall motion. 
 
 Now, saith Galilceus, the sea being in his channell as 
 water in a movable vessell 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 passe twice in every foure and twenty houres 
 because of the great swiftnesse at D and extraordinary 
 slownesse at F. 
 
 What the cause is of the dayly flux and reflux of the 
 sea according to Galilczos mind is now conspicuous, viz. 
 The addition or subduction of the Earths diurnall motion 
 
 from the annuall, which according to that Authours com- 
 pute is thrice swifter then the diurnall. 
 
 Now as the dayly Flux and Reflux consists in this 
 addition and subduction, so the monethly 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 lesse, some- 
 time greater proportion to the annuall motion. 
 
 Finally, this variation of proportions ariseth either 
 from a new swiftnesse or slownesse in the annuall motion 
 of the Earth ; or else, from the various position of the 
 Axis thereof ; it sometimes conspiring more fully with the 
 annuall motion then other sometimes. Whence it comes 
 to passe that the compound motion is not alwayes of the 
 same swiftnesse or slownesse. But we shall better under- 
 stand this by applying our selves to a figure. And first 
 of the monethly variation at full and new Moon. 
 
 Let A be the Sunne. C the earth. C E F G the 
 annuall circle of the Earth. B the Moon in conjunction. 
 D in opposition or full Moon. Now we will suppose that 
 which GalilcBo proves in his fourth dialogue. That in 
 circular motion the same impetus being in the moveable, 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 the movable will move swifter if it be reduced to a lesser 
 circle, as is plain in Pendents, and in the balance of a 
 clock. For the nearer you place the lead to the centre 
 the swifter the balance moves. Again he considers the 
 moon peculiarly and inseparably joyned with the Earth 
 and so necessarily to move together. And that the posi- 
 tion of the moon in D lengthens out the semidiametre of 
 the Orbis magnus of the earth which is then H F. The 
 position of the moon in B shortens it, that reacheth but 
 to C. And the Moon in B is as the weight laid nearer to 
 the Centre in the balance of the clock. Therefore the 
 whole B C must move much swifter, then C D, the Moon 
 being in D : there being in both places the same impetus 
 of motion, or inward moving principle. 
 
 But here I must professe it seems to me very hard, how 
 the swiftnesse of the Moon in B, or her slownesse in the 
 Ark H D G should engage the Earth in C, in the like 
 slownesse and swiftnesse, 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 aud 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 annuall motion, the subduction and 
 addition of the diurnall will bear a greater proportion to 
 the annuall, and so consequently cause a greater altera- 
 tion in the Flux and Reflux. But when as the Moon 
 being in B makes the annuall motion of C swifter, the 
 subduction and addition of the diurnall will bear a lesse 
 proportion to the annuall, 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 
 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHATHANASIA. 
 
 153 
 
 at certain points of the years period the Flux and Reflux 
 should be increased. We must observe that this is accord- 
 ing to the severall positions of the Axis of the Earth, not 
 but that it is alwayes parallel to it self, but in reference to 
 the Ecliptick. For such is its position in the Solstitiall 
 points that there the diurnall motion added or subducted 
 bears a greater proportion to the annuall then elsewhere. 
 In the Equinoctiall points a lesse. As will appear in the 
 following scheme. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 Let A D C B be the Ecliptick, Let the circles G C F E 
 cut A D C B to right angles. Let the annuall motion 
 of the Earth be from C to B, from B to A, &c. the 
 diurnall C A E C and C B E C. The Earth at A in her 
 Solstitiall point : at B in her Equinoctiall. It is plain 
 at first sight that C A E C complies much more with the 
 motion BAD, then C B E doth with C B A. It is not 
 worth more curious proposall and proof : since the 
 truth thereof is so farre 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 Galilao the greatest Flux and Reflux 
 should be in the Solstices, But according to the observa- 
 tion of Writers it is in the ^Equinoxes. 
 
 But however it was a witty attempt of Galilceo, though 
 not altogether so solid. Mounsieur Des Chartes in my 
 judgement is far more successefull in his Hypothesis, 
 who renders the causes of all these (fraivb/xa/a 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 Philosophic. Mean while peruse this present 
 Scheme. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 Where C D B E is that great Vortex, in which, and 
 by which the Planets are carried from West to East, 
 according to the order of C D B E. Let A be the Sun, 
 the Centre of this great Vortex, about which all the 
 liquid matter of our Heaven is carried about, as grosse 
 water in a whirlepooll ; and with it the Planets like 
 corks or strawes. Let F be the Planet we are in, viz. 
 the Earth, which is the Centre of a lesser Vortex 
 H D G I. Let M be the Moon carried about the earths 
 Vortex in her monethly course. This Vortex of the 
 earth is not perfect sphericall, but cometh nearer the 
 figure of an Ellipsis. 
 
 Because as Chartesius giveth you to understand, that 
 part of the Vortex, which is the Circuit K L is more like 
 the matter of the Vortex H D G I, then that matter which 
 is above or below at D and I ; and therefore D H I G, 
 giveth out more easily and naturally toward K. and L. 
 
 Perhaps this reason may be added : That all the parts 
 of the Vortex C D B E 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 K L : and yet all the Circles 
 urging one another adpdus, from A, to C D B E, they 
 will easily give place in their Circles, as in K L, and the 
 rest, but rather presse close in the Diametre, as in D I. 
 
 19 
 
 So that the Diametre of the Vortex of the Earth D I, 
 shall be lesser then its Diametre G H. In so much that 
 when the Moon M, is in D, or I, she will straiten the 
 stream of the Vortex a great deal more, then 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 busi- 
 nesse in hand, and apply our selves wholly to the Earths 
 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 A B C D. 
 The Earth her self E F G H. 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. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 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 ethereall matter of 
 this Vortex is something swiftlier moved, then the Moon 
 or Earth which it bears along with it, unlesse 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 ethereall 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 alwayes will the Earth recede somewhat from the 
 Moon. Furthermore, because that from the Moons 
 being in B, not onely that space which is betwixt B & T 
 but also that betwixt T and D is made narrower ; hence 
 cometh it to passe that the ethereall 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 waters surface in 2. and 4. then if the Moon 
 were not in the Diametre B D. And sithence 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 F H ; then if the Moon were 
 out of the Diametre B D. 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 houres be in G (over against the 
 point C) where it is at the highest, and after other six 
 houres in H over against D, and so on, Or rather, be- 
 cause the Moon her self also in the interim, maketh some 
 little progresse from B towards C, as finishing her whole 
 Circle A B C D in the space of a moneth ; that part of 
 the Earth which is now in F over against the body of the 
 Moon, after six houres and about 12. minutes, will have 
 reached the point G in a Diametre of the Vortex A B C D 
 which cuts that Diametre B D in which the Moon then 
 
 U 
 
154 
 
 NOTES UPON PSYCHATHANASIA. 
 
 is, to right angles, and then will the water be at highest 
 there, viz. at F. And after other six houres and twelve 
 minutes, F will have reached the point H, where the 
 water will be at lowest ebb, &c. Whence we may clearly 
 understand, that the water of the sea must in the same 
 place ebb and flow every twelve houres and 24. minutes. 
 
 Furthermore it is to be noted that this Vortex A B C D 
 is not exactly round, but that diametre of it in which the 
 Moon is at full and change to be shorter then 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 alwayes 
 in a Plain near to the Plain of the Ecliptick, and the 
 earth is in her diurnall motion, turn'd according to the 
 Plane of the /Equatour, which Planes intersect one 
 another in the ./Equinoxes, but be much distant from one 
 another in the Solstices, that the greatest Flux and Re- 
 flux will be about the beginning of Spring and Autumne. 
 
 And these principles of Mons. des Chartes as they are 
 plain and perspicuous in themselves, so are they also ex- 
 actly agreeable with the <t>aiv6fj.ei>a of Nature. So that 
 though I was mistaken with Galilao 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, &c. 
 
 This ensuing Diagram will explain all what is said of 
 Venus in this and the following stanza. 
 
 First, that she increaseth and decreaseth like the Moon 
 (it being suppos'd that she is opake, which is discovered 
 also by the optick glasse) 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 A C. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 Thirdly, that she then seemeth lesse though in her 
 full, because she is so much removed from us, even fur- 
 ther then the Sun himself, as appears by the said line A C. 
 
 Fourthly, that she must appear bigger when she least 
 is enlightned, because she is then so very near us, in 
 respect of that remotenesse in her full, as also appears 
 plainly if you compare A B and A C 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 starre. 
 Either to rise not long before the Sun, and so to prae- 
 nunciate the Day, or to set not long after him and so to 
 lead on the Night. 
 
 Stanz. 65. The Medicean foure reel about Jove. 
 See Copernic. System, at Stanz. 48. 
 
 Stanz. 67. and 70. 
 
 Planets go back, stand still, and forward flie 
 With unexpected swiftnesse, &c. 
 Before we can well understand the sense of these stan- 
 zas 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 B D H F be an Epicycle. The order of the signes 
 G C E. The line touching the Eastern side A D E. 
 
 Now the line of the true motion of a Planet is two- 
 fold. One is refer' d 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 Signes. 
 
 Retrograde when it goes contrary to the order of the 
 Signes. 
 
 Stationary, when this line seems not to move either 
 backward or forward. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 The line of true motion of the Epicycle which is A C 
 alwayes goes with the order of the Signes. But the line 
 that strikes through the Planet it self goes in the upper 
 part of the Epicycle F B D with the order of the signes, 
 but in the lower part D H F contrary to that order. This 
 is the nature of the Epicycle and of retrogradation and 
 station of Planets. Which superfluous motions or stands, 
 as needlesse botchings Copernicus his System admits not 
 of ; the motion of the Earth so fitly salving all such <pai- 
 v6/J.eva, as the following figure will make plain. 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 Let the circuit of the earth be AG A about the Sunne 
 standing still at the Centre Z. Let AN be a twelfth 
 part of Jupiters circle that he moves in about the Sunne. 
 For Jupiter finisheth his course but in twelve years. 
 Divide the circuit of the earth A G A into twelve equall 
 parts. By that time the earth hath gone through all 
 these, Jupiter will have gone the twelfth part of his own 
 circuit, viz. A N. Divide A N into twelve equall parts, 
 according to the number of parts in the Earths circuit 
 before describ'd. That while the Earth passeth thorough 
 one twelfth of her whole circle AG A, Jupiter may also 
 dispatch a twelfth of the ark A N. Let both these 
 twelves be signed with the same letters, A B C D E F G 
 HIKLMN. 
 
 Now place the Earth at the point A. Let it go for- 
 ward 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 
 signes : 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 I H. Put her on further to K, then he is again direct. 
 So is he in L and M and N which is the entire finishing 
 of the Earths annuall 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 onely ; & that the Heavens are not 
 
NOTES UPON PSYCHATHANASIA. 
 
 '55 
 
 guilty of any such reall irregularity of motion. Which 
 concinnity, nor Ptolemees, nor Tycho's Hypothesis can 
 afford us. 
 
 But lest any mistrust that the same seeming irregu- 
 larity, will not fall out in Mercury, and Venus, which are 
 betwixt the Sunne and our Earth ; The following scheme 
 will show how there is a station and repedation in them 
 too, according to this Hypothesis of Copernicus. 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 Set the earth at some certain point of its annuall circle, 
 viz. at O. LetABCDEFGHIKLM divide the 
 circle of Venus or Mercury into equall parts. Mercurie 
 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 fixt 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 Signes to go according to — Trjz. : place Venus 
 first in A, then let her Proceed to B. She has taken a 
 long journey backward contrary to the series of the 
 Signes, and recoyled 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. InDEFGHIKL she is 
 direct ; but then at M she goes backward again, and in 
 ABC, till she come at D again. This for the Retro- 
 gradation, 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 startings , give back /esse then "Jove ; 
 Jove /esse then Mars ; iuhy Venus flincheth out 
 More then Mercurius. 
 
 [See Plate as before. ] 
 
 Let A B C D E F be the circles of Saturn, Jupiter, 
 
 Mars, Tellus, Venus, Mercurie, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars 
 
 let them all ly in one line G H. The Earth be at the 
 
 point I. It is plain that the nearest the Earth flyeth 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. 
 
 Staxz. 72. Why Saturn, Jove, and Mars be very nigh 
 Unto the Earth, show bigger in our eye 
 At Eventide, &c. 
 
 Why Saturn Jupiter and Mars, when they rise Acrony- 
 chall, that is, at the beginning of the night seem bigger 
 and be indeed nearer us, then when they follow the 
 Sunne close, and set Acronychall. The reason of this 
 is very evident in Copernicus his Hypothesis, as you may- 
 see in this Diagram. 
 
 [See plate as before. ] 
 
 Mars when he riseth Acronychall is distant from the 
 Earth, but the space of A B. But when he setteth 
 Acronychall he is distant the space of H B. So Jupiter, 
 when he riseth Acronychall, is distant but A C from the 
 Earth, but when he setteth he is distant the space of 
 H C, the like is in Saturn. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Stanz. 13. Is confident of his souls after joy cs. 
 
 THe condition of the bad and good soul in reference 
 to their estate after death Plotinus has very Philo- 
 sophically set out as follows. Ttjc odv aiirov tls Kauav 
 ovvdipas iyvwdrjre os eo~Ti, Kai fiera ry\v axirov (pvaiv 
 Ciudt} els 5 $x el Kai - evravOa, Kai evrevdev d.7raXXa7eis 
 els a\\ov tolovtov tottov, (pvaeuis oX/ccus. T<£ oe aya&LJ 
 aire \rj\j/eis, aire 56o~eis, Kai ai p.eTa6e<reis &Wat, 
 (bcnrep eK firjpivduv oX/ccus run (ptiaeuis /j.eraridefj.4vo)v. 
 Oihu 6avfj.affTu>s ex et Sivd/xews Kai rd^eus rode to irav, 
 yivopAvwv airavTwv dipc<pw KeXevdu fiera oiKr,v riv ovk 
 Herri <pvyeiv ovSevi' ^s iiraiei pAv 6 cpa\i\os ovdiv, dyerai 
 Se ovk eldws oi dei iv ry iravrl <pipecr6ai' 6 Be dyados Kai 
 olde, Kai oi del direiGL, /cat yivdxret. irpiv dirievai ofl 
 dvayKi) avrQ i\66vri ohetv, Kai eveXiris iariv us /xera 
 QeQv Zitolto. Ennead. 4. lib. 4. cap. 45. 
 
kQ 9^^Q 9^,Q 9 * 
 
 Notes 
 ?"/>£ Infinity 
 
 upon 
 
 0/ Worlds, 
 
 Stanz. 8. and 66. 
 
 ^4 Circle whose Circumference no where 
 
 Is circumscrib'd, &c. 
 
 The Cuspis and the Basis of the Cone 
 
 Were both at once, &c. 
 | Hen I speak of God this Mathematicall way, 
 
 (which is no new thing ; for the Ancients 
 
 also have defined Him to be a Circle whose 
 
 Centre is everywhere and Circumference no 
 where. And Syncsius calls him Ktvrpuv K&rpov, 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 forc'd 
 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 com- 
 pendiously 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. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 Let K I H K be the whole Orb of beings. The 
 Centre A. Ahad or Atove, B C D E F G H y£on, Psyche, 
 Semcle, Arachne, Physis, Tasis, Hyle. I say that 
 Ahad in respect of those subsequent Effluxes B C D, &c. 
 is fitly termed a Centre, and is as the Sunne in respect 
 of the Light and Rainbow. But now all things flowing 
 from him k<x6' vtto<jto\7)v with abatement as is most dis- 
 cernable 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 
 onely at G, or if it be at L it is onely then at L, and not 
 at G nor any where else) therefore A though in respect 
 of the Universall orders of Beings 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 
 reall efflux is contracted after a manner to a mere 
 
 mathematicall point, for such is the nature of the Orb 
 G, or corporeall substance, as I have intimated. For 
 this reason I say, may A rightly be called the largest 
 Basis of the Cone, whose Diametre is I M, or N L, as 
 the descent of these Degrees and Beings from Ahad or 
 Atove may fitly resemble a Conicall figure whose Cuspis 
 is G. 
 
 And here I may seasonably appeal unto the appre- 
 hensions of men, whether the divine fecundity A flow'd 
 out per saltum, and produced onely the Orb G, or 
 whether there being a possibility of more excellent inter- 
 mediate Orbs, (I will not stand upon this number I have 
 assigned) he did not produce BCD, &c. And if he 
 produced G onely, whether that Orb G be not either an 
 arbitrarious or naturall 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 
 lesse fruitfull, then the imaginations of men, who can in 
 reason, and distinct notion place severall Orbs betwixt 
 A and G. Or why the free will of Atove or Ahad should 
 be lesse bountifull then 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 attri- 
 bute) would fill up that empty gulf betwixt A and G. 
 Wherefore as farre 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 
 explaine it, then confirm it. 
 
 But if any should be so adventrous 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 apprehen- 
 sion 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 severall parcells and pieces. 
 And God administring 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 
 farre below the light of Nature and improv'd Reason. 
 But to conceive God not onely a body, but a body 
 devoid of life, sense, and understanding, is so dark and 
 melancholick a phansie, that I professe, I think I could 
 
NOTES UP OX THE IXFIXITY OF WORLDS. 
 
 157 
 
 with far lesse pain and reluctancy, suffer my body to be 
 buried alive in the cold Earth, then so stark and stupid 
 conceit to entombe my soul. 
 
 Stanz. 85. 
 Beside, the Conflux and Congeries 
 Of lesser lights a double augmentation 
 Implies, 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, 
 then lesser ; then bigger again, which will evidently 
 appear in the following Scheme. 
 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 Where let the closest meeting of the Stars, DFBEGC 
 be at A. I say before they come to A, they will make 
 the show of a broad light ; suppose, when come all to the 
 Circle I. But afterward this light will be lesse and lesse, 
 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 stil in their severall Arks, they will 
 passe 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 disjoyning themselves more wide one from another, 
 their severall Circles so carrying them, they cease to be 
 seen of us. 
 
 This would be the <paivo/J.evov of a Comet, if it did con- 
 sist of a conflux of Starres. Eut sith there is no such 
 thing observed in Comets it is very probable they arise 
 not from this cause. 
 
 Notes upon 
 The Philosophers Devotion. 
 
 Xiinbly they hold on their way 
 Shaping out their Night and Day. 
 Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, 
 Their inclined Axes bring. 
 
 |0 shew how Day and Night, Winter and Sum- 
 mer arise from Copernicus his Hypothesis, 
 will not onely explane these verses but ex- 
 ceedingly set out the fitnesse and genuine- 
 nesse of the Hypothesis it self. Which I will therefore 
 do out of Galilceo for the satisfaction of the unprejudiced 
 and ingenuous Reader. 
 
 Let the Circle >^ =0= 05 <y> be the Ecliptick, where, by 
 the way, we may take notice that when the Earth is in 
 the sign VJ, the Sun will appear in the opposite sign 25, 
 when in <Y\ in it &*c And so while the earth doth 
 really passe through the Signes, the sunne seems to 
 passe through the Signs opposite to those the Earth is 
 really passing through ; whence this annuall motion 
 through the Zodiack has been ascribed unto him. 
 
 Let now the centre of the Earth be plac'd in the point, 
 of VJ- Let the Poles and Axis of the Earth be A B, 
 
 inclining upon the Diametre of Capricorn and Cancer 
 
 23 degrees and an half. We must also suppose this in- 
 clination 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 houres from West to East : then will every point in the 
 semicircle A D B describe a parallel Circle. We'll for 
 the present take notice onely of that great circle C D, 
 and two other remov'd from this, 23. gr. and an half, vis. 
 E F. and G N, the one above, the other below, and 
 lastly two other furthermost circles I K and L M equi- 
 distant from the Poles A B. 
 
 Furthermore we are to understand that while the Earth 
 moves on, that her Axis keeps not onely the same inclina- 
 tion upon the Plane of the Ecliptick, but also one con- 
 stant direction toward the same part of the Universe or 
 Firmament, remaining alway parallel to it self. 
 
 Now this immutability of inclination and steddy direc- 
 tion 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 thorough all the foure figures, and first 
 that in Capricorn. In which, because the Axis A B 
 declines from a perpendicular, upon the Diametre of 
 Capricorne and Cancer, 23. grad. and an half, towards 
 the Sun O, and the Ark A I, is 23. grad. and an half, 
 (the Sun enlightening an Hemisphere of the Earth divided 
 from the dark Hemisphere by the Circle K L which 
 Galilceo calls Terminator lucis) this Terminator lucis 
 K L must divide C D as being a great circle, into equall 
 parts, but all the other as being lesser circles into 
 unequall ; because K. L passeth not through A B the 
 poles of all these Circles. And the parallel I K with all 
 the parallels described within I K even to the pole A will 
 be wholly in the enlightned part of the Earth, as all the 
 opposite parallels from L M to the pole B, wholly in the 
 dark. Furthermore whereas the Ark A K is equall to the 
 Ark E C, and the Ark A E common : these two, K I E 
 and A E C will be equall, and each of them make a 
 quadrant. And because the whole Ark K E L is a Semi- 
 circle, the Ark L E will be a quadrant and equall to the 
 other E K, and therefore the Sun O shall in this posture 
 of the Earth be verticall at Noon to all them that live in 
 the parallel E F which is the Tropick of Cancer described 
 by the Earths turning upon her own Axis in that pos- 
 ture. And thus ariseth the height of Summer to all them 
 that dwell on this side of the Tropick of Cancer. 
 
 Moreover we see plainly, that of all the parallel circles 
 we may imagine drawn betwixt I K. and L M. CD is 
 onely divided into equall parts by the circle of light K L : 
 in such sort that the diurnall arks of the parallels above 
 C D are bigger then the Nocturnall, but under C D, lesser. 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 Also that the differences of the arks grow bigger and 
 bigger by how much nearer and nearer they come to the 
 Poles, till I K be wholly taken in to the enlightned part 
 of the Earth and make day there, of 24 houres long, and 
 contrariwise, the parallel L M be wholly covered in the 
 dark part, and make night of 24. houres long. So that 
 
153 
 
 NOTES UPON THE PHILOSOPHERS DEVOTION. 
 
 from hence we may see how the true differences of the 
 lowest and shortest dayes and nights are caused to the 
 Inhabitants of severall parallels of the Earth. 
 
 Lets now consider the third figure the centre of the 
 earth plac'd in 05 from whence the sun will appear in the 
 first point of Capricorn. Now it is manifest, being that 
 the inclination and direction of the Earths Axis A B is 
 utterly the same it was before, it remaining parallel to it 
 self 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 dayes 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 sight. 
 
 For now I K is wholly in the dark which before was 
 in the light wholly, and L M in the light that was before 
 in the dark &~r. And the Sun is now verticall to the 
 Inhabitants of G N as before it was to them of E F. 
 And as it was the height of Summer before to E F and to 
 all on this side E F : so it is now the depth of winter to 
 them and to all on this side of them. For the Sun seems 
 to have descended, or is removed from them, or they 
 from it by the whole arch F D N that is 47. degrees. 
 
 All which mutation proceeds from the immutable pos- 
 ture of the axis of the Earth, remaining still in the same 
 inclination to the Plane of the Ecliptick and continuing 
 ever parallel to it self. For so it must needs decline as 
 much from the Sun Oin the point 05 as it inclin'dtohim 
 in the point >J. For as, if the Axis A B were supposed 
 parallel to the Axis of the Plane of the Ecliptick the 
 Sunne will be verticall to D and to C. So I A the in- 
 clination of the Axis toward the Sunne, will make the 
 Sunne verticall at E in the point VJ, and the declination 
 of the said Axis from the Sunne at the point 25 will 
 make the Sun verticall to N. 
 
 But now if we consider the Earth plac'd in the point rdr 
 the Sun O will appear in the beginning of <y>. And 
 whereas the Axis of the Earth which is in the first figure 
 at VJ stands inclined upon the Diametre of Capricorn 
 and Cancer, and therefore understood to be in a Plane 
 which cutteth the Plane of the Ecliptick along the 
 Diametre of Capricorn and Cancer, being erected per- 
 pendicularly to the said Plane of the Ecliptick : This 
 Axis kept still parallel to it self, will also here be in a 
 Plane, erected perpendicular to the Plane of the Eclip- 
 
 tick, and parallel to the forenamed Plane which cut the 
 Plane of the Ecliptick to right angles along the Diametre 
 of Cancer and Capricorn. And therefore a Line going 
 from the Centre of the Sunne to the Centre of the Earth, 
 such as the line O tending to =£i Libra, will be perpen- 
 dicular to the Axis A B. But a Line drawn from the 
 Suns Centre, to the Centre of the Earth is alwayes per- 
 pendicular to the Circle of illumination ; therefore shall 
 the Circle of Illumination, or the Terminator Lucis passe 
 through the Poles A B in this Figure, and the Axis A B 
 shall be in the Plane ot this Circle. But a great Circle 
 passing through the Poles of the parallels will divide them 
 all into equall parts. Therefore I K, E F, C D, G X. 
 L M, the diurnall Arches be all semicircles, and dayes and 
 nights be of equall length to all the Inhabitants of the 
 Earth. 
 
 Lastly, seeing that a Line drawn from the Centre of 
 the Sunne, to the Centre of the Earth is perpendicular 
 to the Axis A B, to which the greatest of the parallel 
 Circles C D is also perpendicular ; this Line thus drawn 
 will necessarily passe along the Plane of the parallel C D, 
 and cut its circumference in the midst of the diurnall 
 Arch of that Circle C D. And therefore the Sunne will 
 here be verticall to them that live in the parallel C D. 
 [See plate as before.] 
 
 And what hath been said of the Earth at this point of 
 Libra ^t, will agree exactly to her placed in the point e f. 
 There is no difference, saving that the dark side turned 
 from the Sunne is represented in this last posture as the 
 light side in the former. The nocturnall semicircles here, 
 as there the Diurnall. And so we see how Spring and 
 Autumn cometh about as well as howWinter and Summer. 
 
 Finally, whereas the Earth being in the Solstitial 
 points the Polar Circles I K, LM, one of them is in the 
 Light, the other in the dark ; but being in the Equinoc- 
 tial points, the halfs onely of the Polar Circles be in the 
 light or dark : 'tis easie to understand how the Earth 
 passing, suppose from Cancer (where the parallell I K is 
 wholly in the dark) to Leo St, one part of the parallell 
 I K toward the point K begins 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 A C B D no longer in K L, but in two other points 
 betwixt A K & L B, whence the Inhabitants of the Circle 
 I K begin to enjoy the light, and the Inhabitants of LM, 
 to be conveyed into Xight. 
 
The Interpretation GeneralL 
 
 IF any man conceive I have done amisse in using such 
 obscure words in my writings, I answer, That it is 
 sometime fit for Poeticall pomp sake, as in my Psycho- 
 zoia : Othersome time necessitie requires it, 
 
 Propter egestatem Ungues, & rerum novitatem, 
 as Lucretius pleads for himself in like case. Again, there 
 is that significancie 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, '0v6fiara 
 tfdpfiapa. fj.1i wot d\\d£i)s, Not to change those barbar- 
 ous terms 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 
 
 ABinoatn D3?ir3N Pater amcenitatis. Father of de- 
 light. 
 
 Acronychall. See Cronychall. 
 
 Adamah. HD1H Earth, The earthly or natural! mans 
 abode. 
 
 Adonai. '311N The Lord, or the sustainer of all things, 
 from T"ttt the Basis or foot of a pillar. 
 
 Aelpon. 'A4\tuv, not hoping, or without hope. 
 
 .■Eon. Alon>, Eternity. 
 
 sEther. Aidrjp, from atdu, to burn. The fluid fiery 
 nature of heaven, the same that D'DE' which signifies as 
 much, viz. a fiery fluour, or fluid fire. 
 
 A/rick Rock. See Pompon. Mel. lib. i. cap. 8. Rom. 
 9. 33. 1. Cor. 10.4. 1. Pet. 2. 5. Revel. 5. 10. Psal. 105. 15. 
 
 Ahad. im To ti>. One, or The One. The Platonists 
 call the first Originall of all things, T6 £v and Tdyadbv, 
 for these reasons : Td iv, or One, because the multitude 
 or plurality of Beings is from this One, as all numbers 
 from an unit : TdyaObv, or The Good, irapd rod dyetv, 
 or 6.yav 6feiv, because all things are driven, drawn, or 
 make haste to partake of it. At6rt piv e| avrov to 
 TrXrjdos viriffTij, Tt)v tov evbs avT$ Trpoo"r]yopiav iirdyo- 
 fxev' Aioti Si vpbs avrb wdvTa ko\ p-ixP 1 - T <*> v dpvSpoTd- 
 riov iTri<TTp€<peTai, rb dyadbv avrb irpoo~Tovop.d'£op.ev, 
 Prod. Theolog. Plat. lib. 2. cap. 4. 
 
 Aides. 'Atdrjs, It ordinarily signifies Orcus or Pluto ; 
 here the Winter Sunne : the etymon fits both, irapd tov 
 p.ri ibelv Hell is dark, and the Sunne in Winter leaves us 
 to long nights. 
 
 Ain. Not to be, To be nothing ; from VN Non, nihil, 
 or nemo. 
 
 Alethea-land, That is, the land of truth, rb ireoiov t?/s 
 dXijdeias, as the Platonists call it. 
 
 Alopecopolis, 'AXtoireKoiroXis. The foxes city, or politic 
 
 Ananke. 'AvdyKij. The same that Hyle is. But the 
 proper signification of the word is Necessity. See Hyle. 
 
 AnautcBstketus, 'AvavTaiffdirros, One that feels not 
 himself, or at least relisheth not himself. 
 
 Anautcesthesie, 'AvavTaicrdrjo-ia, Without self-sensed- 
 ness, or relishing ones self. 
 
 Animadversall. That lively inward animadversall. 
 It is the soul it self, 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 : Onely Adamah 
 signifies earthlinesse ; Anthropion from &vu ddpeiv, up- 
 rightnesse of body or looking up. 
 
 Apathie, ' Awddeia. To be without passion. 
 
 Apogee, 'Airbyeiov, is that absis or ark of the circle of 
 a Planet, in which the Planet is further off from the 
 earth, as the word it self intimates. 
 
 Apterie, ' ATrrepla, fromo, negative, and TtTtpov a wing. 
 It signifies the want of wings. 
 
 Arachtiea hath its name from dpdxvt), a spider. 
 
 Atom-lives. The same that Centrall-lives. Both the 
 terms denotate the indivisibilty of the inmost essence it 
 self ; the pure essentiall form I mean, of plant, beast, or 
 man, yea of angels themselves, good, or bad. 
 
 Atove. See Hattove. 
 
 Autaparnes, AvTa.ira.pvr)s from avrbs and dira.pveop.at.. 
 Simon, Autaparnes & Hypomone are but the soul, thrice 
 told over. Autaparnes is the soul denying it self: Hypo- 
 mone the soul bearing the anguish of this deniall of it 
 self : From these two, results Simon, the soul obedient 
 to the spirit of Christ. Now there is no self-deniall where 
 there is no corrupt or evill life to be supprest and satis- 
 fied ; nor any Patience or Hypomone, where there is no 
 agony from the vexation of self-deniall. So that the soul 
 as long as it is Autaparnes or Hypomone, is a thing com- 
 plex or concrete, necessarily including the corruption of 
 that evill life or spirit, which is the souls self for a time. 
 Hence is that riddle easily opened ; How the strength of 
 A utoparnes is the weakning of Simon and the destruction 
 of him and Hypomone in the valley of Ain Simons con- 
 summation and perfection, or rather his translation, or 
 dirodiwais. 
 
 Autcesthesia, AvTaio-drjaLa, Self-sensednesse. 
 
 Autokineticall, AvtokIvi)to%, That which moves it self. 
 
 Autopathia, AiTOTrdOeia, Denotates the being self- 
 
i6o 
 
 THE INTERPRETATION GEN ERA LL. 
 
 strucken, to be sensible of what harms us, rather then 
 what is absolutely evill. 
 
 Autophilus, Avr6<pi\os, A lover of himself. 
 
 R 
 T^Acha, Weeping, Bacha Vale is the Valley of tears ; 
 ■*-' from H53 FUvit. 
 
 Beirak, or Beiron, The brutish life, from 1J?3 brttium. 
 
 Body. The ancient Philosophers have defined it To 
 rpixfj SidcrraTov fxer' avriTinrias. 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 dime?isions : But for that avTi/rxmla, simple trinall 
 distension doth not imply it, wherefore I declin'd it. 
 But took in matter according to their conceit that phansie 
 a Materia prima, I acknowledge none ; and conse- 
 quently no such corpus naturale as our Physiologist 
 make the subject of that science. That rpixfj SidaraTou 
 avrlrvwov is nothing but a fixt spirit, the conspissation 
 or coagulation of the cuspidall particles of the Cone, 
 which are indeed the Centrall Tasis, or inward essence 
 of the sensible world. These be an infinite number of 
 vitall Atoms that may be wakened into divers tinctures, 
 or energies, into Fiery, Watery, Earthy, &c. And one 
 divine Fiat can unloose them all into an universall mist, 
 or turn them out of that sweat, into a drie and pure 
 Ethereall 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 intitno, and awake into this or the other 
 operation, by the powerfull appulse of some superad- 
 venient form. That which change of phantasmes is to 
 the soul, that is alteration of rayes to them. For their 
 rayes are ab intrinseco, as the phantasmes of the soul. 
 These be the reall 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 usuall 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 
 easie to proceed against in disproving the corporeity of 
 the soul, the Arguments do as necessarily conclude 
 against such a naturall body as is ordinarily described 
 in Physiologie (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 
 Centrall lives, yet are they neither Plasticall, Sensitive, 
 or Rationall ; so farre are they from proving to be the 
 humane soul, whose nature is there discust. 
 
 C 
 
 CEntre, Centrall, Centrality. When they are used 
 out of their ordinary sense, they signifie the 
 depth, or inmost Being of any thing, from whence its 
 Acts and Energies flow forth. See Atom-lives. 
 
 Chaos, In our blew Chaos, that is, In our corporeall 
 spirit : for that is the matter that the soul raiseth hei 
 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 observa" 
 tion, 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 breif, 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 onely a Circle, but 
 fills a Sphere, which may be called the Sphere of 
 activity : Yet Circulation more fitly sets out the diminu- 
 tion of activity, from those rings in the water, which as 
 they grow in compasse, abate in force and thicknesse. 
 But sometimes I use Circulate in an ordinary sense to 
 turn round, or return in a Circle. 
 
 Clare, Claros, a Citie of Ionia, famous for Apollo's 
 Temple, and answers, amongst which was this, which I 
 have interpreted in Psychathanasia. 
 
 $>pa£eo tov tt&vtiov virarov debv t/nfiev 1 'law, 
 Xet'/LMXTt [xiv t 'AI'Stjp, Ala 6" ei'apos dpxop-evow, 
 'HAtov 6Y depovs, p.erairwpov 5' afipbv Taw. 
 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 compleated Cone. But I take it sometimes for the 
 comprehension of all things, God himself not left out, 
 whom I tearm the Basis of the Cone or Universe. And 
 because all from him descends, Kaff vwo<TTokr)v, with 
 abatement or contraction, I give the name of Cone to the 
 Universe. And of Cone rather then Pyramid, because 
 of the roundnesse of the figure ; which the effluxes of 
 all things imitate. 
 
 Cronychall, or Acronychall, that is, dxpdpvxos, ves- 
 pertine, or at the beginning of night. So a starre is 
 said to rise or set Acronychall, when it riseth or setteth 
 at the Sunne-setting ; For then is the beginning of 
 Night. 
 
 Cuspis of the Cone. The multiplide 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 
 corporeall or materiall 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 Sunne and all the 
 Planets, they being kned together, and fixt by the centrall 
 power of each Planet and Sunne. The volatile /Ether 
 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 Quire of them strike the eare with 
 a pretty kind of buzzing. Strong and tumultuous 
 
THE INTERPRETATION GENERAL!. 
 
