have suck'd in from Lucretius or Hobbs This would acquaint them with some Principles of Religion for in Old Times the Poets were their Divines and exercised a kind of Spiritual Authority amongst the People Verse in those Days was the Sacred Stile the Stile of Oracles and Laws The Vows and Thanks of the People were recommended to their Gods in Songs and Hymns Why may they not retain this Privilege for if Prose should contend with Verse 't would be upon unequal Terms and as it were on Foot against the Wings of Pegasus With what Delight are we touch'd in hearing the Stories of Hercules Achilles Cyrus and Aeneas Because in their Characters we have Wisdom Honour Fortitude and Justice set before our Eyes 'T was Plato's Opinion That if a Man cou'd see Virtue he wou'd be strangely enamour'd on her Person Which is the Reason why Horace and Virgil have continued so long in Reputation because they have Drawn her in all the Charms of Poetry No Man is so senseless of Rational Impressions as not to be wonderfully affected with the Pastorals of the Ancients when under the Stories of Wolves and Sheep they describe the Misery of People under Hard Masters and their Happiness under Good So the bitter but wholsome lambick was wont to make Villany blush the Satyr incited Men to laugh at Folly the Comedian chastised the Common Errors of Life and the Tragedian made Kings afraid to be Tyrants and Tyrants to be their own Tormentors Wherefore as Sir Philip Sidney said of Chaucer That he knew not which he should most wonder at either that He in his dark Time should see so distinctly or that We in this clear Age should go so stumblingly after him so may we marvel at and bewail