 161 
 
 pleasure, and scorching pain reside in these, they being 
 essentiall and centrall, but sight and hearing are onely 
 of the Images of these. See Body. 
 
 D 
 
 DJEmon, Any particular life, any divided spirit ; or 
 rather the power ruling in these. This is Aai/xwv, 
 a 8atu divido. 
 
 D&moniake, That which is according to that divided 
 life or particular spirit that rules for it self. 
 
 Deuteropathie, Aevrepoirddeia, is a being affected at 
 second rebound, as I may so say. We see the Sunne 
 not so properly by sympathy, as deuteropathie. As the 
 mundane spirit is affected where the Sunne is, so am I 
 in some manner ; but not presently, because it is so 
 affected, but because in my eye the Sunne is vigorously 
 represented. Otherwise a man might without question 
 see the Sunne if he had but a body of thin Aire. 
 
 Diana, The Moon, by which is set out the dead light, 
 or letter of the Law. 
 
 Dicceosyne, AucaioavvT}, Justice or Morall righteous- 
 nesse. 
 
 Dizoia, Aifata, Double-livednesse. 
 
 Duessa, Division, or duality. 
 
 T? Idos, EtSos, Form or Beauty. 
 
 ■*-"* Eloim or Eloah, wrbn, ff\hk signifie properly 
 
 the strong God. 
 
 Energie, it is a peculiar Platonicall term, I have else- 
 where 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 phantasmes 
 of the soul. We may collect the genuine sense of the 
 word, by comparing severall places of the Philosopher. 
 "Ex« y&P &HWTW rfl» 6vtwv ivtpyeiav, ij £<ttiv oyttotw/na 
 avrov, (bare avrov oVros Kaiceivo eXvai, /cat fievovros (pddveiv 
 eh rb irbppa), rb fxev eirl Tr\e7ov rb 5t eh iXarrov. Kal al 
 fiev dadeveh Kal d/j.v8pal, ai 8e /cat \avddvovaai, r2v 5e 
 elfft fieifovs Kal eh rb irbppv. For every being hath its 
 Energie, which is the image of it self, so that it existing 
 that Energie doth also exist, and standing still is pro- 
 jected forward more or lesse. And some of those 
 Energies, are weak and obscure, others hidorundiscern- 
 able, other some greater and of a larger projection, 
 Plotin. Ennead. 4. lib. 5. cap. 7. And again, Ennead. 3. 
 lib. 4. Kat putvop.ev T<j3 fiev vo7]t$ aVw' T<j5 5e iffxdrip 
 avrov, ireireb-qp-eda t$ koltu, olov dirbppoiav air' iicelvov 
 didbvres eh rb k6ltw, /mcLWov Se ivipyeiav, ticeivov owe 
 £\arrov/xevov. And we remain above by the Intellectuall 
 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 Energie, he being not at all lessened. 
 This curiosity Antoninus also observes (lib. 8. Meditat.) 
 in the nature of the Sun-beams, where although he 
 admits of x^ 7 ' 5 - vet ^ e doth not of iirdp'poia which is 
 (kXvctis- TjXtoy /caTa/cex i/cr ^ at doicei, Kal iravTt) ye 
 K^xvrai. ov /xev 8e eia<£x lrrai - V "Y&P Xv ffl * Q-vtov t6.(tis 
 £<ttIv, aicrtves yovv ai avyal avrov anb rov eKrelveadai. 
 
 J 9 
 
 \iyovTai. The Sun, saith he, is diffused, and his fusion 
 is every where but without effusion, &c. I will onely 
 adde one place more out of Plotinus, Ennead. 3. lib. 6. 
 'E/cdtrroi/ be fwpiov ij evipyeia ij ixerd <pvo~u> £<j>i) ovk 
 e^ardaa. The naturall Energie 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 Platonick term, Energie, then by 
 calling it the rayes of an essence, or the beams of a vitall 
 Centre. For essence is the Centre as it were, of that 
 which is truly called Energie, and Energie the beams 
 and rayes of an essence. And as the Radii of a circle 
 leave not the Centre by touching the Circumference, no 
 more doth that which is the pure Energie of an essence, 
 leave the essence by being called out into act, but is 
 iv^pyeia a working in the essence, though it flow out into 
 act. So that Energie depends alwayes on essence, as 
 Lumen on Lux, or the creature on God ; Whom there- 
 fore Synesius in his Hymnes calls the Centre of all 
 things. 
 
 Entelechia, 'EireX^xeta : 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 physicks, i) rov Swarov, 77 
 bwarbv, bneXex^a. Scaliger in his 309 exercitation 
 against Cardan, descants very curiously upon this word : 
 Cum igiturformam dixeris (that is ivreX^xetav) intelliges 
 immaterialitatem, simplicitatem, potestatem, perfecti- 
 onem, informationem. Hoc enim est ev : quod innuit 
 maximus Poetarum, Totdsque infusa per artus. Hoc est 
 re\os : quia est ultima forma sub coziest ibus, & princeps 
 inferiorum, finis cV perfectio. Hoc est ?X ew, i posse. 
 This goodly mysterie 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 &re\e'x«a, it is but the form of 
 any thing in an ordinary and usuall sense. If we stood 
 much upon words, ivbe\exeia would prove more signifi- 
 cant of the nature of the Soul, even according to 
 Scaligers own Etymon, from tT, Sieiv, i\av, and ?X eo/ : 
 from its permeation, & colligation or keeping together 
 the body from defluxion into its ancient principles, which 
 properties be included in iv and b£ew\: i\av moves for- 
 ward the body thus kept together : ix elv intimates the 
 possession or retention of the body thus moved, that it 
 is rather promov'd by the Soul, than mov'd from the 
 Soul. But of these words enough, or rather too much. 
 
 Eternitie is the steddy comprehension of all things at 
 once. See /Eon described in my Notes upon Psy- 
 chozoia. 
 
 Euphrona, ~Ev<ppbv7), The night. 
 
 FAith. Platonick faith in the first Good. This faith 
 is excellently described in Proclus, where it is 
 set above all ratiocination, nay, Intellect it self. Upbt 
 8i avrb dyadbv ov yvwerews ?rt Kal ffwepyetas bei tois 
 avvapOrjvai cire'vbovo~u>, d\\' ibptioews Kal p.ovip.ov 
 
 X 
 
l62 
 
 THE INTERPRETATION GENERAL!. 
 
 Karaffrdceus Kal rjpepdai. But to them that endea- 
 vour to be joyned with the first Good, there is no need 
 of knowledge or multifarious cooperation, but of settled- 
 nesse, steddinesse and rest, lib. i. cap. 24. Theolog. 
 Platon. And in the next chapter, Ae? yap ov yvwo-TiKQs 
 ou S' dreXws rb ayadbv iiri^Telv, d\V iiriSbvras 
 eavrobs T(J> ddtp <pwrl Kal p.v<ravTas, oOrws iviSpveadai 
 rrj dyvwaTW Kal Kpv<pl<p tCiv fvTiav ivdbi. 
 
 For we must not seek after that absolute or first good 
 cognoscitively or imperfectly, but giving our selves up 
 to the divine light, and winking (that is shutting our 
 eyes of reason and understanding) so to place ourselves 
 steddily in that hidden Unity of all things : After he 
 preferres this faith before the clear and present assent to 
 the Koival Zvvoiai, yea and the voepd dirXbrris, so that 
 he will not that any intellectuall operation should come 
 in comparison with it. noXveiSjjs yap avr-rj Kal Si' 
 erepoTTjTos x w P l ^°^ vr l Twv foovpJvwv, Kal 6\ws kIvt)<tIs 
 tori voepd irepl to vo-qrbv. Aet Si rty delav nlo'Tiv 
 evoeiSij Kal ■fipep.ov virdpxew & T$ ttjs dyadbrrjTOi 6pp-<p 
 reXetas ISpvdeicav. For the operation of the Intellect 
 is multiform, and by diversity separate from her objects, 
 and is in a word, intellectuall motion about the object 
 intelligible. But the divine faith must be simple and 
 uniform, quiet and steddily resting in the haven of 
 goodnesse. And at last he summarily concludes, Et$ 
 oSv oirros UppLos dcr(pa\ijs twv 6vrwv dirdvrwv. See 
 Prod. Theolog. Platonic, lib. 1. cap. 25. 
 
 G 
 f~* Abriel, The strength of God, from "|3J and bx. 
 Glaucis, Glaux, y\ai>£, an Owle. 
 H 
 TJ Aphe. 'A<pTj, The touch. 
 
 •*■■*■ Har-Eloim, D'H^r- in The mount of Angels, 
 Genii, or particular spirits. 
 
 Hattove, 310n rdyadbv, the Good, or that eminent 
 Good, or first Good from whence all good is derived. 
 See A had. 
 Helios, "HXto?, The Sunne. 
 
 Heterogeneall, is that which consists of parts of a 
 diverse nature, or form : as for example, a man's body, 
 of flesh, bones, nerves, &c. 
 Homogeneall, That whose nature is of one kind. 
 Hyle, Materia prima, or that dark fluid potentiality of 
 the creature, the straitnesse, repugnancy, and incapacity 
 of the creature : as when its being this, destroyes or 
 debilitates the capacity of being something else, or after 
 some other manner. This is all that any wary Platonist 
 will understand by ' ' AvdyKt\ iroWd tcJ5 deep Svcrpaxovaa 
 Kal dcprjvidfovffa, in Plutarch's \f/vxoyovla. 
 
 Hypomone, "TrropovT), Patience. See A utapames. 
 I 
 J Ao, A corruption of the Tetragrammaton. Greek 
 writers have strangely mash'd this word mrp, some 
 calling it Iwfid, others law, some Iveil). It is very likely 
 that from this tevw came Bacchus his apellation Etftos, 
 and the Msenades acclamations ivol in his Orgia. 
 
 Which sutes well with the Clarian Oracle, which saith 
 that in Autumne, the Sun is called law, which is the 
 time of vintage. 
 
 p-erairibpov S' afipbv law. See Fuller's Miscel. 
 Ida. See Pompon. Mel. lib. 1. cap. 17. 
 Ideas, or Idees, sometimes they are forms in the 
 Intellectuall world, viz. in ^Eon, or On; other some- 
 times, phantasmes or representations in the soul. 
 Innate Idees are the soul's nature it self, her uniform 
 essence, able by her Fiat to produce this or that phan- 
 tasme into act. 
 
 Idea Lond. The Intellectuall world. 
 Idiopathic ISioirdQtia, is one's proper peculiar irddos, 
 my or thy, being affected thus or so, upon this or that 
 occasion ; as ISioo-vyKpaala, is this or that mans 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 Sunne ; a Dogge and a Circopithecus 
 at the sight of the Moon, &c. 
 
 Idothea, The fleet passage of fading forms ; from 
 eI5os, Forma, and Oiu, curro. 
 
 Intellect. Sometimes it is to be interpreted Soul. 
 Sometimes the intellectuall faculty of the Soul. Some- 
 times Intellect is an absolute essence shining into the 
 Soul : whose nature is this. A substance purely im- 
 materiall, impeccable, actually omniform, or compre- 
 hending all things at once : which the soul doth also 
 being perfectly joyned with the Intellect. "Exo/iev o$v 
 Kal rd eldr) Si^cDs iv p.iv faXV °^ ov M e " dveiKiyp.e'ya Kal 
 olov Kexupwfdva, iv Se Tip v$ bp.ov rd irdvra. Plot. 
 Ennead. 1. lib. 1. cap. 8. 
 Isosceles, A triangle with two sides equall. 
 
 L 
 
 T Ampropron&a, The bright side of Providence. 
 ■*" - ' Lelurion, Nocturnall fire, from TO and "TIN. 
 
 Leontopolis, AeovroiroXis, The Lion's citie or Politic 
 
 Life. The vitall operation of any soul. Sometimes 
 it is the Soul it self, be it sensitive, vegetative, or 
 rationall. 
 
 Logos, Abyos, The appellation of the Sonne 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 pro- 
 duction of souls, or rather their non-production is 
 admirably well set down in Plotinus, See Ennead. 6, 
 /. 4. c. 14, 15. 
 
 Lypon, from Avttt), sorrow. 
 
 M 
 
 MAgicall, that is, attractive, or commanding by 
 force of sympathy with the life of this naturall 
 world. 
 
 Melampronma, the black side of Providence. 
 
THE INTERPRETATION GEN ER ALL. 
 
 163 
 
 Memory. Mundane memory. Is that memory that 
 is seated in the Mundane spirit of man, by a strong 
 impression, or inustion of any phantasme, or outward 
 sensible object, upon that spirit. But there is a memory 
 more subtill and abstract in the soul it self, without the 
 help of this spirit, which she also carries away with her 
 having left the body. 
 
 Michael, who like unto God ? from *D quis, & 3 simili- 
 tudinis, fir 5 ?N Deus. 
 
 Moment. Sometimes signifies an instant, as indivi- 
 sible, as Ktmjfxa, 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. 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, Movds, is Unitas, the principle of all numbers, 
 an embleme of the Deity : And the Pythagoreans call it 
 Geds, God. It is from pjheiv, because it is fj.6utij.os, 
 stable and immovable, a firme Cube of it self, One time 
 one time one remains still one, See A had. 
 
 Monocordia, ~M.ovoKa.p8ia, from ixbvos and Kapdla, 
 Single-heartednesse. 
 
 Mundane, Mundane spirit, is that which is the spirit 
 of the world, or Universe. I mean by it not an Intel- 
 lectuall spirit, but a fine unfixt, attenuate, subtill, 
 ethereall substance, the immediate vehicle of plasticall 
 or sensitive life. 
 
 Myrmecopolis, Mi//)/U7jK(57ro\ts, the city or polity of 
 Pismires. 
 
 N 
 
 NEurospast, vevphotraaTov, a. Puppet or any Machina 
 that's mov'd by an unseen string or nerve. 
 
 O 
 
 OGdoas, 'OySods, 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, to 6v. The being. 
 
 Orb. Orb Intellectuall is nothing else but Mon or the 
 Intellectuall world. The Orbs generall mentioned, 
 Psychathan. lib. 1. cant. 3. stanz. 23. vers. 2, I under- 
 stand by them but so many universall orders of being, 
 if I may so terme them all ; for Hyle hath little or no- 
 thing of being. 
 
 Out- World, and Out Heaven. The sensible World, 
 the visible Heaven. 
 
 P 
 
 PAndemoniothen , l\a.v-5aip.ovlodev, all from the devill ; 
 viz. all false perswasions, and ill effects from 
 them. 
 
 Panoply, TLavoir\la, Armour for the whole body. 
 Pantheothen, Yiav-Oebdev, All from God. Which is 
 true in one sense, false in another. You'll easily dis- 
 cern the sense in the place you find the word. This 
 
 passage of Pantheothen contains a very savory 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 
 devill, death and corruption. 
 
 Parallax, irapdWa^is, 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, IlaprjXia, are rorid clouds which bear the 
 image of the Sunne. 
 
 Parturient. See Vaticinant. 
 
 Penia, Ilevla, Want or poverty. 
 
 Perigee, Jlepiyeiov, is that absis or ark of a Planet's 
 circle, in which it comes nearer to the earth. 
 
 Periphere, Peripheria, it is the line that terminates a 
 circle. 
 
 Phantasie, Lower phantasie, is that which resides in 
 the Mundane spirit of a man. See Memory. 
 
 Phantasme, (pAvrao-pxi, any thing that the soul con- 
 ceives in it self, without any present externall object. 
 
 Philosomatus, $i\oo-wfj.aTos, a lover of his body. 
 
 Phobon, from 06/3os, fear. 
 
 Phrenition, anger, impatiency, fury ; from Qpevlrts, 
 phrensie or madnesse. Ira furor brevis est. 
 
 Physis, #ii<m, Nature vegetative. 
 
 Pithecus, H107)kos, an Ape. 
 
 Pithecusa, the land of Apes. 
 
 Plastick, 5vva(j.is TrXajTiKT], is that efformative might 
 in the seed that shapes the body in its growth. 
 
 Protopathy, wpuToiradtia. 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 proto- 
 pathy. If the air be struck aloof of, I am sensible also 
 of that, but by circulation or propagation of that im- 
 pression into my eare ; and this is deuteropathy. See 
 Deuteropathy. 
 
 Proteus, Vertumnus, changeablenesse. 
 
 Psittaco. Don Psittaco, from Psittacus a Parot, a bird 
 that speaks significant words, whose sense notwith- 
 standing it self is ignorant of. The Dialogue betwixt 
 this Parot and Mnemon sets out the vanity of super- 
 ficiall 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 well-spring 
 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 
 shew forth their goodly skill and wonderfull insight into 
 holy truth, when as they have indeed scarce licked the 
 outside of the glasse wherein it lies. 
 
 Psittacusa, the land of Parots. 
 
1 64 
 
 THE INTERPRETATION GENERATE 
 
 Psychaniti, the land of Souls. 
 
 Psyche, ^vxv- Soul, or spirit. 
 
 Psychicall, Though ^vxv De a generall name and 
 belongs to the souls of beasts and plants, yet I under- 
 stand by life Psychicall, such centrall life as is capable 
 of ^Eon, and Ahad. 
 
 Pteroessa, Hrepdefftra, the land of winged souls ; from 
 irripov, a wing. 
 
 Q 
 
 QUadrate. A figure with foure equall sides, and 
 foure right angles. The rightnesse of the angles, 
 is a plain embleme of erectnesse or uprightnesse of 
 mind. The number of the sides, as also of the angles, 
 being pariter par, that is, equall divisible to the utmost 
 unities (rb 5e laov 5lK.ai.ov, as it is in Aristotle) intimates 
 equity or justice. The sides are equall one with another, 
 and so are the angles ; and the number of the sides and 
 angles equall one with another. Both the numbers put 
 together are a number pariter par again, and constitute 
 the first cube which is eight : That adds steddinesse 
 and persevererance in true justice and uprightnesse 
 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 strait and streight 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 sen- 
 sible world, it is intire and is the same that Tasis in 
 Psychozoia. But the centre of Tasis, viz. the multipli- 
 cation of the reall 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 internall vege- 
 tative act, and so belongs to Physis the lowest order of 
 life. For as that warmth that the soul doth afford the 
 body, is not rationall, sensitive or imaginative, but 
 vegetative ; So this, aȣstf that is, liquid fire, which 
 Psyche sends out, and is the outmost, last, and lowest 
 operation from her self, is also vegetative. 
 
 R 
 
 RAyes. The rayes of an essence is its energie. See 
 Energie. 
 
 Reason. I understand by Reason, the deduction of 
 one thing from another, which I conceive proceeds from 
 a kind of continuity of phantasmes ; and is something 
 like the moveing 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 wayes and methods in their ordinary ex- 
 ternall actions. 
 
 Reduplicative. That is reduplicative, which is not 
 onely in this point, but also in another, having a kind 
 of circumscribed ubiquity, viz. in its own sphear. And 
 this is either by being in that sphear omnipresent it self, 
 as the soul is said to be in the body tota in toto &* tola 
 
 in qualibet parte ; or else at least by propagation of 
 rayes, which is the image of it self ; and so are divers 
 sensible objects Reduplicative, as light, colours, sounds. 
 And I make account either of these wayes justly de- 
 nominate any thing spiritual. Though the former is 
 most properly, at least more eminently spirituall. And 
 whether any thing be after that way spirituall saving the 
 Divinity, there is reason to doubt. For what is intirely 
 omnipresent in a sphear, whose diametre is but three 
 foot, I see not, why (that in the circumference being as 
 fresh and intire as that in the centre) it should stop 
 there and not proceed, even in infinitum, if the circum- 
 ference be still as fresh and entire as the centre. But I 
 define nothing. 
 
 Rhomboides, is a parallelogrammicall figure with un- 
 equall sides and oblique angles. 
 
 S 
 
 SCalen, a triangle with all sides unequall. 
 Self reduplicative. See Reduplicative. 
 
 Semele, Imagination ; from hn^ imago. 
 
 Simon, intimates obedience, from vcv obedivit. 
 
 Solyma, or Salem, from DI^B? 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 ipvxv, a middle essence 
 betwixt that which they call vovs (and we would in the 
 Christian language call irvev/ia) and the life of the body 
 which is etdwXov ipvxys, a kind of an umbratil vitalitie 
 that the soul imparts to the body in the enlivening of it : 
 That and the body together, we Christians call <rdp£, 
 and the suggestions of it, especially in its corrupt estate, 
 tpp6vrjp.a o~a.pK.bs. And that that which God inspired 
 into Adam was no more then •pvx'j, the soul, not the 
 spirit, though it be called D«n ru2&l Spiraculum vitae ; 
 is plain out of the text ; because it made man but 
 become a living soul, rvn p'o}. 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 rvn imply such a life and spirit, you must ac- 
 knowledge 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 nTl e'dj chap. 1. v. 20, 21. See 
 1. Cor. chap. 15. v. 45, 46. In breif therefore, that 
 which in Platonisme is poDs ; is in Scripture vvevpia ; 
 what <rdp£ in one, rb 6-qplov, the brute or beast in the 
 other, ipvxv the same in both. 
 
 Sperm. It signifies ordinarily seed. I put it for the 
 X670S <Tirep/j.a.TiKbs, the ratio seminalis, or the invisible 
 plasticall form that shapes every visible creature. 
 
 Spermaticall. It belongs properly to Plants, but is 
 transferred also to the Plasticall power in Animalls, I 
 enlarge it to all magnetick power whatsoever that doth 
 
THE INTERPRETATION GENE R ALL. 
 
 16: 
 
 immediately rule and actuate any body. For all mag- 
 netick power is founded in Physis, and in reference to 
 her, this world is but one Plant, one \6yos oirepfiariKbs 
 giving it shape and corporeall life) as in reference to 
 Psyche, one happy and holy Animall. 
 
 Spirit. Sometimes it signifieth the soul, othersome- 
 time, the naturall spirits in a man's body, which are 
 Vinculum animae &» corporis, and the souls vehicle : 
 Sometimes life. See Reduplicative. 
 
 T 
 
 TAgathon, Ta.ya.9bv, The Good ; the same with 
 Hattove. 
 Tasis, rdtrts, extension. 
 
 Tricentreity. Centre is put for essence, so Tricen- 
 treity must imply a Trinity of essence. See Centre and 
 Energie. 
 
 V 
 
 VAticinant. The soul is said to be in a vaticinant, 
 or parturient condition, when she hath some kind 
 of sense, and hovering knowledge of a thing, but yet 
 cannot distinctly and fully, and commandingly represent 
 it to herself, cannot plainly apprehend, much lesse com- 
 prehend the matter. The phrase is borrowed of Proclus, 
 who describing the incomprehensiblenesse of God, and 
 the desire of all things toward him, speaks thus ; "A-yvw- 
 otov yap bv irodet to. 6vra rb 4<perbv tovto Kal &\t]tttov. 
 Allure ow yvQvai /u^re eXeTv 8 irodet, 8wd.fj.eva, wepl avrb 
 ■jravra xopevei Kal ibdlvei fiev avrb Kal olov diroiiavreOeTai. 
 Theolog. Platon. lib. I. cap. 21. See Psychathan. lib. 3. 
 cant. 3. stanz. 12. & 14. 
 
 Vranore. The light or beauty of heaven, from ovpavbs, 
 and "I1N lux, or &pa pulchritudo. 
 
 Z 
 
 ZApkon, Aquilo. The North. 
 Zeus, Zei)y, Jupiter, from f^w, ferveo, or fdw, vivo. 
 
 f 
 
 THus have I run through the more obscure terms in 
 the preceding Poems. But for the many points 
 a man may meet withall therein, though I did hereto- 
 fore make some sleight promise of speaking more deter- 
 minately of them, I hope I may without offence decline 
 the performance as yet, till I abound more with leasure 
 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 mutuall contradictions) whether 
 I have got any share at all of the other. But yet I hope, 
 without breach of modesty, I may presume to under- 
 stand the purpose of my own writings. Which, as I 
 have heretofore signified, was no other then this, to 
 stirre men up to take into their thoughts these two 
 main considerations. The heartie good will of God to 
 mankind, even in the life of this world, made of the 
 commixture of light and darknesse, that he will through 
 his power rescue those souls, that are faithfull in this 
 their triall, and preferre 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 enthron'd 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 righteousnesse and equity. 
 And that, beside this happinesse on earth, every holy 
 soul hereafter shall enjoy a never-fading felicity in the 
 invisible and eternall Heaven, the Intellectuall world. 
 Which if it be not true, I must needs confesse, 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, then he is, that hath but such a glance or 
 glimpse of passing life to mock him. 
 
 And although the succession of righteousnesse upon 
 earth may rightly seem a goodly great and full spread 
 thing, and a matter that may beare an ample corre- 
 spondence 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 happinesse once seised on by death. 
 
 But there are continually on earth such numbers of 
 men alive, that if they liv'd well it would be an Heaven 
 or Paradise. But still a scant one to every particular 
 man, whose dayes 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 continuall witnesse of all things. 
 
 But, alas ! what doth the perpetuall repetition of the 
 same life or deiform Image throughout all ages adde to 
 Him, that is at once infinitely himself, viz. good, and 
 happy ? 
 
 So that there is nothing considerable in the creation, 
 if the rationall creature be mortall. For neither is God 
 at all profited by it, nor man considerably. And were 
 not the Angels a great deal better employed in the be- 
 holding the worth of their Creatour, then to deminish 
 their own happinesse, 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 boyes do on dancing blebs and 
 bubbles in the water. 
 
 What designe therefore can there be in God in the 
 making of this world that will prove OeoTrpeves, worthy 
 of so excellent a goodnesse and wisdome ; but the triall 
 of the immortall spirit of man ? It seems the deepest 
 reach of his counsell 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 
 
1 66 
 
 THE INTERPRETATION GENERATE. 
 
 mind from the reaching to those so high hopes, that I 
 may not say from a certain sense and feeling of that 
 unuisturbd state of immortality. 
 
 And thus much I have ventured to speak boldly with- 
 out Scepticisme in Faith and Sense, that the first Prin- 
 ciple of all things is living Goodnesse, armd with 
 Wisdome & 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 Originall of things doth lie either in shuffling Chance, 
 or in that stark root of unknowing Nature and brute 
 Necessity ; all the subtile cords of Reason, without the 
 timely recovery of that divine touch within the hidden 
 spirit of man, will never be able to pull him back, out 
 of that abhorred pit of Atheisme and Infidelity. So 
 much better is Innocency and Piety then subtile Argu- 
 ment, and earnest and sincere Devotion then curious 
 Dispute. 
 
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II.-M INOR POEMS. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 The ' Minor Poems ' formed pp. 297-334 of the volume of 1647. They 
 are reproduced with the same fidelity to the Author's own text as in the 
 ' Philosophical Poems.' The modest original title-page is given oppo- 
 site.— G. 
 

 AN 
 
 .,*' 
 
 ADDITION 
 
 offome few f mailer 
 
 POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY MORE: 
 
 Master of Arts, and Fellow of 
 
 Christs Colledge in 
 CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 Printed by Roger Daniel, Printer to the 
 
 Universitie. 1647. 
 
 19 
 
AAAAAAAAAAAA.aAaA&&AAA^£&&&^^ 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Cupids Conflict. 
 
 Mela. Cleanthes. 
 
 EflZJ/a my dear ! why been thy looks so sad 
 As if thy gentle heart were sunk with 
 
 care ? 
 Impart thy case ; for be it good or bad 
 Friendship in either will bear equall share. 
 Mel. Not so ; Cleanthes, for if bad it be 
 My self must bleed afresh by wounding thee : 
 
 But what it is, my slow, uncertain wit 
 
 Cannot well judge. But thou shalt sentence give 
 
 How manfully of late my self I quit, 
 
 When with that lordly lad by chance I strive. 
 
 CI. Of friendship Mela I let's that story hear. 
 
 Mel. Sit down Cleanthes then, and lend thine ear. 
 
 Upon a day as best did please my mind 
 Walking abroad amidst the verdant field 
 Scattering my carefull thoughts i' th' wanton wind 
 The pleasure of my path so farre had till'd 
 My feeble feet that without timely rest 
 Uneath it were to reach my wonted nest. 
 
 In secret shade farre moved from mortalls sight 
 In lowly dale my wandring limbs I laid 
 On the cool grasse where Natures pregnant jyjt_ 
 A goodly Bower of thickest trees had made. 
 Amongst the leaves the chearfull Birds did fare 
 And sweetly carol'd to the echoing Air. 
 
 j Hard at my feet ran down a crystall spring 
 {.Which did the cumbrous pebbles hoarsly chide 
 For standing in the way. Though murmuring 
 The broken stream his course did rightly guide 
 And strongly pressing forward with disdain 
 The grassie flore divided into twain. 
 
 The place a while did feed my foolish eye 
 
 As being new, and eke mine idle ear 
 
 Did listen oft to that wild harmonie 
 
 And oft my curious phansie would compare 
 
 How well agreed the Brooks low muttering Base, 
 With the birds trebbles pearch'd on higher place. 
 
 But senses objects soon do glut the soul, 
 Or rather weary with their emptinesse ; 
 
 So I, all heedlesse how the waters roll 
 And mindlesse of the mirth the birds expresse, 
 Into my self 'gin softly to retire 
 After hid heavenly pleasures to enquire. 
 
 While I this enterprize do entertain ; 
 Lo ! on the other side in thickest bushes 
 A mighty noise ! with that a naked swain 
 With blew and purple wings streight rudely rushes 
 He leaps down light upon the flowry green, 
 Like sight before mine eyes had never seen. 
 
 At's snowy back the boy a quiver wore 
 Right fairly wrought and gilded all with gold : 
 A silver bow in his left hand he bore, 
 And in his right a ready shaft did hold. 
 Thus armed stood he, and betwixt us tway 
 The labouring brook did break its toilsome way. 
 
 The wanton lad whose sport is others pain 
 Did charge his bended bow with deadly dart, 
 And drawing to the head with might and main, 
 With fell intent he aim'd to hit my heart. 
 But ever as he shot his arrows still 
 In their mid course dropt down into the rill. 
 
 Of wondrous virtues that in waters been 
 Is needlesse to rehearse, all books do ring 
 Of those strange rarities. But ne're was seen 
 Such virtue as resided in this spring. 
 The noveltie did make me much admire 
 But stirr'd the hasty youth to ragefull ire. 
 
 As heedlesse fowls that take their per'lous flight 
 Over that bane of birds, Averno lake, 
 Do drop down dead : so dead his shafts did light 
 Amid the stream, which presently did slake 
 Their fiery points, and all their feathers wet 
 Which made the youngster Godling inly fret. 
 
 Thus lustfull Love (this was that love I ween) 
 Was wholly changed to consuming ire. 
 And eath it was, sith they're so near a kin 
 They be both born of one rebellious fire. 
 But he supprest his wrath and by and by 
 For feathered darts, he winged words let flie. 
 
 Vain man ! said he, and would thou wer'st not vain 
 That hid' st thy self in solitary shade 
 
MINOR POEMS. 
 
 171 
 
 And spil'st thy precious youth in sad disdain 
 Hating this lifes delight ! Hath God thee made 
 Part of this world, and wilt not thou partake 
 Of this worlds pleasure for its makers sake ? 
 
 Unthankfull wretch ! Gods gifts thus to reject 
 
 And maken nought of Natures goodly dower. 
 
 That milders still away through thy neglect 
 
 And dying fades like unregarded flower. 
 
 This life is good, what's good thou must improve, 
 The highest improvement of this life is love. 
 
 Had I (but O that envious Destinie, 
 Or Stygian vow, or thrice accursed charm 
 Should in this place free passage thus denie 
 Unto my shafts as messengers of harm !) 
 Had I but once transfixt thy froward breast, 
 How would'st thou then I staid not for the rest ; 
 
 But thus half angry to the boy replide : 
 
 How would'st thou then my soule of sense bereave ! 
 
 I blinded, thee more blind should choose my guide ! 
 
 How would'st thou then my muddied mind deceive 
 With fading shows, that in my errour vile, 
 Base lust, I love should tearm ; vice, virtue stile. 
 
 How should my wicked rhymes then idolize 
 Thy wretched power, and with impious wit 
 Impute thy base born passions to the skies, 
 And my souls sicknesse count an heavenly fit, 
 
 My weaknesse strength, my wisdome to be caught, 
 My bane my blisse, mine ease to be o'rewraught. 
 
 How often through my fondly feigning mind 
 And frantick phansie, in my Mistris eye 
 Should I a thousand fluttering Cupids find 
 Bathing their busie wings ? How oft espie 
 Under the shadow of her eye-brows fair 
 Ten thousand Graces sit all naked bare ? 
 
 Thus haunted should I be with such feat fiends, 
 
 A pretty madnesse were my portion due. 
 
 Foolish my self I would not hear my friends. 
 
 Should deem the true for false, the false for true. 
 My way all dark more slippery then ice 
 My attendants, anger, pride, and jealousies. 
 
 Unthankfull then to God I should neglect 
 All the whole world for one poore sorry wight, 
 Whose pestilent eye into my heart project 
 Would burn like poysonous Comet in my spright. 
 Aye me ! how dismall then would prove that day 
 Whose onely light sprang from so fatall ray. 
 
 Who seeks for pleasure in this mortall life 
 
 By diving deep into the body base 
 
 Shall loose true pleasure : But who gainly strive 
 
 Their sinking soul above this bulk to place 
 Enlarg'd delight they certainly shall find, 
 Unbounded joyes to fill their boundlesse mind. 
 
 When I my self from mine own self do quit 
 
 And each thing else ; then an all spreaden love 
 
 To the vast Universe my soul doth fit, 
 
 Makes me half equall to All-seeing Jove. 
 My mightie wings high stretch'd then clapping light 
 I brush the starres and make them shine more bright. 
 
 Then all the works of God with close embrace 
 
 I dearly hug in my enlarged arms, 
 
 All the hid paths of heavenly Love I trace 
 
 And boldly listen to his secret charms, 
 
 Then clearly view I where true light doth rise, 
 And where eternall Night low-pressed lies. 
 
 Thus lose I not by leaving small delight 
 But gain more joy, while I my self suspend 
 From this and that ; for then with all unite 
 I all enjoy, and love that love commends, 
 That all is more then loves the partiall soul 
 Whose petty love the impartiall fates controll. 
 
 Ah son ! said he, (and laughed very loud) 
 
 That trickst thy tongue with uncouth strange disguize, 
 
 Extolling highly that with speeches proud 
 
 To mortall men that humane state denies, 
 
 And rashly blaming what thou never knew ; 
 
 Let men experienc'd speak, if they'll speak true. 
 
 Had I once lanc'd thy froward flinty heart 
 And cruddled bloud had thawn with living fire 
 And prickt thy drousie sprite with gentle smart 
 How wouldst thou wake to kindle sweet desire ! 
 Thy soul fill'd up with overflowing pleasures 
 Would dew thy lips with honey dropping measures. 
 
 Then would thou caroll loud and sweetly sing 
 
 In honour of my sacred Deity 
 
 That all the woods and hollow hills would ring 
 
 Reechoning thy heavenly harmony. 
 And eke the hardy rocks with full rebounds 
 Would faithfully return thy silver sounds. 
 
 Next unto me would be thy Mistresse fair, 
 Whom thou might setten out with goodly skill 
 Her peerlesse beauty and her virtues rare, 
 That all would wonder at thy gracefull quill. 
 And lastly in us both thy self shouldst raise 
 And crown thy temples with immortall bayes. 
 
 But now thy riddles all men do neglect, 
 
 Thy rugged lines of all do ly forlorn. 
 
 Unwelcome rhymes that rudely do detect 
 
 The Readers ignorance. Men holden scorn 
 To be so often non-plus'd or to spell, 
 And on one stanza a whole age to dwell. 
 
 Besides this harsh and hard obscurity 
 Of the hid sense, thy words are barbarous 
 And strangely new, and yet too frequently 
 Return, as usuall plain and obvious, 
 So that the show of the new thick-set patch 
 Marres all the old with which it ill doth match. 
 
172 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 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 oyl. 
 
 If that be all, said I, thy reasons slight 
 Can never move my well establish'd mind. 
 Full well I wote alwayes the present sprite, 
 Or life that doth possesse the soul, doth blind, 
 Shutting the windows 'gainst broad open day 
 Lest fairer sights its uglinesse bewray. 
 
 The soul then loves that disposition best 
 Because no better comes unto her view. 
 The drunkard drunkennesse, the sluggard rest, 
 Th' Ambitious honour and obeysance due. 
 So all the rest do love their vices base 
 'Cause virtues beauty comes not into place. 
 
 And looser love 'gainst Chastity divine 
 Would shut the door that he might sit alone. 
 Then wholly should my mind to him incline, 
 And woxen strait, (since larger love was gone) 
 That paultry spirit of low contracting lust 
 Would fit my soul as if 't were made for 't just. 
 
 Then should I with my fellow bird or brute 
 So strangely metamorphiz'd, either ney 
 Or bellow loud : or if't may better sute 
 Chirp out my joy pearch'd upon higher spray. 
 My passions fond with impudence rehearse, 
 Immortalize my madnesse in a verse. 
 
 This is the summe of thy deceiving boast 
 That I vain ludenesse highly should admire, 
 When I the sense of better things have lost 
 And chang'd my heavenly heat for hellish fire. 
 Passion is blind : but virtues piercing eye 
 Approaching danger can from farre espie. 
 
 And what thou dost Pedantickly object 
 Concerning my rude rugged uncouth style, 
 As childish toy I manfully neglect, 
 And at thy hidden snares do inly smile. 
 How ill alas ! with wisdome it accords 
 To sell my living sense for livelesse words. 
 
 My thought's the fittest measure of my tongue, 
 Wherefore I'll use what's most significant, 
 And rather then my inward meaning wrong 
 Or my full-shining notion trimly skant, 
 
 I'll conjure up old words out of their grave, 
 Or call fresh forrein force in if need crave. 
 
 And these attending on my moving mind 
 
 Shall duly usher in the fitting sense. 
 
 As oft as meet occasion I find. 
 
 Unusuall words oft used give lesse offence ; 
 Nor will the old contexture dim or marre, 
 For often us'd they're next to old, thred-bare. 
 
 And if the old seem in too rusty hew, 
 Then frequent rubbing makes them shine like gold, 
 And glister all with colour gayly new. 
 Wherefore to use them both we will be bold. 
 
 Thus lifts me fondly with fond folk to toy, 
 
 And answer fools with equall foolery. 
 
 The meaner mind works with more nicetie 
 As Spiders wont to weave their idle web, 
 But braver spirits do all things gallantly 
 Of lesser failings nought at all affred : 
 So Natures carelesse pencill dipt in light 
 With sprinkled starres hath spattered the Night. 
 
 And if my notions clear though rudely thrown 
 And loosely scattered in my poesie, 
 May lend men light till the dead Night be gone, 
 And Morning fresh with roses strew the sky : 
 It is enough, I meant no trimmer frame 
 Nor by nice needle-work to seek a name. 
 
 Vain man ! that seekest name 'mongst earthly men 
 
 Devoid of God and all good virtuous lere ; 
 
 Who groping in the dark do nothing ken ; 
 
 But mad, with griping care their souls do tear, 
 Or Burst with hatred or with envie pine, 
 Or burn with rage or melt out at their eyne. 
 
 Thrice happy he whose name is writ above, 
 And doeth good though gaining infamy ; 
 Requiteth evil turns with hearty love, 
 And recks not what befalls him outwardly : 
 Whose worth is in himself, and onely blisse 
 In his pure conscience that doth nought amisse. 
 
 Who placeth pleasure in his purged soul 
 And virtuous life his treasure doth esteem ; 
 Who can his passions master and controll, 
 And that true lordly manlinesse doth deem, 
 Who from this world himself hath clearly quit, 
 Counts nought his own but what lives in his sprite. 
 
 So when his spright from this vain world shall flit 
 
 It bears all with it whatsoever was dear 
 
 Unto it self, passing in easie fit, 
 
 As kindly ripen' d corn comes out of th' ear. 
 Thus mindlesse of what idle men will say 
 He takes his own and stilly goes his way. 
 
 But the Retinue of proud Lucifer, 
 
 Those blustering Poets that fly after fame 
 
 And deck themselves like the bright Morning-starre. 
 
 Alas ! it is but all a crackling flame. 
 
 For death will strip them of that glorious plume, 
 That airie blisse will vanish into fume. 
 
 For can their carefull ghosts from Limbo Lake 
 
 Return, or listen from the bowed skie 
 
 To heare how well their learned lines do take ? 
 
 Or if they could ; is Heavens felicitie 
 
 So small as by mans praise to be encreas'd, 
 Hells pain no greater then hence to be eas'd ? 
 
MINOR POEMS. 
 
 173 
 
 Therefore once dead in vain shall I transmit 
 
 My shadow to gazing Posterity ; 
 
 Cast Tarre behind me I shall never see't, 
 
 On Heavens fair Sunne having fast fixt mine eye. 
 
 Nor while I live, heed I what man doth praise 
 
 Or underprize mine unaffected layes. 
 
 What moves thee then, said he, to take the pains 
 And spenden time if thou contemn'st the fruit ? 
 Sweet fruit of fame, that fills the Poets brains 
 With high conceit and feeds his fainting wit. 
 How pleasant 'tis in honour here to live 
 And dead, thy name for ever to survive ! 
 
 Or is thy abject mind so basely bent 
 As of thy Muse to maken Merchandize ? 
 (And well I wote this is no strange intent. ) 
 The hopefull glimps of gold from chattering Pies, 
 
 From Daws and Crows, and Parots oft hath wrun: 
 
 An unexpected Pegaseian song. 
 
 Foul shame on him, quoth I, that shamefull thought 
 
 Doth entertain within his dunghill breast, 
 
 Both God and Nature hath my spirits wrought 
 
 To better temper and of old hath blest 
 My loftie soul with more divine aspires, 
 Then to be touched with such vile low desires. 
 
 I hate and highly scorn that Kestrell kind 
 
 Of bastard scholars that subordinate 
 
 The precious choice induements of the mind 
 
 To wealth or worldly good. Adulterate 
 And cursed brood ! Your wit and will are born 
 Of th' earth and circling thither do return. 
 
 Profit and honour be those measures scant 
 Of your slight studies and endeavours vain, 
 And when you once have got what you did want 
 You leave your learning to enjoy your gain. 
 
 Your brains grow low, your bellies swell up high, 
 Foul sluggish fat ditts up your dulled eye. 
 
 Thus what the earth did breed, to th' earth is gone, 
 Like fading hearb or feeble drooping flower, 
 By feet of men and beast quite trodden down, 
 The muck-sprung learning cannot long endure, 
 Back she returns lost in her filthy source, 
 Drown'd, chok'd or slocken by her cruell nurse. 
 
 True virtue to her self s the best reward, 
 Rich with her own and full of lively spirit, 
 Nothing cast down for want of due regard, 
 Or 'cause rude men acknowledge not her merit. 
 
 She knows her worth and stock from whence she 
 sprung, 
 
 Spreads fair without the warmth of earthly dung, 
 
 Dew'd with the drops of Heaven shall flourish long ; 
 
 As long as day and night do share the skie, 
 
 And though that day and night should fail yet strong, 
 
 And steddie, fixed on Etemitie 
 
 Shall bloom for ever. So the soul shall speed 
 That loveth virtue for no worldly meed. 
 
 Though sooth to say, the worldly meed is due 
 To her more then to all the world beside. 
 Men ought do homage with affections true 
 And offer gifts, for God doth there reside. 
 The wise and virtuous soul is his own seat 
 To such what's given God himself doth get. 
 
 But earthly minds whose sight's seal'd up with mud 
 
 Discern not this flesh-clouded Deity, 
 
 Ne do acknowledge any other good 
 
 Then what their mole-warp hands can feel and trie 
 By groping touch ; (thus worth of them unseen) 
 Of nothing worthy that true worth they ween. 
 
 Wherefore the prudent Law-givers of old 
 Even in all Nations, with right sage foresight 
 Discovering from farre how clums and cold 
 The vulgar wight would be to yield what's right 
 To virtuous learning, did by law designe 
 Great wealth and honour to that worth divine. 
 
 But nought's by law to Poesie due said he, 
 Ne doth the solemn Statesmans head take care 
 Of those that such impertinent pieces be 
 Of common-weals. Thou'd better then to spare 
 Thy uselesse vein. Or tell else, what may move 
 Thybusie Muse such fruitlesse pains to prove. 
 
 No pains but pleasure to do th' dictates dear 
 Of inward living nature. What doth move 
 The Nightingall to sing so sweet and clear 
 The Thrush, or Lark that mounting high above 
 
 Chants her shrill notes to heedlesse ears of corn 
 
 Heavily hanging in the dewy Morn. 
 
 When Life can speak, it cannot well withold 
 T expresse its own impressions and hid life. 
 Or joy or greif that smoothered lie untold 
 Do vex the heart and wring with restlesse strife, 
 Then are my labours no true pains but ease 
 My souls unrest they gently do appease. 
 
 Besides, that is not fruitlesse that no gains 
 Brings to my self. I others profit deem 
 Mine own : and if at these my heavenly flames 
 Others receiven light, right well I ween 
 My time's not lost. Art thou now satisfide 
 Said I : to which the scoffing boy replide : 
 
 Great hope indeed thy rhymes should men enlight. 
 That be with clouds and darknesse all o'recast. 
 Harsh style and harder sense void of delight 
 The Readers wearied eye in vain do wast. 
 
 And when men win thy meaning with much pain, 
 Thy uncouth sense they coldly entertain. 
 
 For wotst thou not that all the world is dead 
 
 Unto that Genius that moves in thy vein 
 
 Of poetrie ! But like by like is fed. 
 
 Sing of my Trophees in triumphant strein, 
 Then correspondent life, thy powerfull verse 
 Shall strongly strike and with quick passion pierce. 
 
174 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 The tender frie of lads and lasses young 
 With thirstie eare thee compassing about, 
 Thy Nectar-dropping Muse, thy sugar'd song 
 Will swallow down with eager hearty draught : 
 Relishing truly what thy rhymes convey, 
 And highly praising thy soul-smiting lay. 
 
 The mincing maid her mind will then bewray, 
 Her heart-bloud flaming up into her face, 
 Grave matrons will wax wanton and betray 
 Their unresolv'dnesse in their wonted grace ; 
 
 Young boyes and girls would feel a forward spring, 
 And former youth to eld thou back wouldst bring. 
 
 All Sexes, Ages, Orders, Occupations 
 Would listen to thee with attentive ear, 
 And eas'ly moved with thy sweet perswasions, 
 Thy pipe would follow with full merry chear. 
 While thou thy lively voice didst loud advance 
 Their tickled bloud for joy would inly dance. 
 
 But now, alas ! poore solitarie man ! 
 In lonesome desert thou dost wander wide 
 To seek and serve thy disappearing Pan, 
 Whom no man living in the world hath eyde : 
 f 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 singst to trees 
 To rocks, to Hills, to Caves that senselesse be 
 And mindlesse quite of thy hid mysteries, 
 In the void air thy idle voice is spread, 
 Thy Muse is musick to the deaf or dead. 
 
 Now out alas ! said I, and wele away 
 The tale thou tellest I confesse too true. 
 Fond man so doteth on this living clay 
 His carcase dear, and doth its joyes pursue, 
 That of his precious soul he takes no keep 
 Heavens love and reasons light lie fast asleep. 
 
 This bodies life vain shadow of the soul 
 With full desire they closely do embrace, 
 In fleshly mud like swine they wallow and roll, 
 The loftiest mind is proud but of the face 
 Or outward person ; if men but adore 
 That walking sepulchre, cares for no more. 
 
 This is the measure of mans industry 
 To wexen some body and getten grace 
 To's outward presence ; though true majestie 
 Crown'd with that heavenly light and lively rayes 
 Of holy wisdome and Seraphick love, 
 From his deformed soul he farre remove. 
 
 Slight knowledge and lesse virtue serves his turn 
 For this designe. If he hath trod the ring 
 
 (Of pedling arts ; in usuall pack-horse form 
 Keeping the rode ; O ! then 't's a learned thing. 
 If any chanc'd to write or speak what he 
 Conceives not, 'twere a foul discourtesie. 
 
 To cleanse the soule from sinn, and still diffide 
 Whether our reasons eye be clear enough 
 To intromit true light, that fain would glide 
 Into purg'd hearts, this way's too harsh and rough : 
 Therefore the clearest truths may well seem dark 
 When sloathfull men have eyes so dimme and stark. 
 
 These be our times. But if my minds presage 
 Bear any moment, they can ne're last long, 
 A three branch'd Flame will soon sweep clean the stage 
 Of this old dirty drosse and all wex young. 
 My words into this frozen air I throw 
 Will then grow vocall at that generall thaw. 
 
 Nay, now thou'rt perfect mad, said he, with scorn. 
 
 And full of foul derision quit the place. 
 
 The skie did rattle with his wings ytorn 
 
 Like to rent silk. But I in the mean space 
 Sent after him this message by the wind 
 Be't so I'm mad, yet sure I am thou'rt blind. 
 
 By this the out-stretch'd shadows of the trees 
 Pointed me home-ward, and with one consent 
 Foretold the dayes descent. So straight I rise 
 Gathering my limbs from off the green pavement 
 
 Behind me leaving then the slooping Light. 
 CI. And now let's up, Vesper brings on the Night. 
 
 Fides Fluctuans. 
 
 ODeus aeterno lucis qui absconditus Orbe 
 Humanos fugis aspectus ! da cernere verum, 
 Da magnum spectare diem non mobilis ^Evi. 
 Da contemplari nullius in infera noctis 
 Lapsurum solem. Spissas caliginis umbras 
 Adventu dispelle tuo. Pernicibus alis, 
 Ocyus advolitans, animam tu siste solutam 
 Mobilitate sua ; rapidas quam cursus aquai 
 Deturbat secum atque in casco gurgite condit. 
 Sed tamen ex fluxu hoc rerum miseroque tumultu 
 En ! vultus attollo meos ; tu porrige dextram, 
 Exime ut excelso figam vestigia saxo. 
 O Deus ! O centrum rerum ! te percita motu 
 Arcano circumvolitant cuncta atque requirunt 
 Nequicquam, quoniam seterna te contegis umbra. 
 Attamen insano exerces mea pectora amore, 
 Et suspirantem volupe est tibi ludere mentem 
 Ignibus occultis. Non talibus eestuat /Etna, 
 Intima cum accensas eructet fiamma favillas 
 Pleniiis, & lato spargat sua viscera campo. 
 
 Omnia solicita mecum quae mente revolvi 
 Somnia sunt ? stulteque animi satagentis inane 
 Figmentum ? spes nostra perit radicitiis omnis ? 
 Expectata diu vacuas vita exit in auras ? 
 
 Hei mihi ! quam immensse involvor caligine noctis 
 Subsido, pereo, repeto jam material 
 Infensas tenebras & ahenae vincula mortis. 
 
 Quae me intemperies agitat ! Rescindito ccelos 
 Summe Deum, tantdsque animi componito fluctus. 
 
MINOR POEMS. 
 
 175 
 
 Resolution. 
 
 / 
 A 17 Here's now the objects of thy fears : 
 
 * * Needlesse sighs and fruitlesse tears? 
 
 They be all gone like idle dream 
 
 Suggested from the bodies steam. 
 
 O Cave of horrour black as pitch ! 
 
 Dark Den of Spectres that bewitch 
 
 The weakned phansy sore affright 
 
 With the grim shades of grisely Night. 
 
 What's Plague and Prison? Losse of friends ? 
 
 Warre, Dearth and Death that all things ends ? 
 
 Mere Bug-bears for the childish mind 
 
 Pure Panick terrours of the blind. 
 
 Collect thy soul into one sphear 
 
 Of light and 'bove the earth it rear. 
 
 Those wild scattered thoughts that erst 
 
 Lay losely in the World disperst 
 
 Call in : thy spirit thus knit in one 
 
 Fair lucid orb ; those fears be gone 
 
 Like vain impostures of the Night 
 
 That fly before the Morning bright. 
 
 Then with pure eyes thou shalt behold 
 
 How the first Goodnesse doth infold 
 
 All things in loving tender armes : 
 
 That deemed mischiefs are no harms 
 
 But sovereign salves ; and skilfull cures 
 
 Of greater woes the world endures ; 
 
 That mans stout soul may win a state 
 
 Far rais'd above the reach of fate. 
 
 Then wilt thou say, God rules the World, 
 
 Though mountain over mountain hurl'd 
 
 Be pitch'd amid the foaming Maine 
 
 Which busie winds to wrath constrain. 
 
 His fall doth make the billowes start 
 
 And backwark skip from every part. 
 
 Quite sunk, then over his senselesse side 
 
 The waves in triumph proudly ride. 
 
 Though inward tempests fiercely rock 
 
 The tottering Earth, that with the shock 
 
 High spires and heavie rocks fall down 
 
 With their own weight drove into ground ; 
 
 Though pitchy blasts from Hell up-born 
 
 Stop the outgoings of the Morn, 
 
 And Nature play her fiery games 
 
 In this forc'd Night, with fulgurant flames, 
 
 Baring by fits for more affright 
 
 The pale dead visages, ghastly sight 
 
 Of men astonish'd at the stoure 
 
 Of Heavens great rage, the rattling showers 
 
 Of hail, the hoarse bellowing of thunder 
 
 Their own loud shreeks made mad with wonder : 
 
 All this confusion cannot move 
 
 The purged mind freed from the love 
 
 Of commerce with her body dear 
 
 Cell of sad thoughts, sole spring of fear. 
 
 What ere I feel or heare or see 
 
 Threats but these parts that mortall be. 
 
 Nought can the honest heart dismay 
 Unlesse the love of living clay 
 And long acquaintance with the light 
 Of this Outworld and what to sight 
 Those too officious beams discover 
 Of forms that round about us hover. 
 
 Power, Wisedome, Goodnesse sure did 
 frame 
 This Universe and still guide the same. 
 But thoughts from passions sprung, deceive 
 Vain mortalls. No man can contrive 
 A better course then what's been run 
 Since the first circuit of the Sun. 
 
 He that beholds all from on high 
 Knowes better what to do then I. 
 I'm not mine own, should I repine 
 If he dispose of what's not mine. 
 Purge but thy soul of blind self-will 
 Thou streight shalt see God doth no ill. 
 The world He fills with the bright rayes 
 Of his free goodnesse. He displayes 
 Himself throughout. Like common aire 
 That spirit of life through all doth fare 
 Suck'd in by them as vitall breath 
 That willingly embrace not death. 
 But those that with that living Law 
 Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw ; 
 Mistrust of Gods good providence 
 Doth daily vex their wearied sense. 
 
 Now place me on the Libyan soil, 
 With scorching sun and sands to toil, 
 Far from the view of spring or tree, 
 Where neither man nor house I see. 
 Place me by the fabulous streams 
 Of Hydaspes ; In the Realms 
 Where Caucasus his lofty back 
 Doth raise in wreaths and endlesse tract. 
 Commit me at my next remove 
 To icy Hyperborean yove. 
 Confine me to the A re tick Pole 
 Where the numbd heavens do slowly roll : 
 To lands, where cold raw heavie mist 
 Sols kindly warmth and light resists. 
 Where louring clouds full fraught with snow 
 Do sternly scoul, where winds do blow 
 With bitter blasts, and pierce the skin 
 Forcing the vitall spirits in ; 
 Which leave the body thus ill bested 
 In this chill plight at least half dead : 
 Yet by an Antiperistasis 
 My inward heat more kindled is : 
 And while this flesh her breath expires 
 My spirit shall suck celestiall fires 
 By deep-fetchd sighs and pure devotion. 
 Thus waxen hot with holy motion, 
 At once I'll break forth in a flame ; 
 Above this world and worthlesse fame 
 I'll take my flight, carelesse that men 
 Know not, how, where I die or when. 
 
i 7 6 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Yea ! though the Soul should mortall prove 
 So be Gods life but in me move 
 To my last breath : I'm satisfide 
 A lonesome mortall God t' have dide. 
 
 Devotion. 
 
 GOod God ! when thou thy inward grace dost shower 
 Into my brest, 
 How full of light and lively power 
 Is then my soul ! 
 How am I blest 
 How can I then all difficulties devour ! 
 Thy might 
 Thy spright 
 With ease my combrous enemy controll. 
 
 If thou once turn away thy face and hide 
 Thy chearfull look, 
 My feeble flesh may not abide 
 That dreadfull stound, 
 I cannot brook 
 Thy absence. My heart with care and grief then gride 
 Doth fail, 
 Doth quail, 
 My life steals from me, at that hidden wound. 
 
 My phansie's then a burden to my mind, 
 Mine anxious thought 
 Betrayes my reason, makes me blind : 
 Near dangers drad 
 Make me distraught. 
 Surpriz'd with fear, my senses all I find. 
 In hell 
 I dwell 
 Opprest with horrour, pain and sorrow sad. 
 
 My former Resolutions all are fled, 
 
 Slip't over my tongue, 
 My Faith, my Hope, and Joy, are dead. 
 Assist my heart 
 Rather then my song 
 My God ! my Saviour ! when I'm ill bested 
 Stand by, 
 And I 
 Shall bear with courage, undeserved smart. 
 
 Aphroditas. 
 
 Syncs, hymn. 2 & 3. Macrob. Satumal. 
 lib. 3. cap. 8. 
 
 SUmme Pater ! rerum fixa inconcussaque Sedes ! 
 Omnia qui fulcis mundo non fictus Adonis. 
 Fundamen ccelorum ! immobile Sustentamen 
 Telluris ! magnumque quies secura Deorum ! 
 Omniparens Amor ! In dias tu luminis oras 
 Omnia producis vastus quae continet orbis : 
 Innumera tu prole tua terrasque feraces, 
 Aera que immensum comples camposque natantes. 
 Sasclorum 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 interea charis dum amplecteris ulnis 
 Materno sistisque genu, te cernere contra 
 Vix cupimus, blandosve tuos advertere vultus. 
 Sed veluti lactens infantulus ubera matris 
 Quseritat, & cunctas complet vagitibus asdeis 
 Ni sedet & mollem sibi nudam veste mamillam 
 Exhibet : Hsec igitur properat, ssevumque tyrannum 
 Demulcet dictis, atque oscula dulcia figit. 
 Ille autem non dicta moratur, nee pia matris 
 Oscula, non hilares oculos vultumque serenum 
 Attendit, pulchros neque, amantum rete, capillos. 
 Nulla mora est, qu6 caeca fames vocat, instat, in uber 
 Involat, & niveum sitienti fauce liquorem 
 Haurit, & alterno jactans sua cruscula motu 
 Maternum refricat gremium, dulcedine sensfts 
 Exultans, tenerum succo feriente palatum. 
 Sic nos, magna Parens ! quorum provectior setas, 
 Sic tua sic avidis premimus sacra ubera labris, 
 Sed formam vultumve tuum quis conspicit ? Omneis 
 Cascus amor qu6 tractat & expectata voluptas 
 Auferimur, plenoque una devolvimur alveo. 
 
 Verum ego si possim ! neque enim deprendere possum 
 Divinam speciem ; nimio tua pignora lusu 
 Namque soles lassare & gratam avertere formam. 
 
 At cum conatu longo defessus ocellos 
 Adduco & facilis vineit mea tempora somnus ; 
 Tu tamen interea vigilas & membra sopore 
 Dulci extensa vides & amico lumine mulces. 
 
 Hasc Venus alma ! animus, nebulas, noctemque malig- 
 nant 
 Somniat obfusus, neque enim poti' cernere quicquam est ; 
 Sed furit & caeco rerum perculsus amore 
 Evomit insanum turbato pectore carmen. 
 
 Out of the Anthologie a Distick. 
 
 Ei rb <p4pov ae (pipsi cptpe ko.I <pepov, d 5' ayavaKTeh 
 Kat cravrbv \vir^(is, ko.1 to <j>£pov ae (pepet. 
 
 In English thus : 
 
 WHen the strong Fates with Gigantean force, 
 Bear thee in iron arms without remorse 
 Bear and be born. But if with pievish struggle 
 Thou writhe and wrest thy corse, thou dost but double 
 Thy present pain, and spend thy restlesse spright, 
 Nor thou more heavie art, nor they more light. 
 
 Or thus : 
 If Chance thee change, be chang'd and change thou it 
 To better, by thy well complying wit. 
 
MINOR POEMS. 
 
 177 
 
 If thou repine, thou dost but pain and grieve 
 
 Thy self, and Chance will change thee without leeve. 
 
 Right well I wot, my rhymes seem rudely drest 
 In the nice judgement of thy shallow mind 
 That mark'st expressions more then what's exprest, 
 Busily billing the rough outward rinde, 
 But reaching not the pith. Such surface skill's 
 Unmeet to measure the profounder quill. 
 
 Yea I alas ! my self too often feel 
 
 Thy indispos'dnesse ; when my weakened soul 
 
 Unstedfast, into this Outworld doth reel, 
 
 And lyes immerse in my low vitall mold. 
 
 For then my mind, from th' inward spright estrang'd, 
 My Muse into an uncouth hew hath chang'd. 
 
 A rude confused heap of ashes dead 
 
 My verses seem, when that caslestiall flame 
 
 That sacred spirit of life's extinguished 
 
 In my cold brest. Then gin I rashly blame 
 
 My rugged lines : This word is obsolete ; 
 
 That boldly coynd, a third too oft doth beat 
 
 Mine humourous ears. Thus fondly curious 
 Is the faint Reader, that doth want that fire 
 And inward vigour heavenly furious 
 That made my enrag'd spirit in strong desire 
 Break through such tender cob-web niceties, 
 That oft intangle these blind buzzing flies. 
 
 Possest with living sense I inly rave, 
 Carelesse how outward words do from me flow, 
 So be the image of my mind they have 
 Truly exprest, and do my visage show ; 
 
 As doth each river deckt with Phebus beams 
 
 Fairly reflect the viewer of his streams. 
 
 Who can discern the Moons asperity 
 From of this earth, or could this earths discover 
 If from the earth he raised were on high 
 Among the Starrs and in the sky did hover ? 
 The Hills and Valleyes would together flow 
 And the rough Earth, one smooth-fac'd Round would 
 show. 
 
 Nor can the lofty soul snatch'd into Heven 
 
 Busied above in th' Intellectuall world 
 
 At such a distance see my lines uneven, 
 
 At such a distance was my spirit hurld, 
 
 And to my trembling quill thence did endite, 
 What he from thence must reade, who would read 
 right. 
 
 Fair Fields and rich Enclosures, shady Woods, 
 Large populous Towns, with strong and stately Towers, 
 Long crawling Rivers, far distended Flouds, 
 What ever's great, its shape these eyes of ours 
 And due proportions from high distance see 
 The best ; And Paro ! such my Rhyme's to thee. 
 
 Thy groveling mind and moping poreblind eye, 
 That to move up unmeet, this to see farre, 
 
 19 
 
 The worth or weaknesse never can descry 
 Of my large winged Muse. But not to spare 
 Till thou canst well disprove, proves well enough 
 Thou art rash and rude how ere my rhymes are rough. 
 
 Necessitas Triumphata. 
 
 Seu, 
 
 Humanam voluntatem ad unum necessario 
 
 non dcterminari. 
 
 ODea ! qua? clavum manibus cuneumque superbis 
 Gestas, & stricta liquidi compagine plumbi 
 Cuncta premis, duramque soles imponere legem, 
 Usque adeone tuo indulges, saevissima rerum ! 
 Imperio, astringas tristi tibi ut omnia nodo ? 
 Terra tua est & quos sub verno tempore flores 
 Proruit, & quicquid tenebrosa in viscera condit. 
 Amnes quo tu cunque vocas salsasque lacunae 
 Pergunt, & lati palantia sydera mundi. 
 Aer sub ditione tua est, nimbique ruentes, 
 Quaeque boant rauco metuenda tontitrua caslo. 
 Et nimis angustum si forte hasc omnia regnum 
 Infemas moderare umbras, sedesque silentum, 
 Horrificosque suis ructantem e faucibus aestus 
 Tartaron. His addas brutum genus omne animantum 
 Innumeras pecorum species atque Altivolantum. 
 Mancipium Natura tuum est ; seu tristior ilia 
 Quam Nox ima premit caeca in caligine, sive 
 Quam matutinis radiis fovet ^Etherius 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 e sedibus altis 
 Impugnasse procos animas sentimus, & ipsum 
 Descendisse 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 
 ^Estuet implicitus nodis quos consuit ipse, 
 Et Chrysippeum sudet volvendo cylindrum. 
 
 Exorcismus. 
 
 W Hat's this that in my brest thus grieves and groanes 
 Rives my close-straitned heart, distends my sides 
 With deep fetch'd sighs, while th' other in fell pride 
 Resists and choaks? O hear the dreadfull moanes 
 Of thy dear son, if so him deep I may. 
 If there be any sense 'twixt Eleven and Earth, 
 
1 78 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 If any mutuall feeling sure this birth 
 
 May challenge speed, and break off all delay. 
 
 You Winged people of the unseen sky 
 
 That bear that living Name in your pure brest, 
 
 Chariots of God in whom the Lord of rest 
 
 Doth sit triumphant, can not you espy 
 
 The self same Being in such jeopardy ? 
 
 Make haste make haste if you Gods army been, 
 
 Rescue his son, wreak your revengefull teen 
 
 On his fast holding Enemy. 
 
 Hath Nature onely sympathy ? 
 
 What ? may I deem you self-exulting sprights 
 Lock'd up in your own selves, whose inward life 
 Is self-contenting joy, withouten strife 
 Of doing good and helping wofull wights. 
 Then were you empty carres and not the throne 
 Of that thrice-beautious sun the god of love 
 The Soul of souls and heart of highest Jove, 
 If you to others good were not most prone. 
 
 Open thou Earth ; unclose thou fast-bound ball 
 Of smoring darknesse ! The black jawes of Hell 
 Shall issue forth their dead, that direfull cell 
 Of miscreant Lives that strive still to enthrall, 
 Shall let him go at last, and before all 
 Shall triumph. Then the gladsome Progeny 
 Of the bright Morning star shining on high, 
 
 Shall fill the Round setheriall 
 
 With sound of voices musicall. 
 
 Nor yet this breath's quite spent. Swift flight of wing 
 
 Hath shot my soul from th'hight to th'depth again 
 
 And from the depth to th' height. The glistring Main 
 
 Of flowing light and darknesses curs' d spring 
 
 I've mov'd with sacred words : (the extreme worlds 
 
 In holy rage assaulted with my spell) 
 
 I'll at the middle Movable as well 
 
 As those, and powerfull magick gainst it hurle. 
 
 You waving aires ! and you more boistrous winds ! 
 Dark Zaphons sons, who with your swelling blasts 
 Thrust out the ribs of heaven, and that orepast 
 Leave Nature languid to her wont confind, 
 Suppresse your spright and be at his command 
 Who on the troubled Galilean lake 
 Did wind and storm to him obedient make. 
 Let still serenity the land 
 Inclose about with steddy hand. 
 
 And you heaven-threatening rocks, whose tops be 
 
 crown' d 
 With wreaths of woolly clouds, fall into dust. 
 And thou, O Ida hill ! thy glory must 
 Consume, and thou lye equall with the ground. 
 Ore quick-ey'd Ida I thou which seest the Sun 
 Before day spring ? those Eastern spatterd lights 
 And broad spread shinings purpling the gay Night, 
 And that swoln-glowing ball ; they'll all be gone. 
 You summer neezings when the Sun is set 
 That fill the air with a quick fading fire, 
 Cease from your flashings, and thou Self-desire 
 
 The worst of meteors, curs'd Voraginet ! 
 The wind of God shall rend thee into nought 
 And thou shalt vanish into empty air, 
 Nor shall thy rending out leave any scarre. 
 Thy place shall not be found though sought 
 So perish shall all humane thought. 
 
 Deliquium. 
 
 Vires deficiunt abftque vita. 
 Virtutem revoca, O Deus ! fugacem. 
 O sol justitiae, atque origo vitae ! 
 Vitae, qua reficis tuos alumnos, 
 Inspira, obsecro, spiritum suavem 
 Venis languidulis, me6sque ocellos 
 Lucis vivifica novo vigore, 
 Perculsum saliat novoque amore 
 Pectus, compositas agat choreas 
 Lsetum cor, cupidis prematque in ulnis 
 Quae tu cunque facis, Pater Deorurn ! 
 Immensfque opifex perite mundi ! 
 Cuncta exosculer ambitu benigno & 
 Injectis teneam fovens lacertis. 
 Nam jucunda cluent, cluent amcena 
 Ni nubes animum gravent acerbum 
 Atque urat dolor intimus medullam. 
 
 Ergo magnanimam piamque mentem 
 Sedatam, facilemque, callidamque 
 Concedas quae hominum sciat feratque 
 Mores omnimodos bonos mal6sque. 
 Nee cor concutiant superbiarum 
 Fluctus turgidulum ; furor doldrque 
 Vitae ne obsideant vias misellae 
 Soffoc^ntque 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. 
 
 way.-' 
 
 Insomnium Philosophicum. 
 
 IT was the time when all things quiet lay 
 In silent rest ; and Night her rusty Carre 
 Drawn with black teem had drove above half way.- 
 Her curbed steeds foaming out lavering tarre 
 And finely trampling the soft misty air 
 With proner course toward the West did fare. 
 
 I with the rest of weak mortality 
 
 For natures due relief lay stretch'd on bed. 
 
 My weary body lay out-stretch'd, not I. 
 
 For I, alas ! from that dead corse had fled. 
 Had left that slough, as erst I doft my clothes, 
 For kindly rest that very Evening close. 
 
 Free as in open Heaven more swift then thought 
 In endlesse spaces up and down I flie, 
 Not carryed on wings, or as well taught 
 To row with mine own arms in liquid skie : 
 
MINOR POEMS. 
 
 179 
 
 As oft men do in their deceiving sleep 
 
 Hovering over Waters, Woods, and Valleys steep : 
 
 But born on the actuall efflux of my will 
 
 Without resistence thither easly glide 
 
 Whither my busie mind did breathe untill. 
 
 Ail-suddenly an uncouth sight I spide, 
 Which meanly as I may I will propound 
 To wiser men to weigh with judgement sound. 
 
 Behold a mighty Orb right well compil'd 
 
 And kned together of opacous mould. 
 
 That neither curse of God nor man defil'd, 
 
 Though wicked wights as shall anon be told 
 Did curse the ill condition of the place, 
 And with foul speech this goodly work disgrace. 
 
 But vain complaints may weary the ill tongue 
 And evil speeches the blasphemer stain, 
 But words Gods sacred works can never wrong, 
 Nor wrongfull deeming work dame Natures bane. 
 Who misconceives, conceives but his own ill, 
 Brings forth a falshood, shows his want of skill. 
 
 This globe in all things punctually did seem 
 
 Like to our earth saving in magnitude : 
 
 For it of so great vastnesse was, I ween, 
 
 That if that all the Planets were transmewd 
 Into one Ball, they'd not exceed this Round 
 Nor yet fall short though close together bound. 
 
 At a farre distance from this sphear was pight 
 (More then the journey of ten thousand year 
 An hundred times told over, that swiftest flight 
 Of bird should mete, that distance did appear) 
 There was there pight a massie Orb of light 
 Squall with this dark Orb in bignesse right. 
 
 Half therefore just of this dark Orb was dight 
 
 With goodly glistre and fair golden rayes, 
 
 And ever half was hid in horrid Night. 
 
 A duskish Cylindre through infinite space 
 It did project, which still unmoved staid, 
 Strange sight it was to see so endlesse shade. 
 
 Th' Diametre of that Nocturnall Roll 
 
 Was the right Axis of this opake sphear. 
 
 On which eternally it round did roll. 
 
 In ^Equinoctiall posture 't did appear, 
 So as when Libra weighs out in just weight 
 An equall share to men of Day and Night. 
 
 Thus turning round by turns all came in view 
 What ever did that massie Ball adorn. 
 Hills, Valleys, Woods, themselves did plainly shew, 
 Towns, Towers, and holy Spires to Heaven born, 
 
 Long winding Rivers, and broad foaming Seas. 
 
 Fair Chrystall springs fierce scorching thirst t' ap- 
 pease. 
 
 And all bespread were the huge Mountains green 
 With Fleecy flocks and eke with hairy goats. 
 
 Great fields of Corn and Knee-deep grasse were seen, 
 Swine, Oxen, Horses, Carriages, Sheep-cotes, 
 What ere the Countrey or the walled town 
 Can show with us, the like things there were shown. 
 
 And look what ever that Half-sphear of light 
 Did bear upon it (the Ball turning round) 
 The same into the Hemisphear of Night 
 Were carried. And look what things were found 
 In that dark Hemisphear, were brought anon 
 To th' Hemisphear the light did shine upon. 
 
 For sooth to say, they both make up one Ball. 
 The self same parts now dipt in deepest Night 
 Anon recovered from their former fall 
 Do shine all glorious deckt with gladsome light. 
 
 And oft PANGAION as it turn'd, I red 
 
 In mighty characters decyphered. 
 
 Th' inhabitants of this big swollen sphear 
 
 Were of two kinds, well answering unto 
 
 The diverse nature of each Hemisphear. 
 
 One foul, deform'd, and ghastly sad in show, 
 The other fair and full of lively mirth, 
 These two possest this Universall Farth. 
 
 They both had wings : The foul much like a Bat 
 
 Or forged Fiend and of a pitchy hew, 
 
 And ovall eyes like to a blinking Cat. 
 
 The fair had silver wings all-glistering new 
 With golden feathers set, shap'd like a Doves 
 Or lovely Swans, that in Meander moves. 
 
 In other parts most like to spotlesse man 
 Made out in comely due proportion. 
 Both with their wings uncessantly did fan 
 The agil air, but never light upon 
 
 The moving Orb, but in suspense they hovered. 
 
 Therefore Light these, eternall Night those covered. 
 
 For though the Globe doth move, it moves them not ; 
 
 Passing as water underneath a brig. 
 
 Yet what thus passeth by, they deem their lot, 
 
 Both of their deemed lots together lig, 
 To wit, that Sphear with all its ornaments, 
 Nor yet that sphear them both alike contents. 
 
 For they on the dim side with fell uprore 
 Do hideously houl and Nature blame 
 For her ill works. Enrag'd with fury sore 
 Oft God himself they curse ; blaspheme his Name. 
 And all his creatures, as they passen by 
 In goodly pomp, they view with scornfull eye. 
 
 Instead of hymnes they bold invectives make 
 
 Against the Maker of that Universe. 
 
 My quivering quill, and palsied hand do quake 
 
 Now I recall to mind the wicked verse 
 Which those bad men had fram'd in fell despight, 
 And foul detraction to the God of light. 
 
 And while with hollow howiings they did chaunt 
 That hellish Ode. Ravens more black then pitch 
 
i So 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 And fatall Owles, Dragons, and what so wont 
 
 To do or token mischeif ; every such 
 
 Came flying round about t' encrease the sound, 
 Such sound as would with madnesse man confound. 
 
 When they had made an end of this ill ditty, 
 As execrable thing they would forsake 
 This work of God, and out of dear self-pitty 
 Fly from the creatures, and themselves betake 
 To higher region : but their labour's vain 
 Fly never so high, Night doth them still contain. 
 
 For the projection of that endlesse Roll 
 
 Cast to unmeasured infinity, 
 
 Wearies to death their ill-deceived soul : 
 
 For nought but darknesse and obscurity 
 They finden out by their high tedious flight, 
 But now I'd turn'd me to the land of Light. 
 
 There might I see with lovely pleasant look 
 And mild aspect, the people all things view, 
 Interpreting right what ever seemed crook. 
 Crooked for crook'd is right ; and evil hew 
 
 For evil shaped mind, that fear may breed. 
 
 Good oft doth spring from evil-seeming seed. 
 
 Viewing the works of God they ever smil'd 
 As seeing some resemblance of that face 
 That they so dearly lov'd, that undefil'd 
 And spotlesse beauty, that sweet awfull Grace 
 
 Where Love and Majesty do alway sit 
 
 And with eternall joy the viewer greet. 
 
 Ravisht with heavenly mirth and pure delight 
 
 They sing a sacred song with chearfull voice. 
 
 It kindles holy pleasure within my spright 
 
 As oft I think on that Angelick noise. 
 
 The living Spring of blisse they loudly praise 
 Blesse all His creatures in their pious layes. 
 
 And while the creatures goodnesse they descry 
 From their fair glimps they move themselves up higher 
 Not through contempt or hate they from them fly 
 Nor leave by flying, but while they aspire 
 To reach their fountain, them with sight more clear 
 They see. As newly varnish'd all appear. 
 
 This is the mystery of that mighty Ball 
 
 With different sides. That side where grisly Night 
 
 Doth sit bold men Melatnproncea call, 
 
 The other side Lampropronaa hight, 
 Logos that Orb of light, but Foolishnesse 
 (To speak plane English) the Roll doth expresse. 
 
 These words I read or heard, I know not whether : 
 Or thought, or thought I thought. It was a dream. 
 But yet from dreams wise men sound truth may gather 
 And some ripe scatterings of high knowledge glean. 
 But where, or heavy passions cloud the eyes, 
 Or prejudice, there's nothing can make wise. 
 
 Monocardia. 
 
 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 artus 
 Dulcis, vivida, permeavit omneis, 
 Jucundumque ciet calore sensum 
 Toto corpore spirituque toto. 
 Bellam hie 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 Phcebes, 
 Tu Stellas superas decore cunctas. 
 Nam quis pectora ? quis sinus apertos ? 
 Candorisve tui potest tueri 
 Thesauros niveos eburne6sve ? 
 Quin Luna imbrifera tepentis Austri 
 Nube obscurior, atque sydus omne 
 Sit nigrum magis ac imago noctis 
 Et Hyles tenebris, nives eburque. 
 Quod si orbes hilares amabiWsque 
 Lucentesque tuor faces, amorum 
 Blandas illecebras, rait statim Sol 
 Et lati species perit Diei 
 Submersa in tenebris Meridianis. 
 O princeps Charitum ! Dea O Dearum ! 
 Coeli splendor ! & unica O voluptas 
 Humani generis ! catena nodis 
 Auratis, homines ligans Dedsque ! 
 Te circumvolitant leves Olympi 
 Alati juvenes, tu6sque gressus 
 Sustentant manibus suis tenellos, 
 Et firmant tua crura mollicella, 
 Dulcis cura Deum Veniisque cceli ! 
 O fons lsetitise piique lusus ! 
 O ter pulchra puella ! blanda virgo ! 
 Nostris molliter insidens medullis 
 Ccelest^mque animo fovens amorem 
 In ccetu supertim locas Deorum. 
 
 The Philosophers Devotion. 
 
 Sing aloud His praise rehearse 
 Who hath made the Universe. 
 He the boundlesse Heavens has spread 
 All the vitall orbs has kned ; 
 He that on Olympus high 
 Tends his flocks with watchfull eye. 
 And this eye has multiplide 
 Midst each flock for to reside. 
 Thus as round about they stray 
 Toucheth each with out-stretch'd ray, 
 Nimble they hold on their way, 
 Shaping out their Night and Day. 
 
MINOR POEMS. 
 
 Summer, Winter, Autumne, Spring, 
 
 Life of delight and soul of blisse ! 
 
 Their inclined Axes bring. 
 
 Sure source of lasting happinesse ! 
 
 Never slack they ; none respires, 
 
 Higher then Heaven ! lower then hell 
 
 Dancing round their Centrall fires. 
 
 What is thy tent ? where maist thou dwell ? 
 
 In due order as they move 
 
 My mansion hight humilitie, 
 
 Echo's sweet be gently drove 
 
 Heavens vastest capabilitie. 
 
 Thorough Heavens vast Hollownesse, 
 
 The further it doth downward tend 
 
 Which unto all corners presse : 
 
 The higher up it doth ascend ; 
 
 Musick that the heart of Jove 
 
 If it go down to utmost nought 
 
 Moves to joy and sportfull love ; 
 
 It shall return with that it sought. 
 
 Fills the listning saylers eares 
 
 Lord stretch thy tent in my strait breast, 
 
 Riding on the wandring Sphears. : 
 
 Enlarge it downward, that sure rest 
 
 Neither Speech nor Language is 
 
 May there be pight ; for that pure fire 
 
 Where their voice is not transmisse. 
 
 Wherewith thou wontest to inspire 
 
 God is good, is Wise, is Strong, 
 
 All self-dead souls. My life is gone, 
 
 Witnesse all the creature-throng, 
 
 Sad solitude 's my irksome wonne. 
 
 Is confess'd by every Tongue. 
 
 Cut off from men and all this world 
 
 All things back from whence they sprong, 
 
 In Lethes lonesome ditch I'm hurld. 
 
 As the thankfull Rivers pay 
 
 Nor might nor sight doth ought me move, 
 
 What they borrowed of the Sea. 
 
 Nor do I care to be above. 
 
 Now my self I do resigne, 
 
 O feeble rayes of mentall light ! 
 
 Take me whole I all am thine. 
 
 That best be seen in this dark night, 
 
 Save me, God ! from Self-desire, 
 
 What are you ? what is any strength 
 
 Deaths pit, dark Hells raging fire, 
 
 If it be not laid in one length 
 
 Envy, Hatred, Vengeance, Ire. 
 
 With pride or love ? I nought desire 
 
 Let not Lust my soul bemire. 
 
 But a new life or quite t' expire. 
 
 Quit from these thy praise I'll sing, 
 
 Could I demolish with mine eye 
 
 Loudly sweep the trembling string. 
 
 Strong towers, stop the fleet stars in skie, 
 
 Bear a part, Wisdomes sonnes ! 
 
 Bring down to earth the pale-fac'd Moon, 
 
 Free'd from vain Religions. 
 
 Or turn black midnight to bright Noon : 
 
 Lo ! from farre I you salute, 
 
 Though all things were put in my hand, 
 
 Sweetly warbling on my Lute. 
 
 As parch'd as dry as th' Libyan sand 
 
 Indie, Egypt, Arabie, 
 
 Would be my life if Charity 
 
 Asia, Greece, and Tartarie, 
 
 Were wanting. But Humility 
 
 Carmel-tra.cXs, and lebanon 
 
 Is more then my poore soul durst crave 
 
 With the Mountains of the Moon, 
 
 That lies intombd in lowly grave. 
 
 From whence muddie Nile doth runne 
 
 But if 't were lawfull up to send 
 
 Or where ever else you wonne ; 
 
 My voice to Heaven, this should it rend. 
 
 Breathing in one vitall air, 
 
 Lord thrust me deeper into dust 
 
 One we are though distant farre. 
 
 That thou maist raise me with the just. 
 
 Rise at once let's sacrifice 
 
 
 Odours sweet perfume the skies. 
 See how Heavenly lightning fires 
 
 THE TRIUMPH, 
 
 Hearts inflam'd with high aspires ! 
 
 OR 
 
 All the substance of our souls 
 Up in clouds of Incense rolls. 
 
 A Paraphrase upon the ninth Hymn of 
 
 Leave we nothing to our selves 
 
 Synesius, written in honour of Jesus, 
 
 Save a voice, what need we els ! 
 Or an hand to wear and tire 
 
 the Son of Mary, the Saviour 
 
 On the thankfull Lute or Lyre. 
 
 of the World. 
 
 Sing aloud His praise rehearse 
 
 
 Who hath made the Universe. 
 
 (~\ Lovely Child, with Glory great arraid ! 
 V-y' Sweet Of-spring of the Solymeian Maid ! 
 
 
 Charitie and Humilitie. 
 
 Thee would I sing, and thy renowned Acts : 
 
 
 For thou didst rid the boundlesse flowry tracts 
 
 T7Arre have I clambred in my mind 
 *? But nought so great as love I find : 
 
 Of thy dear Fathers Garden from the spoyles 
 
 Of the false Serpent, and his treacherous toyles : 
 
 Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might 
 
 When thou hadst once descended to this earth 
 
 Are nought compar'd to that good spright. 
 
 A stranger wight 'mongst us of humane birth ; 
 
[82 
 
 MINOR POEMS. 
 
 After some stay new voyage thou didst take 
 
 Crossing cold Lethe and the Stygian Lake, 
 
 Arriv'st at the low fields of Tartara 
 
 There where innumerable flocks do stray 
 
 Of captive souls, whom pale-fac'd Death doth feed 
 
 Forc'd under his stiff Rod, and churlish Reed. 
 
 Streight at thy sight how did that surly Sire 
 
 Old Onus quake, and greedy Dogg retire 
 
 From's usuall watch ! whiles thou from slavish chain 
 
 Whole swarms of souls, to freedome dost regain. 
 
 Then 'ginst thou with thy immortall Quire to praise 
 
 Thy Father, and his strength to Heaven to raise. 
 
 Ascending thus with joy, as thou dost fare 
 
 Through the thin Sky, the Legions of the Aire 
 
 Accursed Fiends, do tremble at thy sight, 
 
 And starry Troops wax pale at thy pure light. 
 
 But ALther master of queint Harmonies 
 
 With smiling look on's Musick doth devise, 
 
 Tunes his seven-corded Harp, more trimly strung ; 
 
 Then strikes up loudly thy Triumphall song. 
 
 Lucifer laughs bright Nuncio of the Day, 
 
 And golden Hesperus, to hear him play. 
 
 The Moon begins a dance, great Queen of Night, 
 
 Her hollow horns fill'd up with flusher light. 
 
 Titan his streaming locks along doth strow 
 
 Under thy sacred feet more soft to go, 
 
 Doth homage to thee as to Gods dear Son, 
 
 And to the Spring whence his own light doth run. 
 
 Then thou, drad Victour ! thy quick wings didst shake 
 
 And suddenly ascend' st above the back 
 
 Of the blew Skie. In th' Intellectuall sphears 
 Dispreadst thy self : Where the still Fount appears 
 Of inexhausted Good, and silent Heaven 
 Smiles without wrinckle, ever constant, even. 
 Unwearied Time this mansion cannot seize 
 Nor Hyles worm, importunate Disease. 
 Here &on wons that cannot wexen old, 
 Though of his years the numbers no'te be told. 
 Youthfull and ag'd at once here doth he live, 
 And to the Gods, unmov'd duration give. 
 
 ' Kiropla. 
 
 OvK^yvwv irbdev dpi 6 SOcrfiopos, ovde tLs ei/j.1, 
 
 *Sl rrjs d<ppoavvT]s, oiidt irrj epxbpevos. 
 'AW ddtivrjs re 76011 re irokvyvapTTTOis oVi'Xec"''. 
 
 Zww, ip.oi.ye SoKel wavraxot e\Kbp.€vos. 
 "Ica iyp-rrybpcrets Kal oveipara, & irdrep, S> Zed, 
 
 'Qs <rep.vbv x W e ' s t&ofiev ev vefaXais. 
 tyetidea, (pai/Taairj, Kevbrrjs, report ffpar' , dvdyKTj, 
 
 TdXXa p.ev ayvdxras tov filov ol'Sa fibvov. 
 
 Eu7ropta. 
 
 Otipavbdev 7^701'a irpodop&v, 0eoO tififiporos afcris, 
 
 K', cD rrjs ev<ppoauvris, irpbs 6ebv elpi wd\iv. 
 NOv Be t Zpus fie irripoici debaavros e^vwepeldet, 
 
 Zw 5' eir' dXydelg., irdvroTe repirbp-evos. 
 Ni)£ dwifiri piv 8vap re. Hdrep OeoSepKeos atry-ijs. 
 
 'A'tbwv x T/^Ss dp,<pu<d\v\l/e <pdos. 
 Ulcrris Kal o~o<pirj, debris, X a P&> ^Trrepos dXicr), 
 
 Taura fa% o.8t]s rfiXXa Kal ovSevia. 
 
III.-DIVINE HYMNS 
 
NOT E. 
 
 On these 'Divine Hymns' see our Memorial-Introduction. — G. 
 
DIVINE HYMNS. 
 
 AN HYMN 
 Upon the Nativity of CHRIST. 
 
 HE Holy Son of God most high, 1 
 For Love of Adam's lapsed Race, 
 Quit the sweet Pleasure of the Sky, 
 To bring us to that happy Place. 
 
 His Robes of Light he laid aside, 
 
 Which did his Majesty adorn, 
 And the frail State of Mortals try'd, 
 
 In human Flesh and Figure born. 
 
 Down from above this Day-Star slid, 
 Himself in living Earth t' entomb, 
 
 And all his heav'nly Glory hid 
 In a pure lowly Virgin's Womb. 
 
 Whole Quires of Angels loudly sing 
 The Mystery of his sacred Birth, 
 
 And the blest News to Shepherds bring, 
 Filling their watchful Souls with Mirth. 
 
 The Son of God thus Man became, 2 
 That Men the Sons of God might be, 
 
 And by their second Birth regain 
 A likeness to his Deity. 
 
 Lord, give us humble and. pure Minds, 
 And fill us with thy heav'nly Love, 
 
 That Christ thus in our Hearts enshrin'd 
 We all may be born from above. 
 
 And being thus regenerate, 
 
 Into a Life and Sense divine 
 We all Ungodliness may hate, 
 
 And to thy living Word encline. 
 
 That nourish'd by that heav'nly Food, 
 To manly stature we may grow, 
 
 And stedfastly pursue what's good, 
 That all our high Descent may know. 
 
 Grant we, thy Seed, may never yield 
 Our Souls to soil with any Blot, 
 
 But still stand Conqu'rors in the Field, 
 To shew his Pow'r who us begot. 
 
 That after this our Warfare's done, 
 And Travails of a toilsom Stage, 
 
 We may in Heav'n, with Christ thy Son, 
 Enjoy our promis'd Heritage. Amen. 
 
 AN HYMN 
 Upon the Passion of CHRIST. 
 
 *~p HE faithful Shepherd from on high.i 
 -»■ Came down to seek his strayed Sheep, 
 Which in this earthly Dale did lie, 
 Of Grief and Death the Region deep. 
 Those Glories and those Joys above 
 'Twas much to quit for Sinners sake : 
 But yet behold far greater Love, 
 Such Pains and Toils to undertake. 
 
 An abject Life, which all despise, 
 The Lord of Glory underwent, 
 And with the Wicked's worldly guize 
 His righteous Soul for Grief was rent. 
 His Innocence Contempt attends, 
 His Wisdom and his Wonders great ; 
 Envy on these her Poison spends, 
 And Pharisaick Rage their Threats. 
 
 At last their Malice boil'd so high 
 As Witnesses false to suborn, 
 The Lord of Life to cause to die, 
 His Body first with Scourges torn. 
 With royal Robes in scorn th' him dight, 
 And with a Wreath of Thorns him crown : 
 A Scepter-Reed in farther spight, 
 They add unto his Purple Gown. 
 
 Then scoffingly they bend the Knee, 
 And spit upon his sacred Face ; 
 And after hang him on a Tree 
 Betwixt two Thieves, for more Disgrace. 
 With Nails they pierc'd his Hands and Feet, 
 The Blood thence trickled to the Ground : 
 The Pangs of Death his Countenance sweet 
 And lovely Eyes with Night confound. 
 
 Thus laden with our Weight of Sin, 
 This spotless Lamb himself bemoans, 
 
 1 The Historical Narration. 
 
 2 The Application to the Improvement of Life. 
 
 ] The Historical Narration. 
 
 19 
 
 2 A 
 
1 86 
 
 DIVINE HYMNS. 
 
 And while for us he Life doth win, 
 
 Quits his own Breath with deep-fetch'd Groans. 
 
 Affrighted Nature shrinketh back, 
 
 To see so direful dismal sight ; 
 
 The Earth doth quake, the Mountains crack 
 
 Th' abashed Sun withdraws his Light. 
 
 Then can we, Men, so senseless be, 1 
 
 As not to melt in flowing Tears, 
 
 Who Cause were of his Agony, 
 
 Who suffered thus to cease our Fears : 
 
 To reconcile us to our God 
 
 By this his precious Sacrifice, 
 
 And shield us from his wrathful Rod, 
 
 Wherewith he Sinners doth chastise ? 
 
 O wicked Sin to be abhorr'd, 
 
 That God's own Son thus forc'd to die ! 
 
 O Love profound to be ador'd ; 
 
 That found so potent Remedy ! 
 
 O Love more strong than Pain and Death, 
 
 To be repaid by nought but Love, 
 
 Whereby we vow our Life and Breath 
 
 Entire to serve our God above ! 
 
 For who for shame durst now complain 
 Of dolorous dying unto Sin, 
 While he recounts the hideous Pain ; 
 His Saviour felt our Souls to win ? 
 Or who can harbour Anger fell, 
 Envy, revengeful Spight or Hate, 
 If he but once consider well 
 Our Saviour lov'd at such a rate ? 
 
 Wherefore, Lord, since thy Son most just, 
 His natural Life for us did spill ; 
 Grant we our sinful Lives and Lusts 
 May sacrifice unto his Will. 
 That to our selves we being dead 
 Henceforth to him may wholly live, 
 Who us to free from Danger's dread. 
 Himself a Sacrifice did give. 
 
 Grant that the Sense of so great Love 
 
 Our Souls to him may firmly tie, 
 
 And forcibly us all may move 
 
 To live in mutual Amity. 
 
 That no pretence to Hate or Strife 
 
 May rise from any Injury, 
 
 Since thy dear Son, the Lord of Life, 
 
 For Love of us (when Foes) did die. 
 
 AN HYMN 
 Upon the Resurrection of CHRIST. 
 
 'Ho's this we see from Edom come,' 1 
 
 w 
 
 With bloody Robes from Bosrah Town 
 He whom false Jews to Death did doom, 
 And Heav'n's fierce Anger had cast down. 
 
 1 The Application to the Improvement of Life. 
 - The Historical Narration. 
 
 His righteous Soul alone was fain 
 
 The Wine-press of God's Wrath to tread, ■ 
 
 And all his Garments to distain, 
 
 And sprinkled Cloaths to die blood-red. 
 
 'Gainst Hell and Death he stoutly fought, 
 Who captive held him for three Days : 
 But straight he his own Freedom wrought, 
 And from the Dead himself did raise. 
 
 The brazen Gates of Death he brake, 
 Triumphing over Sin and Hell, 
 And made th' Infernal Kingdoms quake, 
 With all that in those Shades do dwell. 
 
 His murthered Body he resum'd 
 Maugre the Grave's close Grasp and Strife, 
 And all these Regions thence perfum'd 
 With the sweet Hopes of lasting Life. 
 
 O mighty Son of God most high, 2 
 
 That conquer'dst thus Hell, Death and Sin. 
 
 Give us a glorious Victory 
 
 Over our deadly Sins to win. 
 
 Go on, and Edom' 3 still subdue, 
 And quite cut off his wicked Race ; 
 And raise in us thine Image true, 
 Which sinfull Edom* doth deface. 
 
 Teach us our Lusts to mortifie, 
 In virtue of thy precious Death : 
 That while to Sin all dead we lie. 
 Thou mayst infuse thy heav'nly Breath. 
 
 To Righteousness our Spirits raise, 
 And quick'n us with thy Life and Love ; 
 That we may walk here to thy Praise, 
 And after live in Heav'n above. 
 
 Grant we in Glory may appear, 
 Clad with our Resurrection Vest, 
 When thou shalt lead thy Flock most dear 
 Up to the Mansions of the Blest. 
 
 AN HYMN 
 Upon CHRIST S Ascension. 
 
 GOD is ascended up on high 5 
 With merry noise of Trumpet's sound, 
 And princely seated in the Sky, 
 Rules over all the World around. 
 
 The Tabernacle did of old 
 
 His Presence to the Jews restrain : 
 
 i Isa. 63. 3. 
 
 2 The Application to the Improvement of Life. 
 
 3 'O yijlVos 'E6ul/J., Phil. Jud. Flesh and Blood in the moral 
 Sense. 
 
 •1 The old Adam, Rom. 6. 6. 
 "'The Historical Narration. 
 
DIVINE HYMNS. 
 
 187 
 
 But after in our Flesh enfold, 
 A larger Empire he did gain. 
 
 For suffering in human Flesh 
 For all, he rich Redemption wrought, 
 And will with lasting Life refresh 
 His Heritage so dearly bought. 
 
 Sing Praises then, sing Praises loud 
 Unto our Universal King : 
 He who ascended on a Cloud, 1 
 To him all Laud and Praises sing. 
 
 Captivity he Captive led, 
 Triumphing o're the Powers of Hell, 
 And struck their Eyes with Glory dread 
 Who in the airy Regions dwell. 
 
 In human Flesh and Shape he went, 
 Adorned with his Passion Scars ; 
 Which in Heaven's sight he did present 
 More glorious than the glittering Stars. 
 
 O happy Pledge of Pardon sure, 2 
 And of an endless blisful State, 
 Since human Nature once made pure 
 For Heaven becomes so fit a Mate ! 
 
 Lord raise our sinking Minds therefore 
 Up to our proper Country dear, 
 And purine us evermore, 
 To fit us for those Regions clear. 
 
 Let our Converse be still above, 
 Where Christ at thy right Hand doth sit ; 
 And quench in us all worldly Love, 
 That with thy self our Souls may knit. 
 
 Make us all earthly things despise, 
 And freely part with this World's good, 
 That we may win that heav'nly Prize 
 Which Christ has purchas'd with his Blood. 
 
 That when he shall return again 
 In Clouds of Glory 3 as he went, 
 Our Souls no foulness may retain, 
 But be found pure and innocent. 
 
 And so may mount to his bright Hosts 
 On Eagles Wings up to the Sky, 
 And be conducted to the Coasts 
 Of everlasting Bliss and Joy. 
 
 AN HYMN 
 Upoti the Descent of the Holy GJwst at 
 the Day of Pentecost. 
 
 WHEN Christ his Body up had born * 
 To Heav'n, from his Disciples sight. 
 Then they like Orphans all forlorn 
 Spent their sad Days in mournful plight. 
 
 1 Acts 1. 9. 
 
 2 The Application to the Improvement of Life. 
 
 3 Acts 1. 11. ■* The Narration. 
 
 But he ascended up on high, 
 More sacred Gifts for to receive 
 And freely show'r them from the Sky 
 On those which he behind did leave. 
 
 He for the Presence of his Flesh 
 To them the Holy Spirit imparts, 
 And doth with living Springs refresh 
 Their thirsty Souls and fainting Hearts. 
 
 While with one Mind, and in one Place 
 Devoutly they themselves retire, 
 In rushing Wind the promis'd Grace 
 Descends, and cloven Tongues of Fire. 
 
 The House th' Almighty's Spirit fills. 
 Which doth the feeble Fabrick shake ; 
 But on their Tongue such Power instils,' 
 That makes the amazed Hearer quake, 
 The Spirit of holy Zeal and Love, 2 
 And of discerning, give us, Lord ; 
 The Spirit of Power from above, 
 Of Unity and good Accord : 
 
 The Spirit of convincing Speech, 
 Such as will every Conscience smite, 
 And to the Heart of each Man reach, 3 
 And Sin and Error put to flight : 
 
 The Spirit of refining Fire, 
 Searching the inmost of the Mind, 
 To purge all foul and fell Desire, 
 And kindle Life more pure and kind. 
 
 The Spirit of Faith in this thy Day 
 Of Power against the force of Sin, 
 That through this Faith we ever may 
 Against our Lusts the Conquests win. 
 
 Pour down thy Spirit of inward Life, 
 Which in our Hearts thy Laws may write, 
 That without any Pain or Strife 
 We naturally may do what's right. 
 
 On all the Earth thy Spirit pour, 
 
 In Righteousness it to renew : 
 
 That Satan's Kingdom 'tmay o'repow'r, 
 
 And to Christ's Sceptre may subdue. 
 
 Like mighty Wind or Torrent fierce, 
 Let it Withstanders all o' rerun, 
 And every wicked Law reverse, 
 That Faith and Love may make all one. 
 
 Let Peace and Joy in each place spring, 
 And Righteousness, the Spirit's Fruits, 
 With Meekness, Friendship, and each thing 
 That with the Christian Spirit suits. 
 
 Grant this, O holy God and true. 
 Who th' ancient Prophets did inspire : 
 Haste to perform thy Promise due, 
 As all thy Servants thee desire. 
 
 ' Acts 2. 
 
 2 The Application. 
 
 8 Acts 2. 37 
 
1 88 
 
 DIVINE HYMNS. 
 
 AN HYMN 
 Upon the Creation of the World. 
 
 WHEN God the first Foundations laid 1 
 Of the well-framed Universe, 
 And through the darksome Chaos ray'd ; 
 The Angels did his Praise rehearse. 
 
 The Sons of God then sweetly sung, 2 
 At first Appearance of his Light, 
 When the Creation-Morning sprung 
 To deck the World with Beauty bright. 
 
 Within six Days he finish'd all 
 Whate're Heaven, Earth, or Sea contain, 
 And sanctify'd the seventh withal, 
 To celebrate his Holy Name. 
 
 Then with the Sons of God let's sing 
 Our bountiful Creator's Praise, 
 Who out of nothing all did bring, 
 And by his Word the World did raise. 
 
 O holy God, how wonderful 
 
 Art thou in all thy Works of might, 
 
 Astonishing our Senses dull 
 
 With what thou daily bring'st in sight. 
 
 The fit Returns of Night and Day, 
 The grateful Seasons of the Year, 
 Which constantly Man's Pains repay, 
 With wholsome Fruit his Heart to chear : 
 
 The Shape and Number of the Stars, 
 The Moon's set Course thou dost define, 
 And Matter's wild distracting Jars 
 Composest by thy Word divine. 
 
 The Parts of th' Earth thou holdest close 
 Together by this sweet Constraint : 
 Thou round'st the Drops that do disclose 
 The Rainbow in his glorious Paint. 
 
 The Clouds drop Fatness on the Earth, 
 Thou mak'st the Grass and Flow'rs to spring : 
 Thou cloath'st the Woods, wherein with Mirth 
 The chearful Birds do sit and sing. 
 
 Thou fill'st the Fields with Beasts and Sheep, 
 Thy Rivers run along the Plains : 
 With scaly Fish thou stor'st the Deep, 
 Thy Bounty all the World maintains. 
 
 All these and all things else th' hast made 3 
 Subject to Man by thy Decree ; 
 That thou by Man might'st be obey'd 
 As duly subject unto thee. 
 
 Wherefore, O Lord, in us create 
 Clean Hearts, and a right Spirit renew : 
 That we regaining that just State, 
 May ever pay thee what is due. 
 
 That as we wholly from thee are, 
 Both Gifts of Mind and Body's Frame ; 
 So by them both we may declare 
 The Glory of thy Holy Name. 
 
 1 The Narration. 
 
 2 Job 38. 7. 
 
 3 The Application. 
 
 AN HYMN 
 Upon the Redemption of the World through 
 CHRIST in his Reintroduction of the 
 New Creature. 
 
 THE Lord both Heaven and Earth hath made, 1 
 His Word did all things frame, 
 And Laws to every Creature gave, 
 
 Who still observe the same. 
 The faithful Sun doth still return 
 
 The Seasons of the Year, 
 And at just times the various Moon 
 Now round, now horn'd appears. 
 
 The Plants retain their Virtue still, 
 
 Their Verdure and their Form : 
 Nor do the Birds or Beasts their Guize 
 
 Once Change, or Shape transform. 
 'Tis only Man, alas ! that brake 
 
 Betimes thy sacred Law, 
 And from that Image heav'nly, pure, 
 
 To beastly Shape did grow. 
 
 He headstrong left thy holy Will, 
 
 His own Lusts to pursue ; 
 Whence the true Manly Form did fail 
 
 And Brutishness ensue. 
 But thou, O God, who by thy Word 
 
 Didst frame all things of Nought, 
 By the same Word made Flesh, for Man 
 
 Hast rich Redemption wrought. 
 
 Thy choice Creation-piece thus marr'd, 
 
 Thou dost again create, 
 And by th' incarnate Word restor'st 
 
 Unto his pristine State. 
 The Glory of which Work raying forth, 
 
 Whiles Christ from Death doth rise, 
 These two Creations, one Seventh Day 
 
 By right doth solemnize. 
 
 God, who commanded first the Light i 
 
 Out of the Dark to shine, 
 Enliven and enlight our Hearts 
 
 By his pure Word Divine : 
 That when this New-creation Work 
 
 In us is finish'd clear, 
 The bright and glorious Face of Christ 
 
 May in our Souls appear. 
 
 That we thus once redeem'd from Sin, 
 
 From our own Works may cease, 3 
 And rest in God's eternal Love, 
 
 The Spirit's Joy and Peace ; 
 And quit from this Earth's Toil, at last 
 
 May sing among the Blest 
 In that long-lasting Sabbath-day, 
 
 That Jubilee of Rest. 
 
 Amen. 
 FINIS. 
 
 1 The Narration. 
 3 Heb. 4. 10. 
 
 2 The Application. 2 Cor. 4. 6. 
 
•>.>->.>.■>.>•■>■♦->•>-■>->-•>■■>-•>-■>->->-•>■>->- 
 
 IV.-FROM PROSE WORKS 
 
 -<-"-<•■ «<"<•-<•*<■*<•-<■-<■-<•«<■-<•«<■ -<■-<•-<■-<•-<•-<•-<■-* 
 
FROM PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Some VERSES taken out of the Author's 
 Philofophical Writings. 
 
 In the Antidote against Atheism, Book 3.. 
 Ch. 4. 
 
 LIKE to a Light fast lock'd in Lanthorri dark. 
 Whereby, by Night, our wary Steps we guide 
 In slabby streets, and dirty Channels mark, 
 Some weaker rayes through the black top do glide. 
 And flusher streames perhaps from horny side : 
 But when we've past the peril of the way, 
 Arriv'd at home, and laid that case aside, 
 The naked light, how clearly doth it ray, 
 And spread its joyful beams as bright as Summers day. 
 
 Even so the Soul, in this contracted state, 
 Confin'd to these strait instruments of Sense, 
 More dull and narrowly doth operate : 
 At this hole hears, the Sight must ray from thence ; 
 Here tasts, there smells : But when she's gone from 
 
 hence, 
 Like naked lamp, she is one shining sphear, 
 And round about has perfect cognoscence 
 Whate're in her Horizon doth appear ; 
 She is one Orb of Sense, all Eye, all airy Ear. 
 
 In the defence of the Moral Cabbala, 
 Chap. 3. 
 
 A harder lesson to learn continence 
 In joyous pleasure than in grievous pain : 
 For sweetness doth allure the weaker sense 
 So strongly, that uneathes it can refrain 
 From that which feeble Nature covets fain ; 
 But grief and wrath that be our enemies, 
 And foes of life she better can restrain ; 
 Yet Vertue vaunts in both her Victories, 
 And Guyo?i in them all shews goodly Masteries. 
 
 IN THE DIVINE DIALOGUES. 
 
 The Song of Hylobaris concerning Divine 
 Providence, Dialog. 2. Sect. 28. 
 
 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 horrour, black as pitch ! 
 Dark Den of Spectres that bewitch 
 The weakned phansy sore affright 
 With the grim shades of grisely Night. 
 What's Plague and Prison ? Loss of friends ? 
 War, Dearth and Death, that all things ends ? 
 Mear Bug-bears for the childish mind, 
 Pure Panick terrours of the blind. 
 
 Collect thy Soul into one sphear 
 Of light, and 'bove the Earth it rear. 
 Those wild scattered thoughts that erst 
 Lay loosely in the World disperst 
 Call in : thy Spirit thus knit in one 
 Fair lucid orb ; those fears be gone 
 Like vain impostures of the Night 
 That fly before the Morning bright. 
 Then with pure Eyes thou shalt behold 
 How the first Goodness doth infold 
 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 rais'd above the reach of fate. 
 
 Power, Wisdom, Goodness sure did frame 
 This Universe, and still guide the same. 
 But thoughts from passions sprung, deceive 
 Vain Mortals. No man can contrive 
 A better course then what's been run 
 Since the first circuit of the Sun. 
 
 He that beholds all from on high 
 Knows better what to do than I, 
 I'm not my own, should I repine 
 If he dispose of what's not mine. 
 Purge but thy Soul of blind self-will. 
 Thou streight shalt see God doth no ill. 
 The World he fills with the bright rayes 
 Of his free Goodness. He displays 
 Himself throughout. Like common air, 
 That Spirit of life through all doth fart. 
 Suck'd in by them as vital breath, 
 That willingly embrace not death. 
 
l 9 2 
 
 FROM PROSE WORKS. 
 
 But those that with that living Law- 
 Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw ; 
 Mistrust of God*s good Providence 
 Doth daily vex their wearied sense. 
 
 The Song of Bathynous, Dialog. 3. 
 Sect. 37. 
 
 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 wachful eye, 
 And this eye has multiply'd 
 Midst each Flock for to reside. 
 Thus as round about they stray 
 Toucheth each with out-stretch'd 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 
 Echos sweet be gently drove 
 Thorough Heavens vast Hollowness, 
 Which unto all corners press : 
 Musick that the heart of Jove 
 Moves to joy and sportful love ; 
 Fills the listning Saylors ears 
 Riding on the wandring Sphears. 
 Neither Speech nor Language is 
 Where their voice is not transmiss. 
 God is Good, is Wise, is Strong, 
 Witness all the creature-throng, 
 Is confess' d by every Tongue. 
 All things back from whence they sprung, 
 As the thankful Rivers pay 
 What they borrowed of the Sea. 
 
 Now my self 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 Wisdom's sonnes ! 
 
 Free'd from vain Religions. 
 
 Lo ! from far I you salute, 
 
 Sweetly warbling on my Lute, 
 
 Indie, Egypt, Arabie, 
 
 Asia, Greece, and Tartarie, 
 
 Carmel-X.x2x.Xs, and Lebanon, 
 
 With the Mountains of the Moon, 
 
 From whence muddy A r ile doth run, 
 
 Or where ever else you wonne 
 
 Breathing in one vital air, 
 
 One we are, though distant far. 
 
 Rise at once let's sacrifice, 
 Odours sweet perfume the skies. 
 See how Heavenly lightning fires 
 Hearts inflam'd with high Aspires ! 
 All the substance of our Souls 
 Up in clouds of Incense rolls. 
 Leave we nothing to our selves 
 Save a voice, what need we else ! 
 Or an hand to wear and tire 
 On the thankful Lute or Lyre. 
 
 Sing aloud His praise rehearse 
 Who hath made the Universe. 
 
 The Song of Sophron sung by Bathinous, 
 Dialog. 4. Sect. 39. 
 
 Great and marvellous are 
 
 Thy works, Lord God of Might ; 
 
 Thou Sovereign of Saints, 
 
 Thy ways are just and right. 
 Who shall not fear thee, Lord, 
 
 And glorifie thy Name ? 
 
 Thou only Holy art ; 
 
 Thine Acts no tongue can stain. 
 All Nations shall adore 
 
 Thy Judgments manifest, 
 
 Thy holy Name implore, 
 
 And in thy Truth shall rest. 
 
 * The Song of Philotheus, Dialog. 5. 
 Sect. 41. 
 
 Thou who art enthron'd above, 
 Thou by whom we live and move, 
 O how sweet ! how excellent 
 Is't with Tongue and Heart's consent, 
 Thankful Hearts and joyful Tongues, 
 To renown thy Name in Songs : 
 When the Morning paints the Skies. 
 When the sparkling Stars arise, 
 Thy high Favours to reherse, 
 Thy firm Faith in gratful verse ! 
 Take the Lute and Violin, 
 Let the solemn Harp begin, 
 Instruments strung with ten strings, 
 While the silver Cymbal rings. 
 From thy Works my Joy proceeds : 
 How I triumph in thy Deeds ! 
 Who thy Wonders can express? 
 All thy Thoughts are fathomless, 
 Hid from men in Knowledge blind, 
 Hid from Fools to Vice inclin'd. 
 Tell mankind Jehovah reigns ; 
 He shall bind the World in chains, 
 So as it shall never slide, 
 And with sacred Justice guide. 
 Let the smiling Heavens rejoice. 
 Joyful Earth exalt her voice : 
 Let the dancing Billows roar, 
 Echos answer from the shoar, 
 
FROM PROSE WORKS. 
 
 '93 
 
 Fields their flowry mantles shake : 
 All shall in their Joy partake ; 
 While the Wood-Musicians sing 
 To the ever-youthful Spring. 
 
 Fill his Courts with sacred Mirth. 
 He, He comes to judge the Earth. 
 Justly He the World shall sway, 
 And His Truth to men display. 
 
 C A R M I N A 
 
 Quasdam in Scriptis Philosophicis Anglice occurrentia. 
 
 IN DIVINIS DIALOGIS 
 
 Hylobaris Cantilena de Divina Providentia, 
 Dialog. 2. Sect. 28. 
 
 BI nunc objecta tui sunt 
 Lucius Gemitusque Metusque ? 
 Abifire ut somnia vana 
 E fumis corporis orta. 
 
 Piceum 6 Formidinis antrum ! 
 
 Lemurum tenebrosa Caverna ! 
 
 Animam quae Noctis amarae 
 
 Tetris perterritat Umbris. 
 
 Quid Pestis? Career? Amicum 
 
 Jactura, ac Bella Fam^sque 
 
 Quid Mors quae cuncta resorbet ? 
 
 Nil sunt nisi Mormolyceea 
 
 Mentis ratione carentis, 
 
 Caecorum & Panicus horror. 
 Unum te collige in Orbem 
 
 Lucis, terramque relinque, 
 
 Animae vaga sensa coerce 
 
 Latum peragrantia mundum ; 
 
 Sphaeram sic mens tua in unam 
 
 Lucentem pacta, Timores 
 
 (Ut Noctis inania Spectra 
 
 Surgens Aurora) fugabit. 
 Clare tunc cernere possis 
 
 Teneris ut cuncta lacertis 
 
 Bonitas complectitur alma, 
 
 Quddque haec non sunt mala vera, 
 
 Mala quae vulgd esse putantur, 
 
 Verum opportuna medela ac 
 
 Majorum cura malorum ; 
 
 Anima ut mortalia cuncta 
 
 Sublimi transvolet alA ; 
 
 Talem repetatque statum quo 
 
 Pedibus Fata omnia calcet. 
 Vis cert6 secula Mundi 
 
 Quaedam Divina creavit, 
 
 SapienteYque atque benigne 
 
 Etiamnum cuncta gubernat : 
 
 Sed nostra Inscitia casus 
 
 Temere causatur iniquos, 
 
 Cum nemo fingere possit 
 
 Meliori tramite cursum 
 
 19 
 
 Primo quam qui extitit usque 
 Decurso Solis ab Orbe. 
 
 Summi de vertice Coeli 
 Qui conspicit omnia, novit 
 Melius quam ego quid sit agendum. 
 Nee, ciim meus ipse ego non sim, 
 Mea si forte ille reposcit, 
 JEgri id reputo esse ferendum. 
 
 Caecis tua pectora curis 
 Propriaque cupidine purga, 
 Mala nulla Deo esse profecta 
 Clara tunc luce videbis. 
 Totum rutilantibus Orbem 
 Radiis Bonitatis hie implet, 
 Sesdque per omnia fundit. 
 Cuncta hie, seu Lumen & Aura, 
 Pertransit Spiritus, illis 
 Vitalis ut Halitus haustus, 
 Sibi queis non turpiter ultrd 
 Volupe est consciscere mortem. 
 
 Verum quos occupat hujus 
 Viva Ignorantia Legis, 
 Hos semper solicitudo 
 Rerum de casibus angit, 
 Miseris perplexaque rodunt 
 Tristes praecordia Curae. 
 
 Bathynoi Cantilena , Dialog. 3. Sect. 37. 
 
 Clare hujus pangite laudes 
 Mundum qui condidit altum, 
 Ccelos sine fine tetendit, 
 Vivdsque hie pinsuit Orbes. 
 Hie celsi in vertice Olympi 
 Oculo vigili agmina pascit ; 
 Oculumque hunc multiplicavit, 
 Medio ut qu6que agmine praesit. 
 Radio sic singula recto 
 Circumcurrentia tangit. 
 Agili motu ilia rotata 
 Formant Noctdmque Di^mque 
 sEstas, Autumnus, Hyimsque 
 Prono horum inducitur Axe. 
 Nunquam circa Ignea Centra 
 Cessant agitare Choreas. 
 Dum pulchro hoc ordine pergunt, 
 
 2 B 
 
194 
 
 FROM PROSE WORKS. 
 
 Jucundam motibus Echo 
 Vasti per inania Cceli 
 Penetrantem molliter urgent. 
 Melos ! quod Jovis imum 
 Laeto cor mulcet amore, 
 Vagulis delinit & aures 
 In sphaeris velificantum. 
 Nbn sermo, Lingua nee ulla, 
 Quo vox non ivit eorum. 
 
 Deus est saptensque Boniisque 
 Testatur tota creata 
 Vis, Linguaque quaeque fatetur. 
 Unde orta, hunc cuncta recurrent, 
 Ut grata flumina, Ponto, 
 Hinc quod sumpsere, rependunt. 
 Totum nunc me, ecce, resigno, 
 Tuus omnis sum, accipe me omnem. 
 Propria Deus eripe flamma, 
 Vera haec Mors, vera Gehenna. 
 Odium atrox, Livor & Ira 
 Gravis & Vindicta facessat, 
 Pia nee prsecordia tentet 
 Quaevis male sana Cupido. 
 
 Liber, tua facta canendo, 
 Tremulus tunc pectine chordas 
 Feriam ictu vividiori. 
 
 O proles sancta Sophies 
 Vanas qui Relligiones 
 Rite excussistis, adeste, 
 Cantusque adjungite vestros. 
 Vos de procul, ecce, saluto 
 Cithara mihi dulce vibrissans. 
 
 Seu vos ^Sgyptia Tellus, 
 Seu Graeca, Asiatica, sive 
 Juga Carmeli Libanive, 
 MonUsve cacumina Luna, 
 (Pinguis nivea ubera Nili) 
 Aliusve locus teneat, Nos 
 Omnes sumus unus & idem, 
 Quamquam loca dissita habemus, 
 Dum omnes communiter una 
 Vitali vescimur Aura.. 
 
 Una vice surgite, sacra 
 Una faciamus, odores 
 Tingant suavi ^Lthera fumo. 
 O, quam bene molliter urit 
 Ccelestis fulgetra mentem 
 Mysteria ad ardua anhelam ! 
 Substantia tota Anima ! 
 In nubes Thuris odoras 
 Ccelum scandit resoluta : 
 
 Scandat cceldsque ita tota, 
 Nostri ut pars nulla supersit 
 Praeter vocemve manumve 
 (Neq; enim his est pluribus usus) 
 Opera quas porro teramus 
 Gratae Citharasve Lyraeve. 
 
 Clare hujus pangite laudes 
 Mundum qui condidit altum. 
 
 Sophronis Cantilena a Bathynoo cantata, 
 Dialog. 4. Sect. 39. 
 
 O Deus omnipotens ! equidem magna atque stupenda 
 
 Tua sunt opera edita Mundo. 
 Est ratidque viarum justa ac vera tuarum, 
 
 Sanctorum 6 inclyte Princeps ! 
 Quis poterit quin te timeat, Domine, atque verendum 
 
 Submisse' nomen honoret ? 
 Quippe quod es sanctus solus, tuaque omnia Facta 
 
 Puro candore renident ; 
 Omnis adoratum veniet Gens quum innotuere 
 
 Tua Judicia asqua per Orbem : 
 Vota tibi sancte' facient, & lumine cuncti 
 Sub Evangelico requiescent. 
 
 Cantilena Philothei, 
 Dialog. 5. Sect. 41. 
 
 O tu quern in sede superna 
 Residentem gloria cingit, 
 Quo vivimus atque movemur ! 
 O quam dulce atque decorum est 
 Consensu Cordis & Oris, 
 Hilari corde or^que grato 
 Nomen celebrare tuum, cum 
 Rosea Aurora ^Ethera pingit ! 
 Ciim fulgida Sydera surgunt, 
 Memorare fidem atque favores 
 Ingentes, carmine lasto ! 
 
 Citharam cape Barbitulumque 
 Quin incipiat Lyra dulcis, 
 Instrumenta & decachorda, 
 Cumque his argentea jungant 
 Tinnitus Cymbala acutos. 
 
 Animum ut recreant tua Facta ! 
 Quantos ago ego inde Triumphos ! 
 Tua quis miracula narret 1 
 Tua Consilia alta ut Abyssus, 
 Caecis abscondita homullis, 
 Stultis abscondita quorum 
 Vitium corda obtenebravit. 
 
 Humanae dicite Genti 
 Regnum occepisse Jehovam, 
 Arctis Populumque catenis 
 Ad justum astringere & aequum. 
 Ridentes plaudite Cceh" ! 
 Vocem effer lastaque Tellus ! 
 Fluctus saltate Marini 
 Atque augustum edite murmur, 
 Littusque reverberet Echo. 
 Tunicas vibrate virentes 
 Ornati floribus Agri ; 
 Laetentur cunctaque, Veri 
 ^Eterno dulce refiectunt 
 Avium dum cantica Sylvae. 
 
 Reboent sacro atria plausu, 
 Venit, en ! venit ille superbum 
 Juste qui temperet Orbem, 
 Populo qui jura det asqua, 
 Mysteria veraque pandat. 
 
V.-QUOTATIONS FROM THE CLASSICS. 
 
QUOTATIONS FROM THE CLASSICS 
 
 IN 
 
 c An Explanation of the Grand Myftery of Godliness' 
 
 i. Lucretius (lib. 2. de Rerum Natura.) 
 
 Jamque adeo fracta est jJEtas, effoztaque Tellus, 
 Vix animalia parva creat, quce cuncta creavit 
 Secla, deditque ferarum ingentia corpora partu. 
 
 The Earth who of her self at first brought forth 
 Huge Lusty Men of Stature big and bold, 
 And large-limb ' d Beasts, she grown effete and old 
 Hardly bears small ones now, and little worth. 
 
 (b. 11. C. vi.) 
 
 2. Virgil (Georgicks, Lib 1.) 
 
 Scepe etiam steriles incendere profuit agros, 
 Atque levem stipulam crepitantibus urere fiammis : 
 Sive inde occultas vires ac pabula terra 
 Pinguia concipiunt ; sive Wis omneper ignem 
 Excoquitur vitium, atque exudat inutilis humor. 
 
 The fruitless Field with its dry standing Straw 
 
 ' Tisfit sometimes to burn with crackling Fire : 
 
 For whether hence the Earth did Virtue draw 
 
 And oyly moisture, or she doth perspire 
 
 And sweat out all Corruption ; by this Law 
 
 The bettered Soil answer's the Swain's Desire. (Ibid. ) 
 
 3. Lucretius (lib. 5). 
 
 Tres Species tarn dissimiles, tria talia Texta, 
 Una dies dabit exitio ; multosque per annos 
 Sustentata ruet moles &» machina mundi. 
 
 Three Species of things so different, 
 
 Three such contextures, shall one fatal day 
 
 Ruin at once ; and the world's Machina 
 
 Vpheld so long rush into Atomes rent. (b. H. c. VII.) 
 
 4. Hymns of Orpheus. 
 
 K4kXv6i rijXeirdpov 8ivr)s iXacatiyea iojkXoi> 
 Ovpaviais <rrpo(p&Xiy£i ireplSpofiov attv iXiaawv. 
 "AyXae ZeO, AiSvvffe, ndrep nbvrov, irdrep &ii)s, 
 'HXte irayyevtTop, iravaioXe, xP^<^^o<peyyii. 
 
 Thou that dost guide the ever-winding Gyre 
 And wide Rotations ofth' AZthereal Fire, 
 O Sol, great Sire of Sea and Land, give ear. 
 Omniparcnt Sol with golden Visage clear, 
 All-various Godhead, Bacchus, glorious Jove, 
 Or what e're else thou'rt styl'd, my Vows approve. 
 
 (b. III. c. 
 
 i.) 
 
 5. Homer. 
 
 "QpvvO' IV ' A.9cu>&T0i<ri <f>6ws <pepoi 17W Bporotcri. 
 He rose to shine to Gods as well as Men. (Ibid.) 
 
 6. Virgil. 
 
 Diique Deceque omnes, studium quibus arva tueri. 
 
 7. Oracle. 
 
 E/yui debs Tot6ade p.a0e?i> o'iov Keyui etirui' 
 Ovpdvtos K6o>ios tce<paXri, yacrrrjp 84 OdXaaaa, 
 Tata 84 p.01 ir68es iial, rd8' oSar' 4v aidipt. /carat, 
 'Op.p.a re rrjXavyis Xafxirpbv <pdos TjeXloio. 
 
 Such is my Godhead as to thee I tell : 
 The Heaven's my Head, the Seas my Belly swell; 
 The Earth's my Feet, my Ears lie in the Air, 
 My piercing Eye's the Lamp of Phoebus fair. 
 
 (Ibid. c. II.) 
 
198 
 
 QUOTATIONS FROM THE CLASSICS. 
 
 8. Homer. 
 
 "0$ 17577 t& t' ibvra, ret t i<r<r6/J.eva, irpb r' ibvra. 
 
 1 1 'ho knew what was, what is, and what's to come. 
 
 (b. in. C. IV.) 
 
 9. Life a Stage. 
 
 2/cipH) was 6 /3£oj, ko.1 iralyviov ij p.aO£ waic'eiv 
 Ttjv <xirovSr)v fxeradels, r) (pipe rds oSvi/as. 
 
 This Life's a Scene 0/ Foots, a sportful Stage, 
 Where Grief attends him that is over-sage. (Ibid.) 
 
 10. The god Sylvan us. 
 
 Veste Deus lusus fallentes lumina Vestes 
 Non amat, &* nudos ad sua sacra vocat. 
 
 The God abus'd by Cloths that hinder sight. 
 Unto his Feasts the naked doth invite. 
 
 (Ibid. c. xi.) 
 
 11. Claudian (lib. 1). 
 
 Jam mihi cernuntur trepidis delubra moveri 
 Sedibus, &> clarum dispergere culmina lumen, 
 Advenlum testata Dei : jam magnus ab imis 
 A uditur fremitus terris, Temphimque remugit 
 CECROPID UM 
 
 Now do I see the trembling Temple move 
 From the Foundation, and the Roof all bright 
 To send down sudden day shot from above, 
 Sign of the God's approach; Now strange affrights 
 Of bellowitig murmurs echoing under ground 
 Fill the CECROPIAN structure with their sound. 
 
 (Ibid. C. Xii. 
 
 12. Papinius Statius. 
 
 Lustralemne feris ego te, puer improbe, Thebis 
 Devotumque caput, vilis ceu mater, alebam ? 
 
 Have I, O wicked Child, thee nourished 
 Like Mother poor, for cruel Thebes to be 
 A lustra I Wretch, a vile devoted Headf 
 
 (Ibid. C. xvi.) 
 
 Zei)s ktjkpos, ravpos, aarvpos, xpvffbs, 61 ?pwra 
 
 Al^S, EOpUTTTlS, 'AvTLbwTlS, Aai>&7}S. 
 
 13. Virgil (Georg. lib. 3). 
 
 Ore omnes verses in Zepkyrum slant rupibus altis, 
 Exceptdntque leves auras ; & scepe sine ullis 
 Conjugiis, vento gravida (mirabile dictu!) 
 
 Saxa per &-■ seopulos fugiunt 
 
 All standing on high Crags with tumid Face 
 To gentle Zephyr, the light Air they draw ; 
 And oft (O Wonder!) without Venus Law, 
 Quick with the Wind dre Hills and Rocks they trace. 
 
 (Ibid. C. xviii.) 
 
 14. Cato. 
 
 Cum sis ipse nocens, moritur cur victima pro te ? 
 Since thou thy self art guilty, why 
 Does then thy Sacrifice for thee die? (B. iv. c. Xiv.) 
 
 15. Plautus. 
 
 Men piaculum oportet fieri propter stultitiam tua?n 
 Vt meum tergum stultitia; tucs subdas succedaneum ? 
 
 16. Virgil (Georg. lib. 1). 
 
 Ille etiam extincto miseratus Ccssare Romam, 
 Cum caput obscurd nitidum ferrugine texit, 
 Impidque csternam timuerunt secula noctem. 
 
 At Caesar's Death he Rome compassioned. 
 In rusty hue hiding his shining Head, 
 And put the guilty World into a fright 
 They were surpriz'd with an eternal Night. 
 
 (Ibid. cxv. 
 
 17. Ovid (Met. lib. 15.) 
 
 . . . Solis quoque tristis imago 
 
 Lurida sollicitis prosbebat lumina terris. 
 
 The Sun's sad Image Caesar's fate to moan 
 
 With lurid light to anxious Mortals shone. (Ibid. ) 
 
 18. Virgil (Georgic. lib. 1.) 
 
 Armorum sonitum toto Ger mania ccelo 
 And iit 
 
 All o're the Heavens the Noise of Arms was heard 
 In Germany. — (B. vi. c. 2.) 
 
 19. Ovid. 
 
 Arma ferunt inter nigras crepitantia nubes 
 Terribilesque tubas auditaque cornua caslo. 
 Clashing of Arms amidst black pitchy Clouds 
 Was heard, with Trumpets hoarse and Comets loud. 
 
 (Ibid.) 
 
QUOTATIONS FROM THE CLASSICS. 
 
 199 
 
 20. Virgil (Geor.). 
 
 Scepe etiam stellas vento impendente vidcbis 
 Pracipites ccelo labi, noctisque per utnbram 
 Flammarum longos d tergo albescere tractus. 
 
 Oft mayst thou see upon approaching Wind 
 
 Stars slide from Heaven, and through the Night's 
 
 great shade 
 Long Tracts of flaming white to draw behind. 
 
 (B. VI. C. VIII.) 
 
 21. Lucretius. 
 
 Quce facile insinuantur, fir 3 insinuata repente 
 Dissolvunt nodos omnes, & vincla relaxant. 
 
 Which easily pierce, and piercing straightway loose 
 All Knots, and suddenly break every Noose. (Ibid.) 
 
 22. Prophecy of Daphilus the Tragedian. 
 
 "Ecrot yap, HaTcu kclivos aiwvwv xpbvos, 
 ' Or av wvpbs yifiovra 9r)uavpbv <rx^V 
 Xpi/<rw7r6s aidrjp, i) 5i (HoGK-qOetaa <p\o£ 
 
 " Airavra rairiyeia kclI /j.erdp<na 
 $>\e£ei fiaveicra. 
 
 The time will come when as the golden Sky 
 His hidden fiery Treasures shall let fly. 
 And raging Flames burn up all and consume. 
 Filling both Earth and Air with noisome Fume. 
 
 (Ibid. c. ix.) 
 
 23. Virgil. 
 
 Candidus auratis aperit cum Cornibus annum 
 Taurus — 
 
 When the white Bull opens with Golden Horns 
 The early Year. (B. vii. c. 19.) 
 
 24. Imprecation (from the Greek). 
 
 Zew Kij5i<TTe, pUyiare, koL dddvaroi 0(ol &W01, 
 " Oirir&Tepoi Trporepoi virtp SpKia ir^fi-qvaav, 
 T fi5e <r<p' £yKi<pa\os x a A' £ i5tj ptot. ws 83e olvot. 
 
 Thrice great and Glorious Jove, and ye the Gods 
 His Heavenly Senators, which of these twain 
 First break this solemn League and fall at odds ; 
 As doth this Wine, so may their scattered Brain 
 Pash'dfrom their cursed Sculls the Pavement stain. 
 (B. ix. C. vni.) 
 
>*•>--►-►->*>►>-•>--►>►->*•>►->*•>►•>*-►>►->-->*•>-•>- 
 
 VI.-OCCASIONAL POEMS. 
 1632-46. 
 
 .•••*••, ,*••••*• »•••••« •••••••• »••••••« ••••*•*• ,••••••, «••••••, .••••••. ,•••«*., «•••••«« ,•••••«• .••••*•« «••••••• #••*•« •••"•••. ■ •• ••••••»• ••••*••• »••••••—••••• •* 
 
 19 
 
 2C 
 
NOTE. 
 
 One can never be certain of having discovered all the ' Occasional 
 Poems ' of an old Writer, such as Dr. Henry More. To his own neglect 
 of them — not having included them in any of his volumes — there is the 
 additional difficulty of a life extending from 1614 to 1687. But I have 
 had willing fellow-workers in consulting the numerous University 
 Collections and other likely sources ; so that, if not absolutely complete, 
 the following eleven separate poems may be accepted as sufficiently 
 representative. On these see our Introduction. — G. 
 
Occasional Poems. 
 
 I. — From ' Anthologia in Regia Exanthemata.' 
 1632. 
 
 'ETXAPISTIKON 'EIS TH'N TOT 
 
 KAPO'AOT 
 
 vyieiav dvaXrj(f>6ei<Tav. 
 
 "Ek^oXsv eh KdpoXov fliXos dpyvpioio /3ioto 
 $otj3os. 6Svpbfieva.i bdicpvov ai x^ptres' 
 
 Ttirre, <pdaav, jSXdVrets lepbv X9^ a aoTai fiiXeaaw 
 *£l iva ; ETra ye\wv d^Karo KrfKa 6ebv 
 
 ' Ap.j3poalrjs bi x^Xw X € P a ^ v Xd/Se, Kal rdb' ieiire, 
 Uaieiv, Kal ■Katiew rds ye vbaovs bivap.ai. 
 
 Hen. More, Colleg. Christ. 
 
 II. — From ' Rex Redux. ' 1633. 
 
 ToO Kap6\ov piiya x a ?p' ap/xa Tpiirbdiyrov, drapTrdov 
 
 *A%iov el xQovlwv, &£iov oiipavlwv. 
 Oi/pdvios, x06vt6s Te iriXei KapbXoio fi>a£a, 
 
 Ei bi firi, ovpdvios x' V X^^ vlos "yivero. 
 AXXa ai) p.1] XIt)v awevbois bbbv OvXtip-iroio, 
 
 KdppoXe, deaireaiyv rolat rpoxotat. p-erpeiv. 
 Kal 701/3 av iv dvTjroiaiv l/iev fiepbireaai. bvvgai 
 
 'Qirirbrepov /SotfXei, darpov 1) TjiXios' 
 'Aaripos iv 'ZkotItj, iv S 1 'AXfilov' rjeXloio 
 
 ToSvop.d cot 7' iKavbv x&pov d(iei(3ofiiv(p. 
 Ei be p.iKpy)v darpov KXijaiv TroXvicXeiTos avalv-Q, 
 
 "Eaaeai, (lis eticbs, iravraxov ijeXtos. 
 ToO 7&.p vwip yatav XafiwpQv iirireXXofievduv 
 
 'AktIvuv, ipat\ dferai iv {lordvais. 
 Kai ffio ip.weXdaavros iv dXyeivrjat. irapeiais 
 
 'Afrdverai, rax^s baKpvbeaaa bpbaos. 
 KXavd/J-bs dirwv, /x«70 x°-PP- a irapuH' oKbaoiai <padvdr)S, 
 
 " HXaw iKfju/xrj, Kal ydp &-/ iarl yiXws. 
 
 Zeiis Tori AtOioirrjas UpT] p.erd Saira Kaivras. 
 
 *Qird ye irdvra Ibwv owe tSev Aldtbtrwv ; 
 'H/u^repos Kpovlbrjs, Zei)s 17X165 iariv. Xicavev 
 
 Oil irorl Aldloiras, irpbs b' dirvpov "ZkotItjv. 
 NOv 5' dvifiri 5s Zfiij. 'Ap.<pu &pa, XAFP' lepbv <pws, 
 
 EM ai) 'AyyXlrj, eliri re aii ZkotItj. 
 
 Hen. Afore, Coll. Christ. 
 
 III. — From ' Rex Redux. ' 1633. 
 
 Jam densus aer pulvere concito 
 Candet : superbus jam sonipes fremit ; 
 Audimus hinnitus equorum. 
 Ecce I suum Carolus revisit 
 Regnum relictum. Desine, desine 
 Sperare quod jam, laetior Anglia, 
 Parcse dederunt mitiores : 
 Desine, quod renuunt, timere. 
 Non bellicoso vociferantium 
 Nostra exprimantur gaudia militum 
 Ritu : decus nostrum recedens 
 Pace abiit, rediftque pace. 
 Phoebus corona pocula nectare 
 (Namque oppidorum plurima inania 
 Donire prsefecti) maniique 
 Porrige Castalios liquores. 
 At tu profundis carceribus Dea 
 Carnem remorde vipeream, videns 
 Nostram salutem : nil habebis 
 Hinc quo avidos repleas hiatus. 
 Rex quippe noster, Rex Carolus sibi 
 Junxit decoram connubio Themin ; 
 Compressa quoe nobis gemellas 
 Eunomiam tulit atque Pacem. 
 
 Idem. 
 
 IV. — From ' Musarum Cantabrigiensium ZwySia. 
 
 1637- 
 
 T6 7rdpos p.iXaiva <pbppuy£, 
 'EttI vvktLols arevayfwU, 
 Ervyepbv Kpbvtfi irpbauirov 
 QOovepbv re balpwv fbes' 
 "Etc 5£ rpip.et fiapeiav 
 'TirdrT) (pofloiaa wXrrydv. 
 'Eripav bi, Keiv' d<pelaav, 
 KeXabeTv irpiirei ai p.oXrdv. 
 ISliOes, ui Xf7«a <pbpp.ty£, 
 JiliOes daripaiv direiXds, 
 Mides daripwv nibovros 
 Kbrov, darpatpevz re'Hpay. 
 
204 
 
 OCCASIONAL POEMS. 
 
 'EWXoi Xiyzw rl Ka\bv, 
 'E0Aw Xiyeiv rl repirvbv, 
 Td bk KvirpcSos p.tv ovxl- 
 'EOeXu Xtyew Ipurra, 
 Tb 5£ waibiov KvO^prjs 
 Kat &<Ppbv pedels daXdaarjs. 
 A£ye p.01 Xiyeia <pbpp.iy£, 
 Tbv "Epwra rbv ytpovTa, 
 Tbv deidaXfj yepovra, 
 Tbv dXbs re yds t' dpa/cra, 
 "Os diraai rots deolaiv 
 'E7re'ra£e rds dep-Hrras, 
 Os dwavra rbvbe Kbo~p.ov 
 'Iepois X6yoi.s i-dr/ae. 
 Td 5£ TrXeiarov 6's 5ap.dadet 
 'EirlfiovXov ?x^ os vXas. 
 'Ardp 6.v ti ■n-X-qpLp.eK^rj, 
 2/u*pd 5£ fiporus KaKuxrjj, 
 'E0e'Xei ri p-eifov aureus 
 'Ayadbv wot' dvTibovvau 
 Ae'7£ (5c Xfyeta <pbppn.y£, 
 'TLviavaiav p.er 6.TO.V, 
 YloKioiv /xer' o?ro»' dvbpQiv, 
 Kepl<ppwv rl ndfipov 6-p.p.w 
 'O *Epws ravvv ibuKev ; 
 'Avicpvae KaXbv ipvos, 
 BaciXij'iov rb epvos, 
 QeoeLtceXov rb fpeos. 
 T65e %v crot. dvrl woXXwp 
 Ae'cWcu, p-dnaipa vdae, 
 ' AwoXuXotuv BperavvQv. 
 "A<pes 'AXpiwv 65vpp.d)s, 
 'Ewe<pv rb kclXov Zpvos' 
 'A<pes 'AX(3iuv ytXorra, 
 *Et' ew' fipi <pi!>XXa plirreit. 
 Kaxa £vv KaXoT<rt.' rdvde 
 <J>i5<xis app-oydv awrpj/ev. 
 "0(peXov to dfxfxa dvp.ws 
 'Aeal<ppovas webrjcrat 
 HotI Awpiois doiSds. 
 
 "Eppucos 6 Mopov, £k rod XptcroO. 
 
 V. — From ' Juxta Edovardo King naufrago — Cantab. 
 1638. 
 
 Tty rfjs <pdopas w-ryyjv ivavTiorrjTd pioi 
 'Ek iroXXov tfbrj Udeigev 6 <ptX6crocpos Xbyos, 
 "Q<tt' alrlav elSfrra aa<pG>s rrjs dvo~TVxtas 
 Oiibtv p.e iKwXij^ai rb yeyovbs oiiba/xws. 
 TV yap rb 0avp.a, et wot' ip.wecril)v wvpl 
 Avxvoxj (pepavyel d(pdvio~e rb xapowbv <pdos 
 typbs o~Ta.Xayp.6s ; vvv o~k tt)v lepdv <pX6ya, 
 TjjXo7tcV atyX-r)i> ttjs 'AdyvSv Xap.wdbos, 
 "Ecfieao'ev, dtpdvice Td woXtidpoa Kfip-ara 
 AXp.rjs 'lepvlbos. &Xecrev Tb veavlou 
 Tb dp.evis irbvrov dpeiXixos dypibTi)$, 
 N&crap araXd^nv x^^Xea wot' eludbTa 
 
 2ti50« daXdao-r-s aXp.vpbv, Kal iriKpbv Hdiop 
 'Ayvbv p.iali>ei auipa. Tijs KvwpiSos Beds 
 UaTTjp (35eXvKTbs ttjs dyaiopAvTjs aXbs 
 'A(ppbs 6 aTroTTTVffTos, IBoi) ws x €L P&$ erai 
 tyvxv* )3e/3aias &pTi 6 £ddeos vetis. 
 'Aperds rod dvSpbs i£apidp:eu> irpovdtp.-qv 
 Bf'fei 5£ ffr6p.a rod irpdyp.aTos Tb vvep<pvts, 
 'Qcravel dweipos i-TiKvXu>d6p.ei>os poos 
 'OyKudeos ireXdyovs. "O/tws 5' ov 5vc<popQ>, 
 T<p Tedveuri ravrd irws k" aOrij vaddiv. 
 
 H. More. 
 
 VI. — From ' Voces Votivae. ' 1640. 
 
 In Serenissimam Reginam Mariam parturientem 
 
 Praeceps ruenti qu6 feror impetu ? 
 Quern saltum & in quos conjiciorspecus 
 Veloce motu ? qu6 rapis me, 6 
 Magne Jovis Semelesque fili? 
 
 Nil vile mecum cogito, nescio 
 Quid grande jam nunc mens mea parturit. 
 O me beatum, qui siiaves 
 Condidici sobolis dolores ! 
 
 Nunc Musa primum (mittimus ordinem) 
 Parit. Ferenda audacia, quae tuum, 
 Regina, partum promptiori 
 Praevenit officio salutans. 
 
 O sacra proles, quem parit integra 
 Maria ! Gentem restitues piam, 
 Quem nulla contra fors valebit 
 M6rsve nigro metuenda curru. 
 
 Seu tu Dicasus, sive vocabere 
 Dicaea, mentes sola feras potes 
 Sedare, monstro viperinum ab- 
 scindere Hyperboreo capillum 
 
 Serpente multo complicitum. O decus, 
 Solamen, & spes unica gentium ! 
 Vitam satis longam benignus 
 Juppiter & celeres sorores 
 
 Cedant mihi, insignem ut videam tuum 
 Vivus triumphum, ut facta celebria 
 Solenniter testudine inter 
 Pacificos referam Britannos. 
 
 Haec ipse mecum montibus aviis 
 Dum canto, quas non inficiunt virlim 
 Mortalium corrupti ocelli, 
 Monticolas mihi dulce nymphae 
 
 Rident ; & hi quos urbis anhelitus 
 Et castuum sudor male olentium 
 
 Nunquam inquinaverunt, resultant 
 Capripedes Satyri atque Fauni. 
 
OCCASIONAL POEMS. 
 
 205 
 
 VII.— Ibid. 
 
 In Principem sub finern solennis Jejunii natum. 
 
 Recte augurabar, nee mihi spiritu 
 Vano intumebant pectora. Quis pium, 
 Justumve quis non nominarit, 
 Quem peperere preces puellum 
 
 Fam^sque sancta ? scilicet abstinens 
 Mens vilioris pura cibi, sacrum 
 
 Nectar capit semdnque Divum, 
 Magnificam paritura prolem. 
 
 Hie te juvabit rebus in arduis, 
 Pace"mque vir^sque hie dabit, Anglia : 
 Non Galium, Iberum non timebis, 
 Non rigidum rabiem Scotorum. 
 
 VIII. — Ibid. 
 E£s rbv abrbv. 
 Aayvelyv fiira, Kal vflpiv, Sevp' dir£, , 'Epiin'vt, 
 
 Kal olvo<p\vyiriv , iroia vi/xei N litems ; 
 Xifibi/ dfnov Kal \oip.bi>, 2pii> t', dv8poKraa t lr]v re' 
 Oip.01. Qep/j.bi> &p' o$v irpay/xa Kal dpya\4ov. 
 'AW evxty p.ira, Kal vtj&tu/, Kal irivdea \vypd, 
 
 'Ayj'tj, iroia Geos ; etiri p.01, 'Eixppoo'VPij. 
 * Ao~u,a, x°P^ v ' Kiddpr/v, Oolvrjv' <rwe\bvTL 5k etireiv, 
 
 Bpup,a ir6<riv re 6ewv, viKTap 18' dp.ppocLrjv. 
 "0 iprov fadtov ib poiijs Trvevp-aros' & rrjs 
 IlapOevucTJs iparov iratSap/ou Mapfys. 
 
 H. More, A.M. e Christi. 
 
 IX. — From ■ Irenodia Cantabrigiensis.' 1 1641. 
 
 'Es rdi> iroTTois 2k6tu>s crvyypa<pdeT<Tav iipdvav iiribi)- 
 
 pLOvvros rb fieragv irapd rots "AyyXois 
 
 t$ Xoipup. 
 
 Eipdva rbv "Aprja Kareipydo-ar', dWdye \oip.bp 
 
 EfrraTe Sivdptiitroi. 7n£s 8ia<f>pd£op.e0a ; 
 Kal yap dirobpdvres rd fipoTTjia 8ir\a, rt oepu/bv, 
 
 "Ocppa /9eXe<7<nx<*P« Salfiovi avp.ir£aopxv ; 
 'AXXct 8r) ivrl tis dpdva, av ov Svvaral tis 
 
 Aafytuw 6xXa<rai, oi)5' £64\ei 6 Ge6s. 
 "A5e \byov if/vxdt iror' dXadea app.ovd irrt 
 
 "AvtKa vu> efaei &<rp.eva irdvra irddrj. 
 Tolav ovbkv irrjp.a iiriiTKidaaiTO yeXdvav, 
 
 "A<T^€<rrov KaOapds x^PP-a- SiKaioavvat. 
 
 'EfiptKos 6 Mopov, 4k toO Xpurrov. 
 
 X. — From ' Horae Vacivae ' of John Hall of 
 Cambridge. 1646. 
 
 nPO'S TO'N 'ET*TE' 
 ffrarou veavlo~Kov ypdtyavra p.h> /caXcDs 
 Kal Trap' i^XiKiav, &pxi dt rods ap.<pl 
 Tivddyopav 5iao~Kwif/avra, 
 'E£do-Tixov. 
 Tola ypd<peiv dwavai irats &v, <p[\e, ptijKeri Soidt 
 Elv x^ovl dvr\i)<ras tw ireav SexdSas ; 
 
 Ov p.i rbv dXXd irdXai irpop,a6&v irbre Kal ir pofiiwaas , 
 lloXXd re Kal Ka\' ipets Sis dvapLvrjadpeyos. 
 
 Ei dk si Kal rd ad tpya waXairepa Ioti, aeavrov, 
 Ti7rre aocpbv o-Kwirreis, <pl\Tare, Uvddyopav. 
 
 'E^tAcoi 6 MopoO 
 iK toO Xpurrov. 
 
 XI. — From ' Poems by John Hall, Cambridge. ' 
 
 1646. 
 
 To the young Authour upon his incomparable 
 
 veine in Satyre and Love-sonnets. 
 
 Young Monster ! born with teeth ! that thus canst bite 
 
 So deep, canst wound all sorts at ten and eight. 
 
 Fierce Scythian Brat ! young Tamerlan I the Gods 
 
 Great scourge, that kickst all men like skulls and clods ! 
 
 Rough creature, born for terrour ! whose stern look 
 
 Few strings and muscles mov'd is a whole book 
 
 Of biting Satyrs 1 who did thee beget ? 
 
 Or with what pictures was the curtains set ? 
 
 John of the Wildernesse ? the hayry child ? 
 
 The hispid Thisbite ? or what Satyr wild 
 
 That thou thus satyrizest ? Storm of wit 
 
 That fall'st on all thou meetst, and all dost meet ! 
 
 Singest like lightening the Reverend furre 
 
 Of ancient Sages. Mak'st a fearfull stirre 
 
 With my young Maister and his Paedagog, 
 
 And pull'st by th' eares the Lads beloved Dog. 
 
 Then hast thy finger in Potato pies 
 
 That make the dull Grammarian to rise. 
 
 Anon advancing thy Satyrick Flail 
 
 Sweepst down the Wine-glasses and cups of ale. 
 
 Nor yet art spent. Thy manly rage affords 
 
 New coyle against young wenches and old words, 
 
 Gainst Jos. and Tycho that flings down the spheares, 
 
 Like Will with th' wisp sitst on moyst Asses eares. 
 
 And now stept in, most quick and dexterous, 
 
 Boldly by th' elbow jogst Maurolycus, 
 
 Causing him in his curious numbrings loose 
 
 Himself. Tak'st Galilceo by the nose. 
 
 Another stroke makes the dry bones, O sinne ! 
 
 Of lean Geometry rattle in her skinne. 
 
 New rage transforms thee to a Pig, that roots 
 
 In Jury-land or crumps Arabick roots. 
 
 Or els made Corn cutter, Thou loutest low 
 
 And tak'st old Madam Eva by the toe. 
 
 Anon thy officious phansie at randon sent 
 
 Becomes a Chamberlain, waits on Wood of Kent. 
 
 ST much good do' t you, then the table throws 
 
 Into his mouth his stomacks mouth to close. 
 
 Another while the well drench'd smoaky Jew, 
 
 That stands in his own spaul above the shooe, 
 
 She twitcheth by the Cloak and thred bare plush, 
 
 Nor heats his moist black beard into a blush. 
 
 Mad soul ! Tyrannick wit ! that thus dost scourge 
 All Mortalls and with their own follies urge. 
 Thou'rt young ; therefore as Infant, Innocent, 
 Without regret of conscience all are rent 
 
206 
 
 OCCASIONAL POEMS. 
 
 By thy rough knotted whip. But if such blows 
 Thy younger years can give ; when Age bestows 
 Much firmer strength, sure thy Satyrick rods 
 May awe the Heavens and discipline the gods. 
 
 And now, I ween, we wisely well have shown 
 What Hatred, Wrath, and Indignation 
 Can do in thy great parts. How melting Love 
 That other youthfull heat thou dost improve 
 With phansies queint and gay expressions pat, 
 More florid then a Lanspresado's hat ; 
 That province to some fresher pens we leave 
 Dear Lad 1 and kindly now we take our leave. 
 Onely one word. Sith we so highly raise 
 Thy wrathfull wit ; take this compendious praise, 
 
 Thy Love and Wrath seem equall good to me, 
 For both thy Wrath and Love right Satyrs be. 
 
 Thus may we twitch thee now, young Whelp ! but when 
 Thy paw's be grown who'll dare to touch thee then ? 
 
 H. More 
 Fell. ofChr. Coll. 
 
 [On the following Latin epitaph — see our Memorial- 
 Introduction : — ] 
 
 EFFARE MARMOR, 
 Cuja sunt haec duo quae sustentas capita ; 
 Duorum Amicissimorum, quibus Cor erat unum unaque 
 
 Anima, 
 D. IOANNIS FINCHII et D. THOMyE BAINESII 
 
 Equitum Auratorum, 
 Virorum omnimoda Sapientia Aristotelica, Platonica, 
 
 Hippocratica, 
 Rerumq. adeo gerundarum Peritia Plane summorum 
 Atq. hisce nominibus et ob Praeclarum immortalis 
 
 amicitiae exemplum 
 Sub amantissimi Tutoris HENRICI MORI auspicijs 
 
 hoc ipso in Collegio initae 
 Per totum terrarum orbem celebratissimorum. 
 Hi mores, haec studia, hie successus, genus vero 
 
 si quaeris et necessitudines 
 Horum alter D. HENEAGII FINCHII Equitis Aurati 
 
 Filius erat 
 HENEAGII vero FINCHII Comitis Nottingamiensis 
 
 Frater, 
 Non magis Iuris quam Iustitise consulti, 
 Regiae Majestati a consiliis secretioribus summiq. 
 Angliae Cancellarij, 
 Viri prudentissimi, religiosissimi, 
 eloquentissimi, integerrimi, 
 Principi, Patriae, atq. Ecclesiae Anglicanae Charissimi, 
 Ingeniosa, numerosa, prosperaq. Prole prae caeteris 
 
 mortalibus, felicissimi : 
 Alter D. IOANNIS FINCHII, viri omni laude 
 
 majoris Amicus intimus, 
 Perpetuusq. per triginta plus minus annos 
 Fortunarum ac Consiliorum Particeps 
 Longarumq. in exteras Nationes Itinerationum 
 
 indivulsus comes ; 
 Hie igitur peregre apud Turcas vita, functus 
 
 est, nee prius tamen quam alter 
 
 A serenissimo Rege Angliae per Decennium Legatus 
 
 prasclare suo functus esset munere, 
 Tunc demum dilectissimus BAINESIUS suam et Amici 
 
 FINCHII simul Animam Byzantii efflavit, 
 Die V. Septembris H. III. P.M. A.D. MDCLXXXI 
 
 ^Etatis suae LIX 
 Quid igitur fecerit alterum hoc corpus anima cassum 
 
 rogas, 
 Ruit ; sed in amplexus alterius indoluit, ingemuit, 
 
 ubertim flevit 
 Totum in lacrymas, nisi nescio quae Communis utriq. 
 
 Animae 
 
 Reliquiae cohibuissent, Diffluxurum. 
 
 Nee tamen totus dolori sic indulsit nobilissimus 
 
 FINCHIUS 
 Quin ipsi quae incumberent solerter gesserit 
 
 confeceritq. negotia, 
 Et postquam ad Amici pollincturam quae spectarent 
 
 curaverat 
 Visceraq. telluri Byzantinae, addito marmore eleganter 
 
 a se pieq. inscripto, commiserat 
 Cunctasq. res suas sedulo paraverat ad reditum in 
 
 optatam Patriam, 
 Corpus etiam defuncti Amici a Constantinopoli usq. 
 (Triste sed pium officium !) per longos Maris tractus 
 Novam subinde salo e lacrymis suis admiscens salsedinem 
 
 ad Sacellum hoc deduxit : 
 Ubi funebri ipsum oratione adhibita mcestisq. sed 
 
 dulcisonis Threnodiis, 
 In HypogEeum tandem sub proxima Area situm 
 Commune utriq. paratum Hospitium solenniter honori- 
 
 ficeq. condidit. 
 Haec pia FINCHIUS officia defuncto Amico praestitit, 
 
 porroq. , cum eo, in usus pios 
 Quater miile libras Anglicanas huic Christi collegio 
 
 donavit 
 Ad duos socios totidemq. scholares in Collegio alendos 
 Et ad augendum libris quinquagenis redditum 
 
 Magistri annuum. 
 Cui rei ministrandae riteq. finiendae Londini 
 
 dum incumberet 
 Paucos post menses in morbum incidit Febriq. ac 
 
 Pleuritide 
 Maxime vero Amici BAINESII desiderio adfectus et 
 
 affiictus 
 Inter lacrymas luctus et amplexus charissimorum 
 
 diem obijt 
 Speq. beatae immortalitatis plenus pie ac placide in 
 
 Domino obdormivit 
 Die XVIII Novembris H. II. P.M. A.D. MDCLXXXII 
 
 ^Etatis suae LVI 
 Londinoq. hue delatus ab illustrissimo Domino D. 
 
 FINCHIO 
 HENEAGII Comitis Nottingamiensis filio Primo- 
 
 genito 
 Aliisq. ejus filiis ac Necessariis Comitantibus 
 Eodem in sepulchro quo ejus Amicissimus heic conditus 
 
 jacet : 
 Ut studia, Fortunas, consilia, immo Animas vivi qui 
 
 miscuerant 
 Iidem suos defuncti sacros tandem miscerent Cineres. 
 
l.,l.z. 
 
 GLOSSARIAL INDEX 
 
 AND 
 
 NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 The references in this Glossarial Index are as follow : — 
 
 30/125 = Page 30, st. 125. 
 
 136/233 = Page 136, line 23, column 1 — column 2 being 
 similarly marked b, as 7/42 (6). 
 
 It has been my aim to register every noticeable word. Occasionally 
 now familiar words are entered, because, while they do not call for 
 explanation or annotation, (1) They illustrate the growth of the language 
 and usage, and (2) the variations of orthography. Merely technical 
 terms must be sought for in the Author's own special Indices and 
 Notes. Classical commonplaces of names and allusions are left 
 unannotated. All words or things calling for illustration or explanation 
 will be found less or more annotated. Only those who have undertaken 
 work of this sort can appreciate the labour spent on this Glossarial Index. 
 As with those to Davies of Hereford, Nicolas Breton, and the other 
 Worthies of our Series, I hope this Glossarial Index will add to the 
 materials so largely accumulating, for that urgent desideratum — an 
 adequate Dictionary of our magnificent language. — A. B. G. 
 
Glossarial Index and Notes and Illustrations. 
 
 Aboad = abode, 71/8, 132/27. 
 
 Aboven = above, with suffix ' en,' and so nearer the root- 
 form, 23/40, 94/30. 9 6 /59. 97/66. 
 
 Abusive = offensive, injurious, 30/125. 
 
 Aby = abide, or tarry, 87/39. I n Mid. N. Dr. ill. 2, 175, 
 335, ' aby ' of Q 1 and ' abie ' of Q 2 are in the folio 
 (1623) 'abide,' also in 1. 175 in Q 2 , as thus — 
 
 ' Disparage not the faith thou dost not know, 
 Lest to thy peril thou abide it deare.' 
 and 
 
 ' For if thou dost intend 
 Neuer so little shew of loue to her, 
 Thou shall abide it.' (1- I 75-) 
 Schmidt and others, s.v., = atone, seems too strong, 
 though in the Anglo-Saxon root it denoted this. 
 Acception = acceptation, 160/41 (a). 
 Accloy'd, accloyes = satiated, satiates or surfeits, 44/12, 
 
 63/3. 75/54- 77/i5- 
 
 Accord, 16/35, 32/142. 
 
 Accoyes = daunts, 44/11. Spenser, Shep. Cal. Feb., 
 1. 47, and Peele (Eclogue 1589) — ' How soon may 
 heere thy courage be accoyed.' (Dyce, p. 562.) 
 
 Acronychall or acronicall, 83/72, 155/10 (b) = in astro- 
 nomy signifies the rising of a star when the sun 
 sets, or the setting of a star when the sun rises ; in 
 which cases the star is said either to rise or set 
 achronically ; which is one of the three poetical 
 risings or settings. Harris (Bailey, s.v.). Latin 
 achronicus, of a priv. , and xpovos, time = being out 
 of, or without time. 
 
 Actualities, 70/5. 
 
 Adamantine = pertaining to or made of a diamond — in- 
 flexible, indestructible, 29/114. 
 
 Adeodatus = given by God, 127/94. 
 
 Admire, 104/6. 
 
 Adrian = Adriatic, 84/12. 
 
 Adulterate = contaminated — as by adultery, 10/10 (b). 
 
 Adumbrate = to shadow out (imperfectly), 156/21 (a). 
 
 Adumbration = imperfect representation, 156/31 (b). 
 
 Adventitious, 138/29(12). 
 
 Adversion, 50/45, 71/7, 74/45, 75/54, 105/15, 110/28, 
 133/38. I34/39- 
 
 Advert = take heed, 57/1, 134/39. 
 
 Advertence = attention, 110/28. 
 
 Advisement = information, 14/17. 
 
 Advisen = advise, with suffix 'en,' 31/127. 
 
 Aestimant— misprint for 'aestiment,' page 87, col. 1, 
 1. 2 (Latin). 
 
 Aethiopian [hell] = black or dark, 16/36. 
 
 Afeard = afraid, 34/14. 
 
 Affred = afraid, 172/n. 
 
 19 
 
 Afore = before, 62/31, 75/56, 78/27, 96/53, 103/1. 
 After-advertisements, 4/17. 
 After-sport, 99/92. 
 
 After- wit = cunning (or wit) which comes too late, 97/71. 
 
 Aggrize = astonish — usually spelled with one 'g,' 16/30. 
 
 Agguize, — from 'guise,' i.e. to adorn, as in Spenser, 
 
 F. Q. 11. i. 31, and M. Hubb. Tale, 1. 665, 15/23, 
 
 17/43. 38/56. 
 Agill = agile, 61/20. 
 Aglaophemus, — unknown to the Editor — cannot be 
 
 ' Aglaopheme ' of the Sirens, 1 12/5. 
 Agone = ago, past, since, 97/71. 
 Aierie, 51/51. 
 Air-trampling, 122/36. 
 Aire-consistency, 123/41. 
 All-approved, 10/19 (b). 
 All-complying, 121/28. 
 All-discovering, 1 13/10. 
 All-phrantick = frantic, 126/73. 
 All-potencye, 51/54. 
 All-sparkling, 128/103. 
 All-spreaden, 108/3. 
 Allayeth = quench or mitigate, 122/39. 
 Als = also, 85/15, 95/52, 112/7, 113/10, 113/16, 124/54. 
 
 i33/5o- 
 Alterity, a word found in Coleridge (Lit. Remains, vol. 
 
 iii. p. 2) — perhaps a reminiscence of More, or a 
 
 re-coinage?— 13/1, 136/23(17), 136/34 (a). 
 Amain = vigorously, vehemently, 19/5, 37/43. 
 Amalgamate, 121/28. 
 A many, 126/82. So Ben Jonson — ' We see before a 
 
 many of books' (Underwoods — Epistle to Selden), 
 
 and ' she was in one a many parts of life ' (Ibid. 
 
 Elegy on . . . Lady Venetia Digby). 
 Amazen = amaze, with suffix ' en,' 98/79. 
 Amid, 115/31. 
 
 Amounds = amounts ? 21/24. 
 Amoved, 49/36, 62/36. 
 Anautoesthet — see the Author's Interpretation-General, 
 
 s.v., 39/67. 
 Anautaesthesie, 39/68. 
 
 Anchor'd, adj. = anchor-shaped, forked, 49/29. 
 Ancienter, 22/34. 
 Anew, 127/85. 
 Angularity, n 1/38. 
 Animadversall, 62/35. 
 Animadvert, 50/45. 
 Animadversion, 42/36(12), 50/45, 75/52, 102/29(1*), 133/38, 
 
 et alibi. 
 Animadversive = reflecting, considering, judging, 48/26 
 
 — ' The soul is the only animadversive principle. ' 
 
 Glanville (Bailey, s.v.). 
 Animate (sb. ), 78/28. 
 
 2 D 
 
GLOSSARIAL INDEX AND 
 
 Antiquate (adj.), 91/6. 
 
 Apaid = satisfied, 46/2. 
 
 Apall, 33/2. 
 
 Apish = imitative, 4/4. 
 
 Apodicticall = demonstration or convincing proof, 
 
 139/11 (a). 
 Apogeon = apogaeon, apogae or apogseum — that part 
 
 in the orbit of the sun or a planet which is farthest 
 
 from the earth, 46/6, 51/58. 
 Apparitions = appearances, 7/42(3). See Bailey, s.v., 
 
 for excellent illustrations. 
 Apprends = apprehends, 110/28. 
 Approchen = approach, with suffix 'en,' 35/27. 
 Appulse and appulses (sb.) = act of striking against, 
 
 47/i3. 54/27. 74M, 160/32(3). ( Latin, appulsus.) 
 Apterites, 146/10 (a — from bottom). 
 Arbitrarious = arbitrary, 156/15 (3). 
 Arcades = Arcadians, 22/34. 
 
 Archei = plasmaticall spirits, 138/8(3), 139/23(3), 143/1(3). 
 Archetypall = pertaining to the Supreme Original, 
 
 146/29(3). Archtype, 77/7. 
 
 Arcuall = arcuate (Latin, arcuatus), curved like a bow, 
 
 79/38. 
 Aread, areed = declare or explain, 15/19, 23/49, 25/65, 
 
 85/18, 99/94, 100/107, 1 19/2. Cf. Spenser, Daphn. 
 
 1. 182, et alibi. 
 Aristo = Ariosto, 119/1. 
 
 Arrogation = over-proud claim by an individual for him- 
 self, 147/15(3). 
 Arrogative, 147/8(3). 
 Ascititious = adventitious, 65/25, 110/33. 
 Asheap = ash-heap, 100/98. 
 Asperitie, 82/62, 11 1/35. 
 Aspine, 17/41. 
 Aspires, 173/4, 181/44. 
 Assayes, 52/5. 
 Assistencie, 75/57. 
 Astrall = belonging to the stars, 143/ last line (3), 
 
 144/26 (a). Even Dryden uses it. 
 Asuitus — unknown to the Editor, 124/59. 
 Attent, adj., 47/15. 
 
 Attenuate, adj., 102/24(3), 138/48(3), 138/16(3). 
 Atuvean, 14/16. 
 Atuvus, 16/33. 
 Audibles (sb.), 59/4. 
 
 Autocal = a fancy-being and name, 14/16. 
 Autokineticall = self-moving? 48/25, 1. 1, 48/26, 48/27. 
 Autority = authority, 26/81. 
 Aven-roe = Averroes or Ibn Roschid : died Deer. 12, 
 
 1 198, 131/7. 
 Avert, 86/33. 
 Avise = advise, 33/6. 
 Awfull-eyed, 147/ last line (3). 
 Awhit = a whit, i.e. in the least, 31/134. 
 Awide = wide, with prefix 'a,' 58/14. 
 Azur = asure, 15/24, 80/48. 
 
 B 
 
 Babe-soul, 127/86. 
 Back-cast = cast back, 99/88. 
 
 Bad = bade, 53/18. 
 
 Bags = breasts, 123/47. 
 
 Bain = bane (sb.), 100/97. 
 
 Balbutient — query = ebullient, boiling over, 114/24. 
 
 Bale = sorrow, 34/9, 54/22. Cf. Spenser, Daphn. 1. 320, 
 
 ' Let now your bliss be turned to bale.' 
 Baleful, 115/34. 
 Balk, 94/39. 
 Band = bond, 73/39. 
 Band-dogs = bound-dogs — kept for baiting bears, etc. , 
 
 76/7. Marston and Heywood spell as More does, 
 
 not ' ban-dogs.' 
 Beach = beech, 33/1, 39/70. 
 Bearen = bear, with suffix 'en,' 116/49. 
 Beaten, 20/7. 
 Beck = salutation by bowing, 49/35, 57/2, 121/19, 
 
 122/34. 
 Bedight = bedeck, 18/54, 22/31, 47/7, 54/21, 77/11, 
 
 8 5A5. 105/20, 116/43. 
 Bedrencht, 45/19. 
 Been = have been, were, 17/50, 22/37, 35/20, 99/91, et 
 
 frequenter. 
 Beforn = before, 49/35, 104/10. Cf. Spenser, Shep. 
 
 Cal. May, 1. 103, ' Ought may happen that hath 
 
 been beforn.' 
 Beholden = under obligation, 95/45. 
 Belate, 16/31. 
 Belch, 44/7, 85/22. 
 Believen, 27/93. 
 Bemire, 181/26 (a). 
 Bet = beaten, 26/76, 98/83. 
 Bever = hat, 22/38. 
 Biformity = double-form, 39/70. 
 Bignesse, 51/54. 
 
 Billing = tapping with the bill or beak, 177/2. 
 Blazen = blazon, 110/26. 
 Blebs = blobs? 165/10(3 — from bottom). 
 Blend = pollute, 109/13. 
 Blent = mixed, blended, 52/6. 
 Blew-glimmering, 68/22. 
 Blewly, 99/94. 
 Blin = cease, 33/6. 
 Blith, 22/31. 
 
 Bolonia (walking skeleton) = of Bologna, 123/46. 
 Bookish = book-loving (Bibliomania), 4/20. 
 Botch'd, adj., 75/60. 
 Botchdly, 82/67. 
 Botcher = butcher, 80/44. 
 Bougen = bulge ? 17/46. 
 Bounden = bound, with suffix 'en,' 120/18. 
 Bout, 82/64, 93/21. 93/25- 
 Bowed, adj., 172/18. 
 Bow'd = curved, indirect, 83/74. 
 Boxes, 125/65. 
 Brat, 58/15. 
 Bravest, 6/9 (a). 
 
 Braving, adj. = brave, defiant? 76/1. 
 Bray = ass's sound, 45/21. 
 Breadthlesse, 59/6. 
 Breaken, 62/37. 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Breech, 123/49. 
 
 
 Christiano-Platonicall, 9/7. 
 
 Brent = burned, 13/3, 47/15, 91/4, 99/93, 10c 
 
 /14, 126/74. 
 
 Churlish, 182/6(3). 
 
 Brig = bridge, 179/16. 
 
 
 Cippus, 122/33 — or Cipus, Genucius, the Roman proctor 
 
 Bringen = bring, with suffix 'en,' 111/41. 
 
 
 whose head was suddenly ' horned.' (Ovid, Met., 
 
 Brisled = bristled, 123/41. 
 
 
 xv. 565, etc.) 
 
 Britch = breech — hinder part? 39/70, 126/81 
 
 
 Circ'lar-wise, 17/43. 
 
 Brize = gad-fly, 17/41. Cf. Ant. and Cleop. 
 
 ' The brize 
 
 Circopithecus = cercopithecus, an ape, 162/19 (&)• 
 
 upon her, like a cow in June ' (iii. 8), and Troilus 
 
 Circularly, 160/7 (*)• 
 
 and Cr. i. 3. 
 
 
 Circularity, 74/44. 
 
 Broach, 121/20. 
 
 
 Circulate, 160/12 (b). 
 
 Broad-brested, 94/34. 
 
 
 Circulation, 91/7. 
 
 Brond = brand, 123/42, 126/75. 
 
 
 Circule, v., circuleth, circuling, 8/15 (a — to Reader), 
 
 Broyl, 86/32. 
 
 
 68/18, 74/41, 151/16(3). 
 
 Bruits = rumours, 31/137. 
 
 
 Circuline, 73/33. 
 
 Brummall = wintry, 77/8. 
 
 
 Circulings (sb.), 68/19, 68/23, 77/ r 5> 8 6/34- 
 
 Bug, adj. = big ? 82/63. 
 
 
 Circumferentiall, 60/10, 112/1. 
 
 Bug-bears, 175/11(3). 
 
 
 Circumfusion, 160/14 (^)- 
 
 Buffes = buffets, strokes, 125/65. 
 
 
 Circumgyrate, 50/43. 
 
 Bulk = body, 84/13. 
 
 
 Circumvolution, 81/53. 
 
 Bulk's, 50/49. 
 
 
 Civility = politeness, 4/4. 
 
 Bundle = things put together, 133/33. 
 
 
 Clam = poor, thin, starveling, 115/33. 
 
 Buxom, 22/31. 
 
 
 Clambred, 181/1 (Charitie). 
 
 Buzard, 13/3, 17/41. Curiously enough the steam-whistle 
 
 Clame = claim, 58/15. 
 
 for calling the mill-operatives to worli 
 
 is named 
 
 Clammie, clammy, 91/5, 124/56, 125/64. 
 
 ' buzzard ' in Lancashire (Blackburn). 
 
 
 Clarian = of Clarus in Cyprus, 78/19. 
 
 By-work, 96/56. 
 
 
 Clear-piercing, 51/54. 
 
 Cleep, cleeped, v. = call, called or named, 21/25, 34/ 12 - 
 
 c 
 
 
 38/61, 49/30, 54/28, 55/3, 120/13, 177/ 1. 5 (Exo.). 
 Cleombrotus neck — the Academic philosopher of Am- 
 
 Caducall = tendency to fall, 54/24. 
 
 
 bracia, who committed suicide after reading Plato's 
 
 Calefaction = act or operation of heating, 12 
 
 /40(a). 
 
 'Phaedon,' that he might exchange this life for 
 
 Cankred, 43/4, 53/8, 56/6. 
 
 
 immortality, 7/53 (b). 
 
 Canteth = whining pretence to superior 
 
 goodness, 
 
 Clerks, 22/33. 
 
 28/95. 
 
 
 Clifts = cliffs, 8/6 (b— to Reader). 
 
 Canvase, 118/33. 
 
 
 Clock (sb.) = beetle (insect), 17/41. 
 
 Canvasing, 42/29 (b). 
 
 
 Clod, 92/12. 
 
 Carefull = full of care, 17/51, 28/101, et alibi 
 
 
 Cloddie, 44/12. 
 
 Casheering = dismissing, 64/14, 77/11. 
 
 
 Cloggins = cloggings, i.e. encumbrances, hindrances, 
 
 Cassiope = constellation Cassiopeia, 80/49. 
 
 
 65/25- 
 
 Castigate = mortified, chastened, 102/25(3), 
 
 102/38 (b). 
 
 Close = a passage, e.g. a cathedral 'close,' 24/58, 
 
 Catadupa = catadupe, i.e. cataract, 77/17. 
 
 
 127/90. 
 
 Catholicall = Catholic, 16/37. 
 
 
 Close-twist, 13/6. 
 
 Causality, 127/93. 
 
 
 Clot (sb.) =clod, 39/64. 
 
 'Cause, 52/3. 
 
 
 Cloying, 49/31. 
 
 Causen, 96/53. 
 
 
 Clumpered, adj. = formed into clumps or masses, 92/11, 
 
 Cease, verb, tr., 186/10 (a). 
 
 
 99/92. 
 
 Censures = condemnatory judgments, 6/7 (a 
 
 
 Clums, adj., query for ' clumps,' a stupid fellow or num- 
 
 Centaures, 39/71. 
 
 
 skull, 173/12. 
 
 Centrality, centralitie, 72/29, 105/17, 131/15, 
 
 133/35- 
 
 Clung, v. = cling, 87/41, 116/43. 
 
 Centrally, 110/33, 114/22, et alibi. 
 
 
 Clunging (heavy-clunging), 99/92. 
 
 Centration, 71/8. 
 
 
 Co-action, 105/15, 120/8. 
 
 Centreitie, 48/27, 49/31, 54/27, 64/15, 72/20, 
 
 32/14. 
 
 Co-active, 54/23. 
 
 Cerdenian = Sardinian ? 123/46. 
 
 
 Coarcation = coarctation, i.e. pressure, 99/85. 
 
 Ceremony, 6/24 (b). 
 
 
 Cob-web, adj., 177/5. 
 
 Chaps, 34/17. 
 
 
 Cock't, 22/38. 
 
 Chappelet, 53/12. 
 
 
 Codicils, 22/36. 
 
 Characterize, 74/47. 
 
 
 Co-extent, 61/22. 
 
 Cholar = choler, 123/44. 
 
 
 Cognoscence, 75/51, 120/13, 128/102, el alibi. 
 
 Christianisme, 10/41 (b), 12/73, T ^l37 ( a )- 
 
 
 Cognoscitively, 162/10 (a). 
 
GLOSSARIAL INDEX AND 
 
 C'old-pated, 6/19 (a). 
 Collated, adj., 93/23. 
 Collect, 106/34. 
 
 Collection, 8/17 (a — to Reader), i2/u(<7). 
 Collectednesse, 1 13/17. 
 Colligation = keeping together, 161/42 (b). 
 Combrous, 176/14(1;). 
 Commination, 49/39. 
 Commixtion, 144/8 (a- — from bottom). 
 Commixture, 165/4 (a — from bottom). 
 Common sense, 61/27, 61/28, 62/31. 
 Common spright, 74/47. 
 Communialty, 144/38 (a). 
 Community, 16/38, 17/49. 
 Companied, v., 66/2. 
 Compassion (sb. ) = sympathy, 1 13/16. 
 Compear, 61/28. 
 Compile, 82/68. 
 
 Complement = interchange compliments, 4/3. 
 Complexion = temperament, 6/22 (b). 
 Complishment, 37/46. 
 Compost, 72/20. 
 Compositall (sb.), 56/9. 
 Composures, 55/3. 
 Compresse, 15/28, 125/64. 
 Comprize, 36/38. 
 Concatenate, 84/7. 
 Conceit, v., 95/51, 98/82. 
 Conceiven, 36/32, 131/12. 
 Concinnity, 155/2 (a), et alibi. 
 Concomitant (sb. ) = companion, 32/142. 
 Concorporate, 115/36. 
 Concorporation, 69/26. 
 Conduciblenesse, 7/32 (a). 
 Conductour = conductor, 7/36 (b). 
 Conference, 80/42. 
 Conflictation, 71/17. 
 Confound = confounded, 94/32. 
 Confract, v. = broken ? 104/9. 
 Confusely = confusedly, 64/1 1. 
 
 Congenit, adj. = connatural, 92/11, 143/4(17 — from bot- 
 tom). 
 Congied, 25/63. 
 Conique, 15/25. 
 
 Conject, v. = conjecture, 104/10, 119/5. 
 Connaturall, 143/3 (a — from bottom). 
 Consopite, v. = calm, compose, 73/37, 80/43, io 5/2o. 
 Consort, 44/9, 81/58. 
 
 Conspire, v., 99/92, 105/17, 134/ 1. 14 (Oracle). 
 Conspiring, adj. , 29/109. 
 Conspissate, v. = thicken, 92/14, et alibi. 
 Conspissation, 92/13, ct alibi. 
 Constipated, 15/28. 
 Context, 82/68. 
 Contract, adj., 84/6, 119/5. 
 Contract, v., 60/8, 67/8, 70/5, 119/5. 
 Contradictariously, 131/14. 
 Contradictious, 95/49. 
 Contrair, adj., 18/56, 24/51, et frequenter . 
 
 Contrair, v., 23/50. 
 
 Contrary, v., 22/37. 
 
 Contrary'd, 22/37. 
 
 Contrive, v., 44/10, 133/32. 
 
 Contrivement, 116/50. 
 
 Convert, v. intr., 122/40. 
 
 Convert, v. tr., 134/39. 
 
 Coppell'd, adj. = high-topped, 15/25. See Nares, s.v. , 
 
 ' copped ' and cognates. 
 'Cording = according, 36/32, 44/8, et frequenter. 
 Corniculate = horned, 82/62. 
 Corporalitie, 66/29, 74/44> 9 2 ! 1 o, 92/16. 
 Corporate, v., 109/19. 
 Corporative, 91/6. 
 
 Corporeals (sb.), 58/14, 59/1, 59/6, 65/19. 
 Corporeitie, and//., 50/46, 58/13, 60/15, ct frequenter. 
 Corps = body, 23/45, et frequenter. 
 Corse, 49/29, 105/19. 
 Cosmopolite, 30/122. 
 Counite, v., 16/39, 74/44. "0/33, 113/17. 
 Count = accounted, 23/49. 
 Coursie = corrosive, 24/52. 
 Courtship = courtliness, 14/2. 
 Covetise, covetize, 29/116, 83/1, 87/38, 113/11. 
 Coyle = noise, tumult, 205/ 1. 22 (on Hall). 
 Crabb'd, 81/58. 
 Cragg'd, 8/2, 68/25. 
 Crank, adj. = brisk, lively, 30/121. 
 Crasie, 38/51, 67/4, 73/29. 
 Creaturall, 48/25, 97/67. 
 Credulous = believing, 4/16. 
 Cretian = of Crete ? 87/42. 
 Cretick = Cretan ? 124/58. 
 Cring'd, 25/63. 
 Cronicall, cronychall, 83/72, 160/39 {&)- (^ ee under 
 
 ' A-cronychall. ' ) 
 Crook, adj. = crooked, 180/4. 
 Crud = curd, 127/90. 
 Cradled, cruddled, 15/25, 99/92, 171/14. 
 Cradling (sb.), 121/26. 
 Crumenall = purse, 35/19. Nares, s.v., very oddly 
 
 quotes Spenser (Shep. Cal. September, 1. 118), 
 ' The fat oxe that wont to lig in the stall, 
 Is now fast stalled in her crumetial.' 
 
 This is his only example. 
 Crumpled, 37/50. 
 Cumbrous, 170/5. 
 Curiosity, 6/29 (a). 
 Currish, 81/58. 
 Cur'sy = courtesy, 61/21. 
 Cushionet, 26/76. See Nares, s.v. 
 Cuspis, 91/7. 
 Cylindre, 179/8. 
 Cynocephals = monster-headed beings ? 39/71. 
 
 D 
 
 Dactyli, 87/42. 
 Dampish, 93/23, 96/62. 
 Dart-holding, 39/68. 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Daze, 87/39. 
 
 Dead, v. = deaden, 72/20, 87/39. 
 
 Deading, adj. , 104/2. 
 
 Deaf, v. = deafening, 106/28. 
 
 Deafing = deafening, 134/19 (b). 
 
 Dear, 8/9 (b — to Reader). 
 
 Death-shadowed, 35/21. 
 
 Debil = weak, feeble, 160/28 (a). 
 
 Decent =fit or suitable and comely, 132/27, 134/10 [a). 
 
 Deemed, adj., 63/2, 175/24(3), 79/16. 
 
 Deeming (sb.), 179/4. 
 
 Deep-biting, 120/9. 
 
 Defluxion, 161/43 (b). 
 
 Deform, adj. = deformed, 14/9, 74/41, 109/23. 
 
 Deft, 135/24 (*). 
 
 Deiform, 50/47, 69/30, 71/7, 132/25, 165/39 {*>)■ 
 
 Deiformity, 132/37. 
 
 Deleble = capable of being blotted out, 146/45 (a). 
 
 Delice = delight or deliciousness, 36/32. 
 
 Delineament, 77/n. 
 
 Demeanance = demeanour, 27/87. 
 
 Denominate, 95/44. 
 
 Denotate, v. = denote, 77/9, 159/25 (b). 
 
 Depaint, depeint, 13/3, 16/29, 53/9- 
 
 Deprave, v., 47/9, 108/5. 
 
 Deprehend = discover ? 104/13. 
 
 Derelictions = forsaking, abandonment, 126/79. 
 
 Derivative, 54/26. 
 
 Dern = dark, solitary, sad, 44/10, 68/22, 80/41, 116/44. 
 
 Descry= describe or show (also 'descrys'), 113/16, 120/10, 
 
 133/36. 
 
 Descrive= describe, 111/39, 1T4/20. 
 
 Detect, 22/36. 
 
 Determ, o. = determine, 51/59. 
 
 Determinate, 84/7. 
 
 Determinations, 6/41 (<S). 
 
 Deuteropathie = sympathetic affection, 68/24. 
 
 Devest, 50/44, 65/18. 
 
 Devicefull, 94/45, 98/85. 
 
 Devisen, 110/25. 
 
 Diametre, 12/38 (a). 
 
 Diametrall = diametrical, 17/47. 
 
 Diapase = diapason (in music the octave), 20/15, 110/31. 
 
 Diapason, 18/56. 
 
 Diffide = distrust (' fide ' from fides), 62/37, 174/10. 
 
 Dight, v. = deck, adorn, 14/15, 15/25, 24/61, et fre- 
 quenter. 
 
 Dilation = dilatation, i.e. expansion, 133/33. 
 
 Ding, v. = dash down — in living use in Scotland, 78/25. 
 
 Discided, 21/27. 
 
 Discission = opening? 80/48. 
 
 Discoloured, 13/3, 16/30, 20/8. 
 
 Discriminance, 61/24. 
 
 Disease = uneasiness, distress, 35/20. 
 
 Disgrace, v., 179/3. 
 
 Disgracement, 81/56. 
 
 Disgregate = separate, 65/25, i6o/ir(£ — from bottom). 
 
 Disimagine, 7/18 (b). 
 
 Disjoynt, 108/12. 
 
 Dispeared= disappeared, 18/51, 48/22, 54/18, 56/5, 121/25. 
 
 Disport = amuse, 81/58. 
 
 Dispread, dispred, 15/26, 17/43, 17/49. 35/27. 57/3- «* 
 
 frequenter. 
 Disproportionalitie, 81/60. 
 Disproportionatedness, 152/17 (a). 
 Disquietall = disquietful, 48/21. 
 Dissolvable, 8/4 (b). 
 Dissonant, 127/85. 
 Dissunder, 35/25. 
 Distain, 186/1 (b). 
 Distancie, distancy = distance, 50/42, 71/14, 72/24. 76/4 
 
 83/72. 94/39. 108/6, 116/48. 
 Distent = spread, 51/56, 65/19, 94/39. 
 Distention, 81/59. 
 
 Disterminate = separate by bounds, 20/10. 
 Distraught = distracted, 22/35, 38/58, 108/8, 176/3 
 
 (Devotion). 
 Distraught = distracted, 60/10, 61/26. 
 Ditts, v. = closes up. 
 Divides, 11/50(17). 
 Docible, 23/41. 
 Dogged, 130/4. 
 Dolour = grief, 122/30. 
 Doltish, 122/37. 
 
 Done = to do, 124/53, 128/95, 128/96. 
 Doom = judgment, sentence, 20/13, 97/7°. 98/83, 
 
 115/39, et alibi. 
 Double-livednesse = two-fold life, 161/22 (a). 
 Down-drooping, 80/42. 
 Down-looking, 115/38. 
 Down-propensities, 79/31. 
 Down-sliding, 33/7. 
 Drad=dread, 8/21 {a), 29/110, 33I. 4 (motto), 33/4, 39/65, 
 
 39/66, 39/67, 44/8, 57/2, et frequenter. 
 Drawable, 70/2. 
 
 Drearyhood, dreryhed = dreariness, 56/6. 
 Dred = dreaded, 128/104. 
 Drery = drear)', 35/21. 
 Droop (sb.), 35/25. 
 Drossie, 98/79. 
 
 Drousihead, drowsihead, 59/2, 67/9, 109/17, 128/104. 
 Drown = drowned, 68/20. 
 
 Dry (essence) = simple essence, or essence perse, 7/6 (a). 
 Ducks (sb.), 25/70. 
 
 Dunghill, adj. = base, vile, 36/38, 173/4. 
 Durance = duration, 50/46, 56/10, 57/1, 165/3 (* — from 
 
 bottom). 
 Durancie, durancy = duration, 50/47, 97/65, 103/1. 
 Duskish, 20/8, 39/64, 46/6, 93/24, 99/89, 179/7. 
 Duskishnesse, 15/22, 44/12. 
 
 Earthily = earthly, 26/77. 
 
 Earth-groveling, 36/38. 
 
 Easly = easily, 132/24. 
 
 Eath = easy, 94/40, 170/13, 121/29, et alibi. 
 
 Eben = ebony, 35/20. 
 
214 
 
 GLOSSARIAL INDEX AND 
 
 Eben-beams = ivory ? 115/29. 
 
 Exotick, 42/21. 
 
 
 Eben-box = ebony or ivory, 17/45. 
 
 Expedite, 23/41. 
 
 
 Efform = shape or form, 16/37, 109/23. 
 
 Experientially, 12/9 (a). 
 
 
 Efformation, 70/3, 98/76. 
 
 Explendency, 71/14. 
 
 
 Efformative, 163/35 (b). 
 
 Explicate, 110/24. 
 
 
 Effund = shed, pour out, 32/146. 
 
 Exprest = pressed out, 127/87. 
 
 
 Eftsoons = immediately, 47/13. 
 
 Extense = extended ? 61/26, 65/20, 73/32. 
 
 
 Egs = urges, 36/32. 
 
 Extent, 51/55, 51/58, 60/12, 60/18, 61/20, 
 
 65/19. 94/39 
 
 Egre = eager, 34/15. 
 
 106/26. 
 
 
 Eke = also, 32/146, 38/59, 43/1, et frequenter. 
 
 Extentionall, adj., 65/19, 65/20. 
 
 
 Eld = old age, 32/143, 32/148, 47/15, 106/34, 174/2. 
 
 Exterous = exterior ? 82/63. 
 
 
 Eldship = eldership, i.e. seniority, 22/31. 
 
 Extoll, 110/28. 
 
 
 Elicitate, v. = draw out, 111/41. 
 
 Extrinsecally, 1 1/38 (a). 
 
 
 Embark'd = enclosed in bark of tree, 119/4. 
 
 Extracted = constructed, 78/23. 
 
 
 Embosome, 42/23 (b), 77/12, 132/17, et alibi. 
 
 Extruded, adj. = expelled, 78/23. 
 
 
 Embracement, 77/12. 
 
 Eyen, eyne, 14/13, 17/40, 22/37, 26/74, et frequenter. 
 
 Embrave = embellish, 108/5, 132/17, 135/16 (a). 
 
 
 
 Embue, 125/63. 
 
 F 
 
 
 Emisse = sent out, 115/30. 
 
 
 
 Empare = impare, 50/48. 
 
 Fact (sb.) = deed, 74/42. 
 
 
 Empassion, v. 
 
 Fain = glad, 186/1 (b). 
 
 
 Empierced, 33/5. 
 
 Fainly, 59/2. 
 
 
 Empight and empighten = fix (see under 'pight'), 74/45> 
 
 Fairs = affairs, 23/50. 
 
 
 81/50, 104/8, 105/19, 105/21, 106/29, 109/20, 115/30. 
 
 Falsitie, falsity, 75/61, 132/19. 
 
 
 Emprise = enterprise (sb. and v.), 33/6, 112/6. 
 
 Fardest = farthest, 141/40 (b). 
 
 
 Empse = empty, uninhabited ? 16/36. 
 
 Farre-piercing, 82/65. 
 
 
 Enact, v. tr., 23/45. 
 
 Farre-shining, 93/26, 98/87. 
 
 
 Encroch, 35/19. 
 
 Farst = farthest or farrest, 59/3. 
 
 
 Enfold, 187/1 (a). 
 
 Farwell, 86/26. 
 
 
 Enforcing, 18/58. 
 
 Fastigiated = tapered, 150/5 (a). 
 
 
 Engins, 54/26. 
 
 Fast-lock'd, 128/101. 
 
 
 Enlight, and enlights, 45/25, 51/58, 63/3, 113/8, 173/17. 
 
 Fat, v. = fatten, 74/41. 
 
 
 et alibi. 
 
 Fauster'd = fostered, 63/4. 
 
 
 Enorm = enormous, 48/22, 82/70. 
 
 Fayes, 87/37. 
 
 
 Enquickened, 145/12(15 — from bottom). 
 
 Feat {sb.), 81/53. 
 
 
 Ensuen, 55/3, 69/29. 
 
 Feat, adj., 82/68, 170/7. 
 
 
 Enterance, 85/18. 
 
 Feeten = feet, 34/9. 
 
 
 Enterfaring = interfering, 152/15 (a). 
 
 Feigne = fiend, 85/20. 
 
 
 Entitle, 6/10 (b). 
 
 Fell = fierce, cruel, 56/6. 
 
 
 Entity, 94/34, 115/30, 132/23. 
 
 Felly = fiercely, 21/27. 
 
 
 Entrall = entrance, 70/6. 
 
 Fend, v. = defend, 15/27. 
 
 
 Envassall, v. = subjugate, enslave, 45/23. 
 
 Fet, v. = fetched, 39/67. 
 
 
 Enwomb'd, 123/51. 
 
 Few, 131/8. 
 
 
 Equallize, 24/55. 
 
 Fiduciall = undoubting, 55/3. 
 
 
 Eradicating = springing from a root, e radice, 139/2. 
 
 Fierce-flying, 123/43. 
 
 
 Erring, adj. = wandering, 77/15, 81/61. 
 
 Figurate, 141/15 (b). 
 
 
 Eructations, 110/25. 
 
 Figuration, 106/29, 121/29. 
 
 
 Espide, 98/77. 
 
 Fimbling, v. = fumbling ? 26/83. 
 
 
 Essencies, 77/12. 
 
 Fime (sb.) =mud, 53/2. 
 
 
 Etern = eternal, 24/52. 
 
 Finden, 47/12, 61/19, et frequenter. 
 
 
 Ethereally/.), 80/46. 
 
 Fire-eyed, 68/22. 
 
 
 Ever-actuall, 137/1. 
 
 Fit, v. = fitted, 93/26. 
 
 
 Evolved, adj., 84/1 1. 
 
 Fitten, 133/30. 
 
 
 Exeem, v. = exempt, 83/2. 
 
 Fixation, 133/33. 
 
 
 Exert, v. = exerted, 16/39, 57/1. 
 
 Flake, 18/60. 
 
 
 Exile, adj., 12/35 (a), 57/6, 84/9, 102/30 (b). 
 
 Flames, 18/58. 
 
 
 Exilitie, exility = slenderness, 59/2, 61/21, 67/13, 76/2, 
 
 Flesh-clouded, 137/11. 
 
 
 771*7. 83/73. 84/10, 102/14 (a). 
 
 Flet = fled? 39/67. 
 
 
 Existencie, existency, 55/2, 104/4, 130/1. 
 
 Flewest, 46/3. 
 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 «5 
 
 Flight, adj., 81/59. 
 
 Flit, 69/29, rn/43. 
 
 Flitten, 19/5, 62/38, 109/16. 
 
 Flittie = flitting, 44/11. 
 
 Flitting, adj., 54/19, 65/26. 
 
 Flone = flown, 71/15. 
 
 Flore, 96/54. 
 
 Floting, 18/57. 
 
 Floud, 57/5. 
 
 Flouring, 18/57. 
 
 Flowred = flowered or blossomed, 115/38. 
 
 Flush = ripe, full, 110/24. 
 
 Flusher, 82/62, 128/101, 182/24 (a), et alibi. 
 
 Fond = foolish, 13/3, 14/17, et frequenter. 
 
 Fondling (sb.), 48/18. 
 
 Fondly, 25/67, 36/35, 53/15, 58/11, 119/3. 
 
 Fondnesse, 103 1. 3. 
 
 Foot, 77/13. 
 
 Fordone or foredone, 16/32, 36/34, 122/36. 
 
 Fore = before, 54/21, 57/2. 
 
 Fore, v. = fared, 15/26. 
 
 Fore-imprest, 75/60. 
 
 Foreslow, v., 49/39, 120/16. 
 
 Fore-wonted, 120/18. 
 
 Forgerie, 100/102. 
 
 Forlorn, v. = forsaken, 13/6, 13/7, 45/20, 68/25. 
 
 Formlesse, 56/7. 
 
 Forrest-work, 17/41. In the East the finest and richest 
 
 shawls are woven under trees in the open air. 
 Forthy = therefore, 48/28 : Spenser, F. Q. , 11. i. 14. 
 Foul = fowl, 179/14. 
 Frampared, frampar'd, adj. = frampold, rugged? 37/40, 
 
 63/3- 
 Fraught = freighted, 109/20. 
 Fray, v. = frighten, 86/25. 
 Freez = frieze, 22/31. 
 Fridge = move hastily, 65/22. 
 Frie (sb.) = brood, 57/1, 174/1. 
 Frie, v., 69/27, 99/94. 
 Frienge = fringe, 26/83. 
 Front = face, 23/49. 
 Fulgurant, 175/44 (<*)• 
 Fuliginous, 141/6 (b — from bottom). 
 Full-shining, 172/8. 
 Fulminant, 31/137. 
 Fulsome, = foul, 35/19, 55/3 1 . Il6 /43- 
 Fulvid = fulvous, i.e. tawny, 13/3. 
 Fume = smoke, 172/17. 
 Fun, v. = found, 81/55, 133/35. 
 Furd = furred, thickened, 44/7. 
 
 Gainer, adj. = more advantageous, 98/81. 
 
 Gainly = readily, dexterously, 94/35, 127/85, 171/9. 
 
 Gan, 16/33, 35/22, et frequenter. 
 
 Gars, v. = makes (compulsion implied), 31/131. 
 
 Gate = gait, 53/10. 
 
 Gear = goods, 82/68, 91/6, 120/12, 124/58, 127/88. 
 
 Gent, adj. = gentle, well-born, 22/38, 23/41. 
 
 Gentle-breathing, 135/ 1. 1 (b). 
 
 Getten, 174/8. 
 
 Ghesse, 23/48. 
 
 Gigantean = gigantic, 176/ 1 1. (Anthologie). 
 
 'Gin, 33/1, 37/48, 46/1, 67/15, 71/n. 
 
 Ginst, 30/118. 
 
 Glaring = dazzling, 15/25. M'Cheyne in his fine hymn, 
 ' When this passing world is done, ' uses this word 
 thus : ' When has sunk yon glaring sun. * 
 
 Glitterandly, 60/16. 
 
 Gloring = glorifying, transfiguring, 68/25. I to ° hastily 
 concluded this was a misprint for 'glowing.' It 
 ought to have been left ' gloring.' It is just possible 
 that ' glaring ' was intended, as in 15/25. 
 
 Godling = little god, 170/12. 
 
 Governance, 14/12. 
 
 Grail = broad open dish or snuffer-tray, 105/22. 
 
 Grammar- might, 23/49. 
 
 Gride, v. = cut, pricked, 48/28, 124/59, 176/20. 
 
 Grisell (sb.), 15/25. 
 
 Grisly, grissly, grizely, grisely, 33/6, 35/20, 97/73. »4'2; 
 123/44. Davies of Hereford so spells. 
 
 Grimie, 97/73. 
 
 Gulled, 29/111, 38/53. 
 
 Gullery, 6/30 (b). 
 
 Gullop, v. = gulp, 100/98. 
 
 Gulls, 24/51. 
 
 Gustables, 59/4. 
 
 Gyres = circles, 50/42. 
 
 H 
 
 Hale, 81/52. 
 Halfed, v., 98/81. 
 Half-hid, v., 81/57. 
 Half-nasty, 74/41. 
 Hap, v., 15/24, 87/37. 
 Har, har = witches' cry, 126/81. 
 Heard = herd, 34/14. 
 Heart-bloud, 174/2. 
 Heart-striking, 31/134. 
 Heart-struck, 81/58. 
 Heaven, 58/13. 
 
 Heaven-threatening, 178/46 (a). 
 Heavy-clunging = clinging, 99/92. 
 Heddy = heady, 44/7. 
 
 Hent, v. = seize, take, 52/6, 76/4, 113/7, 126/74. C£ 
 Shakespeare : — 
 
 ' Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, 
 And merrily lunt the stile-a.' 
 
 Winter's Tale, iv. 2. 
 
 Hests, 17/46, 53/91, 86/26. 
 
 Heterogeneall, 48/24. 
 
 Heve = heave, 64/14. 
 
 Hew, hews, 17/45. 
 
 Hie, 119/1. 
 
 Hiew = hue, 15/20, 20/8, 20/11, 23/41. 
 
 High-gazing, 26/74. 
 
 Hight, v. = named, 13/5, 14/7, et frequenter. 
 
 Hights, 94/40. 
 
2l6 
 
 GLOSSARIAL INDEX AND 
 
 Ilispide = rough, 124/56, 205/ 1. 10 (on Hall). 
 
 Histing, z: = calling me with ' hist,' 24/57. 
 
 Holden, 36/36, 76/5, 121/20, 171/17. 
 
 Hollowed, 97/66. 
 
 Holm = evergreen oak, 17/41. 
 
 Holp, v. = helped, 25/72. 
 
 Homogeneall, 12/13 (&)< 73/3 1, 
 
 Hond = hand, 24/52, 52/6, 96/54, 126/75. 
 
 Honey-dewed, 134/4 ('')• 
 
 Hoodwink, 44/10. 
 
 Hop'd-for, 133/28. 
 
 Hore = hoar, 14/15. 
 
 Hot-glowing, 67/12. 
 
 Hoyst, 124/56. 
 
 Humorous = given to humours, 6/29 (a). 
 
 Hydraes, 17/42. 
 
 I = ay, 142/29 (b). 
 Idea-Lond, 17/44. 
 Idiopathic, idiopathy = idiosyncrasy, 42/19 (b), 68/24, 
 
 et alibi. 
 Idiot (sb.), idiots = ignorant, unlearned person, 7/25(3), 
 
 23/49, 132/21. 
 Idiot (adj.), 24/55. 
 Idola, 102/38 (a). 
 Idole, 14/10. 
 Idols, 111/38. 
 Idolums, 1 10/31. 
 Idyllium, 7/38 (a). 
 Iim = wild beasts, 16/36. (See under 'Ziim.') Cf. Isaiah 
 
 xiii. 22. 
 Imaginall, 14/16, 52/28, 55/4, et frequenter. 
 Imbew, 131/13. 
 
 Immerse, 6/21 (a), 106/25, 177/3. 
 Immersion, 7/54 (a). 
 Imminution = diminution, 14/9. 
 Immure, 67/7, 134/40. 
 Immur'd, 105/18. 
 Immutations, 15/23. 
 Impact, v. = to forcibly press, 104/9. 
 Impassible = incapable of suffering, 136/39 (b). 
 Impeccable = incapable of sinning, 164/26 (a). 
 Impregned, adj., 18/58, 19/5, 96/58, 137/1. 
 Impresse, 18/58. 
 Imprest, 17/44. 
 Inact, v. — inactuate, i.e. put in action, 48/27, 112/2, 
 
 et frequenter. 
 Inacted, 7/57 (a), 70/1, et frequenter. 
 Incarcerate, 1 13/10. 
 Inchoate, v., 150/22(3). 
 Incitation, 49/39. 
 Incivility = rudeness, 4/18. 
 Incompossibility = not being possible but by negation or 
 
 destruction, 54/24, 86/26, 90/19 (b), et alibi. 
 Inconsistentnesse, 95/49. 
 Incorporate, 1 13/15, 124/57. 
 
 Incorporeitie, incorporeity, 59/1, 63 1. 1, 66/3, 111/38. 
 Incubi, 123/43. 
 
 Inculcate, adj., 75/16. 
 
 Incurvate, adj., 99/90. 
 
 Incurvation, 98/85. 
 
 Indentures, 37/47. 
 
 Independencies, 74/43. 
 
 Indewd, 27/84. 
 
 Indews, n 3/10. 
 
 Indispers'd, indisperst, 60/9, 73/35. 
 
 Indispersial, 113/17. 
 
 Indistant, 136/39 (a). 
 
 Individuation, 72/19. 
 
 Individuous, 72/25, 127/85, 127/86. 
 
 Induements, 173/5. 
 
 Inebriate, 13/1. 
 
 Ineptnesse, 118/19. 
 
 Infold, v., 133/36. 
 
 Informative, 48/24. 
 
 Ingenie, ingeny = genius, wit, 19 1. 3 (motto), 81/58. 
 
 Inly, 28/99, 54/i8. 
 
 Inne, 18/61, 34/10. 
 
 Innumerous = innumerable, 86/30, 86/32. 
 
 Intellection = apprehension of ideas, 60/15, 64/9, 67/14, 
 
 109/17. 
 Intellective, 50/47. 
 Interfare = interfere, 25/71. 
 Insculption = inscription, 74/46. 
 Insert, v., 72/24. 
 Insultations, 66/30. 
 Intended, 45/18. 
 Intentionall, 127/87. 
 Interpeal, v. = interpell, i.e. interrupt (by questioning), 
 
 3 6 /3i- 
 Interpellation, 23/44. 
 Interspire, v., 97/73. 
 Intitle, v., 82/68. 
 Intoxicate = intoxicated, 113/10. 
 Intromission, 80/48. 
 Intromit, 174/10. 
 Inust, 82/69, 105/23. 
 Inustion = branding, 163/3 ( a )- 
 Inwalling, adj., 36/31. 
 Inwoning (sb.) = indwelling, 126/72. 
 Irefull, 76/6. 
 Irefulnesse, 63/4. 
 Irksome, 71/14. 
 Isosceles, 51/57. 
 
 J 
 
 Jeat = jet, 79/34. 
 
 Jejune, 67/13, 69/29. 
 
 Jet, v. = spring, leap, 79/34. 
 
 Jets, 18/52, 82/71. 
 
 Jollity, 28/100, 82/65. 
 
 Jot, 22/39. 
 
 Junctures, 49/35. 
 
 K 
 
 Kaesars, 100/104. 
 
 Karkas = carcase, 25/70. 
 
 Ken, 24/51, 64/15, 79/34, 104/5, io 4/6, 106/31, 1 10/31. 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 217 
 
 Keepe — to take keepe = to take notice, 115/37, 174/6. 
 
 Lists = enclosures, bounded places, 12/17 (b), 13/6,20/16, 
 
 Keppen, 46/7. 
 
 
 44/4, et alibi. 
 
 Kestrell, adj., 173/5. 
 
 
 Listeth, 31/35. 
 
 Kned, 12/13(3), et alibi. 
 
 
 Live = living, no/24, — in use in United States of 
 
 Knedding, 139/21 (3). 
 
 
 America still. 
 
 Knight learned = Sir Kenelm Digby — whose alchemist- 
 
 Livelesse = lifeless, 56/7, 60/13, '' alibi. 
 
 chemical treatise and ' powder ' are w 
 
 ell known, 
 
 Liven, 26/81, 36/32, 85/16, 1 14/21, et alibi. 
 
 50/40(3). 
 
 
 Livelyhead, 15/26, 54/26, 66/2, 72/19. 
 
 Knill = knell, 35/21. 
 
 
 Livelyhood, 56/6. 
 
 Knobby = full of protuberances, 122/33. 
 
 A ' fop ' is 
 
 Live-walking, 116/44. 
 
 said to be ' gnobby ' or ' nobby, ' meaning pretending 
 
 Livin, 135/8 (b). 
 
 (by dress) to be more than he really is 
 
 . Whence 
 
 Loansome, 17/41, 126/76. 
 
 this meaning? In Scotland it does 
 
 not always 
 
 Lond = land, 14/10, 22/33, et frequenter. 
 
 express disapproval, e.g. ' You are very nobby to- 
 
 Lone, 18/53. 
 
 day ' = well-dressed, etc. 
 
 
 Longeth, 74/48. 
 
 L 
 
 
 'Longs = belongs, 50/47, 60/15, et frequenter. So Ben 
 
 
 Jonson, ' do all that longs to the anarchy of drink ' 
 
 Ladkin = little lad, 36/31. 
 
 
 (Epigram, cxv.). 
 
 Lady-wits, 6/30 (a). 
 
 
 Love-kindling, 135/21 (a). 
 
 Lamping = shining like a lamp, 15/24, 75/50 
 
 . 135/4 (*)• 
 
 Lout, v. = bend, stoop, 18/36, 11/53, 24/52,— in living 
 
 Lampropronasa, 180/8. 
 
 
 use in Scotland. 
 
 Lance, 53/16. 
 
 
 Loutest, 206/5 ( <7 )- 
 
 Lanspresado's, 206/8 (3). Variously spelled, 
 
 e.g., lance- 
 
 Louting, 24/52. 
 
 persado, lanceprisado, lancepesado, lancepesade, 
 
 Low-sinking, 113/11. 
 
 lancepesata : Italian, lancia spezzata = 
 
 the lowest 
 
 Lowr, 18/53. 
 
 officer of post, one under the corporal. 
 
 See Dyce's 
 
 Lubricous, 7/27(3). 
 
 Webster, p. 190, for a full and good note 
 
 and notice 
 
 Lucid, 14/17, 15/24, 36/37, 75/54, 113/10, 191/1613). 
 
 from Turner and Grose. 
 
 
 Lugs, 28/97, 31/132. 
 
 Large = enlarge, 44/8. 
 
 
 Lumpish, 37/43. 
 
 Lasse, 29/115. 
 
 
 Lurks, 96/52. 
 
 Late-deceas'd, 125/66. 
 
 
 Lustral, 198/ 1. 4 from bottom. 
 
 Lavering = lathering ? 178/1. (In. Phil.) 
 
 
 Lyen = lain, 145/48 (b). 
 
 Lax, 92/13. 
 
 
 
 Leapen, 57/2. 
 
 
 M 
 
 Lear, 45/19, 77/17. 
 
 
 
 Learing = leering, 28/95. 
 
 
 MACROCOSME = the great world, 138/15 (3). [See undci 
 
 Leasure = leisure, 6/10 (a). 
 
 
 ' Microcosme.') 
 
 Leese, 128/100. 
 
 
 Madcap, 22/38. 
 
 Lended, v. = lent, 96/54. 
 
 
 Maken, 15/27, 16/36, et frequenter. 
 
 Lenger = longer, 100/104. 
 
 
 Male-content, v., 123/48. 
 
 Leonine, 143/7 (<* — from bottom). 
 
 
 Malleate = hammer, 122/30. 
 
 Lere, 172/13. 
 
 
 Manfully, 59/6, 170/2. 
 
 Let, 87/40. 
 
 
 Marken, 23/48. 
 
 Lether = leather, 116/43. 
 
 
 Mastered, 122/30. 
 
 Lever, 116/44. 
 
 
 Materiality, 58/7. 
 
 Levin, 45/22. 
 
 
 Maugre, 60/10, 186/4(3). 
 
 Lief, 8/19 (3— to Reader), 55/4. 
 
 
 Meed, 85/18. 
 
 Life-outfetching, 135/13 (b). 
 
 
 Megre, 56/7. 
 
 Lig = lie — in living use in Scotland, 179/16. 
 
 
 Meint =■ mingled or mixed, 51/56, 58/8, 58/ri, 62/39, 
 
 Liggen, 59/2, 122/39. 
 
 
 106/25. So Spenser, 'Till ... his brackish waves be 
 
 'Light, 85/16. 
 
 
 meint' (Shep. Cal., July, 1. 83 ; and Phin. Fletcher, 
 
 Lighten, 127/88. 
 
 
 'in one vessel both together meint' (Purple Island. 
 
 Light-hating, 122/37. 
 
 
 iv. 21). 
 
 Lightsome, 22/37, 57/2, 77/16, 84/8. 
 
 
 Melampronaea, 180/8. 
 
 Likorish, 29/112. 
 
 
 Melancholized — rendered melancholy or habitually 
 
 Limmer = limner, 13/3. 
 
 
 melancholy, 4/9. 
 
 Linear, 50/42. 
 
 
 Melancholize, v., 37/40. 
 
 List (sb.), 23/44, 27/88, 32/137, 47/9, 50/42. 
 
 
 Melt =- melted, 144/37 (*)• 
 
 List, and lists, v., 17/46, 33/6, 35/19, 38/59 (misprinted 
 
 Ment. 37/46, 52/6, 53/9, 110/32, 125/65. 
 
 'lift'), 39/69, 46/2, et frequenter. 
 
 
 Merry, 186/40(3). 
 
 19 
 
 2 E 
 
218 
 
 GLOSSARIAL INDEX AND 
 
 Mete, 49/32. 
 
 Mickle, 45/25. 
 
 Microcosme = little world, 138/14 (b), et alibi. (See 
 
 under Macrocosme.) 
 Milders, v. = turns to dust, 171/2. 
 Milk-white, 35/26. 
 Mimicall, 22/39. 
 Mince, 90/ 1. 29 (a). 
 Mincing, 174/2. 
 
 Mindlesse = heedless, 76/7, 172/16. 
 Mind-mudding, 55/31. 
 Minish'd, 97/70. 
 
 Mirksome, 55/2, 60/17, *04/ 2 > 108/8, 115/30. 
 Misconceit, 79/34. 
 Misfashion, 43/4. 
 Misgovernance, 53/16. 
 Moe, 29/116. 
 
 Moil'd = toiled, 75/56. See Nares, s.v. 
 Moistnesse, 56/8. 
 Mole-warp, 173/11. 
 Molten, 52/1. 
 
 Moment = momentum, 80/42, 174/11. 
 Monadicall, 54/23, 54/24. 
 Mongrill, 39/70. 
 Monts (sb.) = mounts, 125/68. 
 Moody, 16/37, 18/52, 36/41. 
 Moon-trampling, 36/29. 
 Morn-bright, 116/45. 
 Mornful, 53/13. 
 Mortalize, v., 57/4- 
 Mostwhat, 42/54 (a), 120/15. 
 
 Mought, v. = might, 27/91, 29/109, 30/126, et frequenter. 
 Moul (sb.) = mould, earth, 69/29, 121/24. 
 Mount-moving, 181/ 1. 3. (Charitie. ) 
 Movable (sb.), 178/3. 
 Moven, 112/2, 127/84, 132/23. 
 Mow, mowes, 80/41, 119/6. 
 Muck-sprung, 173/7. 
 Muddy, 65/27. 
 Mungril, 21/25. 
 Musing, 54/28. 
 Mutings = dung-droppings, 30/119. 
 
 N 
 
 Narre = near, 98/82. 
 
 Narrow-compast, 100/103. 
 
 Nathelesse, 15/28, 23/47, 33/2. 
 
 Navell, 24/59. 
 
 Nay = neigh, 172/5. 
 
 Ne = not, 14/8, 26/83, et frequenter. 
 
 Nearly, 8/4 (a— To Reader). 
 
 Neater, 96/56. 
 
 Nectar-droppings, 174/1. 
 
 Neezings, 178/54(0). 
 
 Neurospast =» a puppet or little moving figure, 49/34. 
 
 Never-shaken, 71/12. 
 
 Nicer, 127/84. 
 
 Nie, 35/27- 
 
 Night-trifling, 47/1 1. 
 
 Nill, v., 131/17. 
 
 Nimble, 33/2. 
 
 Nominance, 82/65. 
 
 Non, 132/35. 
 
 Non-quantity, 59/7. 
 
 Non-replicate, 60/18. 
 
 No'te, 20/14, 3 / ri 6, et frequenter. 
 
 Nould = ne would, 16/38, 22/38, et frequenter. 
 
 Nullitie, 55/1. 
 
 Numbing, 1 14/21. 
 
 Numerositie, 99/87. 
 
 Numerous = metrical, 8/3 (b — To Reader). 
 
 Nummed, 49/29. 
 
 Nuncio = ambassador, 182/21 (a). 
 
 o 
 
 Obedientiall, 32/139. 
 
 Object, v. = to place or bring before, 52/2. 
 
 Obmurmurings, 60/10. 
 
 Obnubilate, v. = be-cloud, 113/10, 113/15. 
 
 Occasionate, v. = occasion, cause, 69/34. 
 
 Occasioned, 70/5. 
 
 Ocean main, 19/5. 
 
 Occident, 25/63. 
 
 Odde, 85/21, 86/33. 
 
 Oeconomie (economy), 6/23. 
 
 Officious, 7/43 (b). 
 
 Ogdoas = oydods, i.e. the number eight, 20/15. 
 
 Oke = oak, 17/41 
 
 Omniform, 14/9, 102/7^), et alibi. 
 
 Omniformity, 110/33, IIO /34> IIX /44> II 3/ I 7. **4/22 ; 
 et alibi. 
 
 Omnisciency, 140/32 (a). 
 
 Onyons = onions, 22/37. 
 
 Opacity, 71/14, 82/62, 82/64. 
 
 Opacous, 94/32, 179/3. 
 
 Opake, 33/2, 82/64, 91/7. 
 
 Opakeness, 49/31. 
 
 Ope-right = right open, 68/23. 
 
 Ophiucbus = Ophiuchus — one of the old northern con- 
 stellations, 98/77. 
 
 Oppugne, 76/5. 
 
 Optick-glasses, 82/62. 
 
 Orbe, 51/52. 
 
 Orbiculation, 160/13 (b). 
 
 Ore = gold, 94/34. 
 
 Ore-crow, 27/87. 
 
 Ore-spill, 38/59, 122/34. 
 
 Orewraught, 171/5. 
 
 Organity, 48/24. 
 
 Organizate, adj., 121/21. 
 
 Originall (sb.), 73/3 8 - 
 
 Othersome, 140/14 (a), 159/4(0). 
 
 Othersometime, 165/6 (a). 
 
 Out-created, 86/27. 
 
 Out-garment = outer-garment or visible, 139/14 (a.). 
 
 Out-heaven, 77/15. 
 
 Out-ray'd, 72/22. 
 
 Out-roll, v., 105/14. 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 219 
 
 Out-sends, 74/42. 
 
 Out-sling, 63/5. 
 
 Out-snatch, 18/60. 
 
 Out-spue, 114/26. 
 
 Out-top" d, 76/6. 
 
 Out-wind, 25/71, 94/33. 
 
 Out-world, 75/58, 86/34, 106/24, 175/4 (b), et alibi. 
 
 Over-proportioned, 7/52 (b). 
 
 Over-sage, 198/9 (a). 
 
 Over-worn, 7/27 (b). 
 
 Owe, 26/78. 
 
 P 
 Pack-horse (adj.), 174/9. 
 Pad = path (sb.), 22/32, 31/132, 32/140. 
 Pale-fac'd, 181/L33 (Charitie), 182/ 1. 5(a). 
 Pall — covering of darkness, 14/16 — in parentheses sup- 
 plied by the Editor. 
 Pangaion, 179/12. 
 Panick (adj.), 175/12 (a). 
 Paper-stealth, 22/39. 
 Paradigmaticall, 147/30 (a), et alibi. 
 Paradigmes, 75/60, el alibi. 
 Parelies, parelia, i.e. mock suns? 54/25. 
 Parallelogrammicall, 164/15 (b). 
 Parergon = ndpepyov, i.e. extra ornament, 93/25. 
 Particularity, 63/6. 
 Particulariment, 20/15, 79/30. 
 Party = individual, 7/43. 
 Pash'd = dashed, 199/21 (b). 
 Passable, 118/1, 141/17 (£). 
 Passe, v. = esteem, 23/43. 
 Passen, 179/17. 
 
 Passible = susceptible of feeling, 145/31 (b). 
 Pated-cold = headed, 6/19 (a). 
 Patiences, 127/85. 
 'Pear, 19/2, 84/13. 
 'Peared, 47/15. 
 Pearch, 24/52. 
 Pearl-teeth'd, 100/99. 
 Pease, T9/3. 
 Peasen = pease, 96/54. 
 Pedantick'ly, 172/7. 
 Pedling, 174/9. 
 Peint = paint, 59/4. 
 Pellean lad = Alexander the Great as a native of Pella 
 
 (B.C. 356), 115/40. 
 Pellucidity, 39/65. 
 
 Pen = enclose (as sheep in a fold), 109/15. 
 Pend and pends, 71/12, 72/26, 73/31, 74/42. 105/15, 
 
 (B.C. 356), 107/35. 
 Penetrance, 20/12. 
 Pent, 107/36, 114/25. 
 Peracts, 133/31- (See under 'inact.') 
 Perfective = perfect, 137/31 (b). 
 Perigee, 46/6. 
 Periphere, 79/39. 
 
 Perpend, 49/3 8 . 74/43. 133/3°. * «**»■ 
 Perpessions, 120/14. 
 Perplex (adj.), 98/83. 
 
 Pertake, 24/54. 
 
 Perturbate, 67/14. 
 
 Pervious, 12/14 (*)• 
 
 Phansies = fancies, 6/35 (a), 23/41, et frequenter. 
 
 Phantasie, 60/16, 74/47, et frequenter. 
 
 Phantasmaticall, 160/3(3). 
 
 Phantasms, 65/28, 102/7 (a), I0 4/7. t°9/ I 7. 
 
 Phantasticall, 62/35. 
 
 Phantastick, 62/35. 
 
 Pie = pye, 13/3. 
 
 Pievish = peevish, 176/3 (Anthologie). 
 
 Pight = pitched, 20/13, 24/61. et frequenter. 
 
 Pincht, 23/42. 
 
 Pindust, 96/60. 
 
 Pinsers, 80/41. 
 
 Pitched (adj.), 83/73. 
 
 Plain-pav'd, 82/67. 
 
 Plains, v. = smooths, 15/20. 
 
 Plaister, 96/54. 
 
 Plantall= belonging to plants, 47/16, 48/25, et frequenter. 
 
 Plastick = pliant, or capable of being moulded or 
 
 formed, 113/9. 
 Plaud, 36/39. 
 Plause, 39/106. 
 Plicatures, 15/18. 
 Plight, 74/42. 84/"- 
 Plotin = Plotinus, 13/4. 
 Plunge, 51/53. 
 Point, 76/1. 
 
 Pointings = intimations or indications, 7/31 (b). 
 Poreblind = purblind, 177/10. 
 Prove, 44/9. 
 Praecipitant, 145/4(3). 
 Praeexist = pre-exist, 137/85. 
 Praeexistencie = pre-existency, 70/1, 70/4, 118/1, 119/1, 
 
 1 19/2 (motto), 128/98. 
 Prseterition, 136/31 (<z). 
 Precinct and precincts, 17/44, 19/3. 
 Prejudicative, 90/1. 
 Presentiall, 68/21. 
 Presentially, 110/28. 
 
 Presentific = making present, 68/17, 74/44. 
 Presly or pressely, 57/7, 61/28, 106/30, 109/20, 114/24. 
 Presse= ready, urgent, 36/32, 105/15, 110/28. 
 Presser, 57/3. 
 Prestly, 47/10. 
 Prevent, 79/32. 
 Pristin = pristine, 48/20. 
 'Proch't, 34/7. 
 
 Progging = pricking, inciting? 47/16. 
 Project, v., 114/28, 171/1. 
 Promove, 161/12 (b — from bottom). 
 Propend and propends, 49/38, 115/35- 
 Propension, 110/25. 
 Propinquitie, 20/12. 
 Proportionalities, 76/4. 
 Proportionall, 92/17. 
 Prorogation, 136/30 (a). 
 Protopathie, 68/24. 
 
GLOSSARIAL INDEX AND 
 
 Proven, 79/37. 
 
 Psychathanasie, 131/15. 
 
 Psychopannychie, 103 1. 4, 104/3, 104/n. 
 
 Psychopannychite, 104/12, 115/36, 128/104. 
 
 Psychycall, 54/23. 
 
 Pulchritude, 137/2 (a — from bottom). 
 
 Purvey, 125/70. 
 
 Putid = base, worthless, 43/6. 
 
 Py, pye, 17/41, 25/62. 
 
 Pythagore «■ Pythagoras, 13/4. 
 
 Q 
 
 Quadrate, 32/143, 37/51, 37/52. 
 Quaere, quere (si.), 27/84, 51/53. 
 Queint, 27/88, 58/15, 127/88. 
 Quelme, v., 15/25. 
 Quenchen, 56/10. 
 Queres = queries, 27/84. 
 Queristers-wood, 24/60. 
 Querks, 37/46. 
 
 Quick, 60/9, 110/34, 120/13, 130/3. 
 Quick-eyd, 50/41, 178/50 (a). 
 Quire, v. = enquire, 23/45. 
 
 R 
 
 Ragefull, 43/5, 170/11. 
 
 Rascall, 66/3. 
 
 Raught, 22/35, 68/15, 79/32. 
 
 Raving, 130/3. 
 
 Ray, rays, rayd, raying, 71/16, 77/10, 87/36, 109/18, 
 
 110/28, 115/32, 116/48, 128/102, 132/25, 188/5 (a), 
 
 188/33 (*). 
 Reacquainten, 104/12. 
 Readen, 35/26. 
 Realtie, realty = reality, actuality, 61/22, 77/55, 94/34. 
 
 115/29. 
 Receiven, 114/26, 173/16. 
 Recomfort, 52/3. 
 Record, 13/1. 
 Recoyl = to return, 119/7. 
 Recure, 52/4, 54/20, 62/38, 106/32. 
 Redound, v. = to be redundant, 61/29. 
 Red-scaled, 116/43. 
 Reduceth, 11/22(3), 12/3(3). 
 Reduplicate, 62/36. 
 Reduplicative, 108/7. 
 Reechoning, 171/15. 
 Reek (si.) = smoke, 126/79, 140/2. j 
 Refert, v., 72/24. 
 Refract, 19/7. 
 
 Regiment = government, 34/16. 
 Reluctancy, 157/1 (a). 
 Remorse, 90/2. 
 
 Renown, v. tr., 192/ 1. 6. (Philotheus.) 
 Repast (si.), 37/49- 
 Repeal, 61/23. 
 
 Repedation = stepping or going back, 98/76, 155/17(1?). 
 Repugnant, 7/14(3). 
 Requere, 35/24. 
 Resect, v., 50/46. 
 
 Respired, 16/38. 
 
 Restauration, 53/9. 
 
 Restrain, 66/4. 
 
 Resty (adj.) = restive, 26/7. 
 
 Retection = act of disclosing, 20/7, 80/40. 
 
 Retent, v., 65/26. 
 
 Retention, 133/31. 
 
 Retinence, 105/13. 
 
 Retinue, 96/57. Even Dryden so accentuates. 
 
 Retractions, 49/34. 
 
 Retracts, 20/16. 
 
 Retreat, v., 104/6. 
 
 Retrocession, 82/66. 
 
 Retrogradation, 154/1 (i), 155/26 (a). 
 
 Retrude = thrust back, 59/6. 
 
 Reverse, v., 120/9. 
 
 Revert, 86/33, 122/40. 
 
 Rid, 19/2, 127/90. 
 
 Rine = rime frost, 22/31. 
 
 Risen, 135/14 (a). 
 
 Risibility = power of laughing, 142/38 (i). 
 
 Rives, 177/I. 2. (Exosc.) 
 
 Riving, 14/7. 
 
 Rode = road, 22/35. 
 
 Romboides, 51/57. 
 
 Rorid = ruddy, 163/16 (i). 
 
 Rose-cheek'd, 100/99. 
 
 Roul, 35/23. 
 
 Round and rounds, 16/30, 135/24 (i). 
 
 Rout and Routs, 34/13, 86/26, 90/23(3), 98/84, 134/9^). 
 
 Rowling, 31/29. 
 
 Roxid = dewy, 53/18, 54/25, 95/48, 100/100. 
 
 Ruby-lip'd, 100/99. 
 
 Rue, 54/18. 
 
 Ruinate, v., 35/22, 53/15, 5 8 /"> 74/43- 106/28. 
 
 Russet, 23/42. 
 
 Rusty = rust-coloured, 178/1 (Ins. Phil.), 198/23(3). 
 
 Rythmes, 8/23 (To Reader i), 13/2. 
 
 Sad — sometimes ordinary sense, and in other cases == 
 solid, 7/11 (i), 23/44, 78/24, 86/34, 90/28, 93/21 
 ( = sorrowful), 96/61, 96/63. 
 
 Sadly, 13/2. 
 
 Sadducisme, 6/8 (i). 
 
 Salvage (si.), 119/5. 
 
 Salvag'd (adj.) 122/38. 
 
 Salve, 82/70. 
 
 Sans = without (French), 47/17, 127/90. 
 
 Saron = Sharon? 112/3. 
 
 Satisfiable, 7/50 (i). 
 
 Saught, 38/58, 69/26. 
 
 Sayen, sayn, sain = say and also bless, 76/6, 80/39, 
 108/8, 111/39, et frequenter. 
 
 Scalene, 51/57. 
 
 Sciency, 21/26, 45/24, 51/54, 67/6. 
 
 Scissare = longitudinal opening, 138/ 1. 3 (i— from bot- 
 tom). 
 
 Sconses, 80/41. 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Scoure, 82/64, 94/4°- 
 
 Slabby = viscuous, 128/101, 191/ 1. 5(a). 
 
 Seazing, 98/81. 
 
 Slake, slaked = slacken, 86/30, 125/69, 170/12. 
 
 Secesse, 8/1 1 (a — To Reader). 
 
 Slavering, 34/15. 
 
 Secundary, 56/5. 
 
 Slick = sleek— in living use in United States of America, 
 
 Seemly, 36/37. 
 
 61/24. 
 
 Self-centrality, 132/19. 
 
 Slocken = slaked, 173/7. (Still in use in Scotland.) 
 
 Self-centrall, 132/20. 
 
 Slooping = sloping, 174/13. 
 
 Self-deadnesse, 147/26 (b), 148/2 (b). 
 
 Slouch (sb.), 34/8. 
 
 Self-desire, 178/ last line a. 
 
 Slow-foot, 24/57. 
 
 Self-essentiall, 110/34. 
 
 Slow-footed, 32/148. 
 
 Self-gnawing, 115/36. 
 
 Slubbering, adj., 146/17 (b). 
 
 Selfnesse, 133/36, et alibi. 
 
 Smoreing, smoring = smothering, 36/38, 71 15. 
 
 Self-nothingnesse, 148/3 (b). 
 
 178/21 (a). 
 
 Self-ray, 128/103. 
 
 Smouldry, 60/8, 124/55. 
 
 Self-reduplication, 62/33. 
 
 Sneep'd = sneaped, i.e. reproved abruptly, 1 14/18. 
 
 Self-sens 'd, 38/60. 
 
 Sneezing, adj., 45/22. 
 
 Self-sensednesse, 143/2, 159/18 (b). 
 
 Snorted, v., 104/5. 
 
 Self-senselessnesse, 148/4 (b). 
 
 Snow-limb'd, 100/99. 
 
 Self-strucken, 159/ last line (b). 
 
 Soaming — query — an imitative word? 1 10/31. 
 
 Self-vitality, 110/34. 
 
 Soliditie, 50/42. 
 
 Self-vivacious, 50/45. 
 
 Solitaire, 99/93. 
 
 Senden, 62/36, 116/43. 
 
 Solitude, 132/20. 
 
 Sense-sympathy, 17/49. 
 
 Solyma, 15/27. 
 
 Sent, 7/12 (b), 59/4, 64/9. 
 
 Sootie, 44/8. 
 
 Sequency, 86/34. 
 
 Sore = soar, 145/24 (b). 
 
 Setten, 45/23, 58/8, 58/14, 60/18, et frequenter. 
 
 Sory, 60/14. 
 
 Settlednesse, 162/3 (<*)• 
 
 Soul-smiting, 174/1. 
 
 Seven-corded, 182/19 (a). 
 
 Soure or sowr, 75/61, 81/58, 84/10, 85/15, 85 17 
 
 Severall, 92/18, 96/55. 
 
 Sourely, 130/4. 
 
 Shaken, 36/32. 
 
 Sourse = source, 19/ 1. 2, 32/147, 47/14, 53/17. 1 
 
 Shapen, 120/14. 
 
 Souse = dip, 24/56. 
 
 Shapen'd, 58/9. 
 
 Souses, 34/7. 
 
 Shapening, 58/9, 68/19. 
 
 Sown = to swoon, 116/49. 
 
 Sheen, 53/11, 61/24, 68/22, 98/79, 121/27. 
 
 Spattered, adj., 172/11, 178/4(11). 
 
 Shent = reproached, scolded — participle of ' shend, ' 
 
 Spaul = spittle, 36/29, 126/77, 206/12. 
 
 34/16, 37/42. Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, iv. 2. 
 
 Specious, 64/12. 
 
 Shelves, 100/105. 
 
 Spectres, 78/21. 
 
 Shift, 94/39- 
 
 Speedinesse, 81/55. 
 
 Shining-silver, adj., 98/82. 
 
 Spell = gospel, 86/31. 
 
 Shiver = shive, or small slice, 79/35. 
 
 Spenden, 115/37, 73/2. 
 
 Shreeks, 29/110. 
 
 Sperm, 48/25, 127/86. 
 
 Shrill, v., 91/3. 
 
 Spermall, 58/9. 
 
 Shone = shown, 91/7. 
 
 Spermaticall, 48/25, 48/27, etjrequenter. 
 
 Shotten, 114/25. 
 
 Spermatick, 79/32, 92/n, 100/101, 108/6. 
 
 Shrow = shrew, 125/65. 
 
 Spersed, sperst, 91/5, 95/48. 
 
 Siez ss sieze, 98/81. 
 
 Spight = spite, 120/15, 123/47, 124/53. 
 
 Sighen, 36/39. 
 
 Spill = spoil, 43/5, 64/8, 86/30, 111/44, 133/28. So H't 
 
 Silency, 21/20, 39/65, 132/23. 
 
 Jonson, 
 
 Silken, 50/48, 53/12. 
 
 ' Nor look too kind on my desires, 
 
 Silver-bowed, 50/42. 
 
 For then my hopes will spill me.' 
 
 Silvered, 97/66. 
 
 (Underwoods : 11. Song ) 
 
 Silver-sounded, 8/14 (b — To Reader), 100/107. 
 
 and, 
 
 Siping = sipping or leaking, 35/24. 
 
 ' 'Twere better spare a butt [of wine] then spilt hi- M 
 
 Site, 59/6, 65/22, 68/23. 
 
 (I bid. Ivxw ) 
 
 Sith = since, 8/1, 12/1, et frequenter. 
 
 Spiritall, 60/1 1, 62/36, 64/17. 
 
 Sithence, 153/19(3 — from bottom). 
 
 Sportfull, 1 19/7. 
 
 Sitten, 56/9, 110/26. 
 
 Spot, v., = spat, 126/77. 
 
 Skonses, 34/13. 
 
 Spreaden, 20/8, 43/3, et frequenter. 
 
 Sky-coloured, 15/26. 
 
 Spreed, 58/8. 
 
GLOSS A RIAL IXDEX AXD 
 
 Sprent, 95/48. 
 
 
 Subsistencie, 51/59, 85/21. 
 
 Spright = spirit, 8/9 (.1 — To Reader), 13/6, et frequenter. 
 
 Subtile, 65/18, 99/91. 
 
 Springen, 28 99, 62 35. 
 
 
 Sucken = sucked, 123/43. 
 
 Spritely, adv., 77/16, 133/35. 
 
 
 Suddenly = instantly, 6/2 (a). 
 
 Sprang, 13/1, 13/5, 63/6, 65/20, et frequenter. 
 
 
 Suing, 13/3. 
 
 Spruse = spruce, 22/39, 131/10. 
 
 
 Summitie, summity = height or top, 69/30, 75/57, et alibi. 
 
 Spume = foam, 124/58. 
 
 
 Sun-bright, 13 '3. 
 
 Squalid, 124/62. 
 
 
 Sunday-cloths = best clothes, 15/20. 
 
 Stabilitates, 50/43. 
 
 
 Superficiary, 12/37 (*)• 
 
 Stades = stadia, i.e. paces, 95/41. 
 
 
 Surceast, 54/18. 
 
 Stage, 19/5. 
 
 
 Surquedry = pride, pomp. 31/130. 
 
 Stain, v., 50/41, 179/4. 
 
 
 Susception, 65/24. 
 
 Stalking (trees) = trees behind which sportsmen 
 
 conceal 
 
 Suspense, adj., 140/10 (b). 
 
 themselves in aiming, 131/9. 
 
 
 Suspiration = sigh, 69/26. 
 
 Standen, 54/20, 78/26, 80/46, 99/95. 
 
 
 Sustentacle = support, 54/25. 
 
 Star-eynd, 100 09. 
 
 
 Swallow (sb.), 134 '40. 
 
 Star-like, 38/57. 
 
 
 Swapping, adj. = sweeping (noise implied), 44/n. 
 
 Stayest, 50/43. 
 
 
 Swiftnesse — misprinted 'switnesse,' 81/56. 
 
 Steddy, 97/70. 
 
 
 Swill, v. = drink (to excess implied), 152/7 (a — from 
 
 Steel-coloured, 116/45. 
 
 
 bottom). 
 
 Steem = esteem and steam, 31/134, 34/17. 43 N 
 
 , 70/2. 
 
 Swink = toil, labour, 37/48, 66/29, 131/16. 
 
 1 13 12. 
 
 
 Swoln-glowing, 178 ''4 (a). 
 
 Steeple-cap = steeple-crown or high-crowned 
 
 cap or 
 
 Swommen, 134/8 (b). 
 
 hat. 15/25. 
 
 
 Swonk, 47/12. (See under ' Swink.') 
 
 Stein = stain, 121/22. 
 
 
 Symtomes, 29/110. 
 
 Sterill, 51/52, 67/11. 
 
 
 Synods, 99/87, 99/93. 
 
 Stert = start, 62/35, 122/40. 
 
 
 T 
 
 Sterve, 114 '24. 
 
 
 Stiff-standers, 76/5. 
 
 
 T'agathox = the good, 77/1 r. 
 
 Sdll-pac'd, 15/25. 
 
 
 Tactuall, 68/21, et alibi. 
 
 Stilly. 172/16. 
 
 
 Tafflty, 26/75. 
 
 Stillest, 140/5 (£). 
 
 
 Taken, 115/37. 
 
 Stole, 92/2, 92/18. 
 
 
 Tantalize, 105/19. 
 
 Stond = stand, 96/54. 
 
 
 Tarre = tar, 178/1. (Ins. Phil.) 
 
 Stony, 116 44. 
 
 
 Tarry, adj. , 116/43. 
 
 Stound, 31/134, 33/5, 52/6, 77/13. 176/18 (a\. 
 
 
 Teen = grief, and also rage, 22/37, 29/109, 123/48, 
 
 Stouping, 67/4. 
 
 
 178/9 (a). 
 
 Stour. stowre = tumult, disturbance, 18/53. 37 43 
 
 • 84'ra, 
 
 Temperate, v., 50/43. 
 
 130/1, 175/47 (a). 
 
 
 Tender, 64/15. 
 
 Strad, v. = strode, 31/132, 116 40. 
 
 
 Teneritie, 81/58. 
 
 Straight, straight, 61/22, 97/69, 97/73, 99/90. 
 
 
 Terrene, 8/15 (a), 120/17, 121/22. 
 
 Straighted, 23 42, 
 
 
 Testation = attestation, 73/29. 
 
 Stranger, 62/39. 
 
 
 Theiv'd, adj., 45/20, 45/23- 
 
 Streak, 49/30. 
 
 
 Then = than, 4^, et frequenter. 
 
 Streem, 97/67. 
 
 
 Theologasters = empirics in Theology, 163/10 [i — from 
 
 Stratchen, 60/14, 108/11. 
 
 
 bottom). 
 
 Strifefull, 56/6. 
 
 
 Theosophicall, 76 1. 3 (motto). 
 
 Strand. 17 44. 
 
 
 Thick, v., 15/27, 15/28. 
 
 Strong-awing, 39/66. 
 
 
 Thickest = thickset, 170/8. 
 
 Strong-winged, 78 as 
 
 
 Thin-shot, 68/23. 
 
 Strowd = strewed, 78/23. 
 
 
 Thin-spun, 84/9. 
 
 'Stray, 'stroy'd, 44/12, 56/6, 59/1. 65/23. 
 
 
 Tho' = then, 22/35, 130/4. 
 
 Strucken, 134/5(17), 160/10 (£). 
 
 
 Thorough = through, 91/45, 95/56, 126/72. 126/73, l8l /7- 
 
 Style = stylus, 93/20. 
 
 
 Thorough-siping = through-sipping, leaking drop by 
 
 Styptick, adj. , 116 41. 
 
 
 drop or oozing, 35/24. 
 
 Subducted, i53'6(j). 
 
 
 Thralls, 1 16/41. 
 
 Subduction, 152/ last line (a\, j-,2fo{b). 
 
 
 Threatning, 49/29. 
 
 Subordinance, 20/12. 
 
 
 Throw (sb.), 53/10. 
 
 Subservient, 10 15 (b). 
 
 
 Throwen, 96/55. 
 
NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 223 
 
 Tide, 37/44. 
 
 Tight, 87/35. 
 
 Till'd, v. = toiled, 170/3. 
 
 Tinctures, 17/45, 121/22. 
 
 Tine (si.), 18/58, 76/2, 124/54. 
 
 Tire, 15/25. 
 
 To weet = to wit, 24/58, 98/76. 
 
 Token, 180/1. 
 
 Tole = toll, tax, 106/31. 
 
 Torch wort = a plant, 24/59. 
 
 Torpent, 26/81. 
 
 Touse, touze, v. = ruffle or rustle, 17/47, 130/6. 
 
 Tousell, v., 44/14- 
 
 Toy = play, trifle, 4/3, 22/37. 
 
 Toy'd, 23/43. 
 
 Tract, 19/7, 33/4, 70/5. 
 
 Trad, v. = trod, 31/132. 
 
 Traducted, 127/91. 
 
 Trale. 34/9. 
 
 Trane = train, 17/46. 
 
 Transfus'd, 69/30. 
 
 Transmew'd = transmuted, 110/34, 179/5. 
 
 Transmisse = transmissive, transmitted, 61/19, 77/17, 
 
 79/29, et frequenter. 
 Trembeling, 91/4 
 Tricentrall, 70/6. 
 
 Tricentreitie, 66/1. 3 (motto), 67/8, 70/3. 
 Tride = tried, 94/35, 95/49, 98/75. 
 Trinall, 12/8(3), 12/39 («). S x /S3- 
 Triplicity, 67/14. 
 
 Trismegist = Trismegistus, 13/4, 63/3. 
 Trod (si.) — footprints, and also track, pathway, 45/24, 
 
 48/19, 132/27. 
 Troth, 62/30. 
 Tumbling, 82/65. 
 
 Tway, 16/33, 21/25, 3 X / I2 7. ei alibi. 
 Twiches, 126/76. 
 Twist (si.) = a twine or thread, 18/55, 23/44, 51/53, 
 
 87/36- 
 Twitches, twitch, 206/13(3), 206/15 (i). 
 Twitten, 13/4. 
 Twurld, 93/22. 
 
 u 
 
 Umbratil = unreal, 136/ last line (i), 164/30 (i). 
 
 Unactive, 56/7, 121/21. 
 
 Unbad = unbidden, 91/2. 
 
 Unbar'd = unbared, 15/28. 
 
 Unbar'd, 96/52, 103/ 1. 3 (motto). 
 
 Unbeen'd = made to cease to be, 44/15. 
 
 Uncapable, 22/32. 
 
 Uncentring, v., 119/3. 
 
 Uncessant, 67/10. 
 
 Uncoacted, 12/2, 12/14 (b)- 
 
 Uncompassed, 86/27. 
 
 Unconcludible, 141/21 (i). 
 
 Uncouth, 100/102, 100/106, 105/14, 122/35. 
 
 Undercrept, v., 33/3. 
 
 Underprize, 173/1, 
 
 Understond, 24/52. 
 
 Undipt, 120/12. 
 
 Uneath, uneathes = uneasy, difficult, o6'53. 98 35. 
 
 106/34, 124/54. 170/3. * al 'bi. 
 Unexpresseable, 137/37 (i). 
 Unite = unit, 51/55. 
 Unite, united, 114/20, 115/33, 132/26. 
 Unitive, 136/25 (i). 
 Universalizd, 63/7. 
 Universalnesse, 50/46. 
 University = universe, 20/13. 
 Unknotted, 12/14(3). 
 Unlatch, v., 18/60. 
 Unlearnednesse, 12/41 (i). 
 Unliv'd, v., 44/15. 
 Unmeet, 177/10. 
 Unresolv'dnesse, 174/2. 
 Unsatiate = insatiate, 113/11. 
 Unsneep'd, 107/2. (See under 'Sneeped.') 
 Unspottednesse, 8/7 (i). 
 Unspreaden, 65/21. 
 Unstuffd, 90/33. 
 Unsufficient, 65/22. 
 Unsure, 9/6. 
 Untaught, 80/42. 
 Untinct = untinctured, 97/68. 
 Unwares, 49/35. 
 Unwet, 30/118. 
 Upbray = upbraid, 21/27. 
 Upstayen, 56/7. 
 Upstraight, 37/50. 
 Upwound, 70/6. 
 Upwrapt, 43/2. 
 
 V 
 
 VAGIENT = crying, 87/42. 
 
 Vagrancy, 8373. 
 
 Varnish "d, adj., 68/25. 
 
 Vaticinates = prophesies, 64 9. 
 
 Vegetive, 50/47. 
 
 Vent, 95/48. 
 
 Verilayes, 52/5. 
 
 Veritie, 81/58. 
 
 Vertiginous, 78/22, 80/50. 
 
 Vespertine = pertaining to the evening (hence ' vespers '). 
 
 160/20 (i — from bottom ). 
 Vild and vilde — vile, 30/119, 105 19. 
 Virginship, 37/47. 
 Virtue, 60/9. 
 Vivacious, 120/14. 
 
 Vivificative, 141/13 (i — from bottom). 
 Vizards = masks, 95/47, 130/4 
 Voidnesse, 95/42, 9S'45. 95/50- 
 Voraginet — not known to the Editor— a fancy -being ? 
 
 178/1 (i). 
 Voraginous = full of gulfs, 74 48. 
 
 w 
 
 Wagen, 30/127. 
 Wained = weaned, 14 '12. 
 Wan = won, 122/32. 
 
--4 
 
 GLOSSARIAL INDEX, AND NOTES AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Warranter, 7/5 (a). 
 
 Wast = waste, 91/45, 121/25, 128/96. 
 
 Wastefull, 8/8 (b— To Reader), 22/33, 9 J /5- 
 
 Wastning, adj., 98/82. 
 
 Waxen, v., 24/66, 47/15, et frequenter. 
 
 Wayment = lamentation, 53/9. 
 
 Weak, 26/80. 
 
 Weed, 19/2, 51/51. 124/57. 
 
 Weedery, 32/141. 
 
 Weeds, 18/61, 120/16. 
 
 Ween = think, imagine, 27/88, 35/27, et frequenter. 
 
 Weend, 23/45, 124/61. 
 
 Weet = wit, 32/145, 104/n, 111/40, 112/1, 116/50. (See 
 
 under ' to-weet.') 
 Weetingly = wittingly, 53/15. 
 Welkin = sky, 19/7, 71/14. 
 Well away, 174/6. 
 Well-favorednesse, 144/25 (a). 
 Well-proportionated, 96/55. 
 Wex, 174/n. 
 Wexen, 13/3, 174/8. 
 Whenas, 47/14, 95/46. 
 Whereas, 38/55. 
 
 Whileare, whileere, 20/11, 46/6, 92/17, 93/23. 
 Whilome, whylom = formerly, 14/16, 21/28, 31/132, et 
 
 alibi. 
 Whinneying, 44/13. 
 Whirl-pool-turnings, 134/14 (b). 
 Whisling, 85/18. 
 Wight, 14/8. 
 
 Wis, wisse = wish, wit, 22/32, 27/94, 67/10, 127/91. 
 Wise-preventing, 100/105. 
 Wist, 24/53. 
 
 Wistly = earnestly, 50/43, 61/25. 
 Withstond, 17/44. 
 
 Withouten, 15/24, 18/56, 20/12, 21/23, et frequenter. 
 Witlesse, 93/19. 
 Witty = wise, 29/107. 
 Wizard, wizzard = wise man, 47/10, 93/19, 122/36, 
 
 123/42, 126/81. 
 Woes — woos, 123/48. 
 Won, v. = went, 16/32. 
 Won, wonne, wonnes, v. = to dwell, 16/32, 16/36, et 
 
 frequenter. 
 Won, wonne, wonnes (sb.) = dwelling, 17/50, 21/22, et 
 
 frequenter. 
 Wood, adj. = mad, 18/59, 27/93, S3/ I S. 123/49' 
 Wool-gathering = vagrant idleness, 93/27. 
 Wool-lining, 123/43. 
 Worken, 38/55. 
 Wot, wote = wit, know, 8/9 {a— To Reader), 14/12, et 
 
 frequenter. 
 Wot'st, 173/18. 
 Wox, 39/63, 39/64, 114/29. 
 Woxen, 23/44, 55/30, et frequenter. 
 Wraught = wrought, 84/8. 
 Wrigge, v. = wriggle, 62/37. 
 Wrimpled, adj. — query— wimpled ? 17/47 
 Writh = writhe, 32/143. 
 
 Writheld = withered, haggard, 123/47. 
 Writhen, 7/17 (b). 
 
 Yblent, 24/56, 106/32, 113/n. 
 
 Yblown, 47/9. 
 
 Yborn = born, 21/28, 36/33, 56/5, 74/41. 
 
 Yborn = borne, 56/5, 68/25, 74/41, 82/70. 
 
 Ybound, 92/8, 109/21, 133/38. 
 
 Ybrent = burned, 14/17, 124/55. 
 
 Ybrought, 91/2, 95/45. 
 
 Ychanged, 58/8, 121/25. 
 
 Ycheckt, 114/28. 
 
 Yclad, 20/13, 22/31, 22/33, 3 8 /5 6 - ^b- "9/3- 
 
 Ycleeped = named, 21/28, 25/67, et frequenter. 
 
 Ycleft, 81/54. 
 
 Yclos'd, 120/18. 
 
 Ycrown'd, 77/13. 
 
 Ydead, 104/5. 
 
 Ydrad = dread, 18/51. 
 
 Ydred, 48/19. 
 
 Ydrest, 38/56. 
 
 Yfed, 100/100. 
 
 Yfere = together, 32/144, 35/24. See Spenser, F. Q. 
 
 1. ix. 1, 
 
 ' O goodly chain, wherewith yfere 
 The vertues linked are.' 
 Yfild = filled, 85/24. 
 
 Yflone, yflown, 34/47, 87/37, 114/20, 121/22. 
 Yfraught, 95/45, 107/36. 
 Ygo, 130/5. 
 
 Ygone, 37/43, 115/37. I3 1 / 12 . 
 Yielden, 121/19. 
 Ylent, 59/4, 132/22. 
 Ylet, 53/12. 
 
 Ymeint = mixed, 120/12, 125/71. 
 Ymet, 33/2. 
 Ymong, 134/15 (a). 
 Yode = past tense oiyede, to go, '22/35, 22/38, 33/5. So 
 
 Spenser, ' Before them yode on lustie tabrere ' (Shep. 
 
 Cal. May, 1. 22). 
 Yongster, 22/38. 
 
 Ypent = enclosed or penned, 106/25. 
 Yrapt, 21/20. 
 Yrold, 15/18, 26/76. 
 Yspent, 127/86. 
 Ystruck, 103/1. 
 Ytaught, 84/8. 
 Ytore, 120/17. 
 
 Ytorn, 31/129, 68/25, 174/12. 
 Ytost, 19/4, 35/21, 71/8. 
 Ywrapt, 13/1, 21/20, 67/8, 113/15. 
 Ywrit, 35/26. 
 Ywrought, 104/7, 109/20. 
 
 Ziim = wild beasts, 16/36. See Isaiah xiii. 21, and 
 under ' Iim.' 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 

C031fil572b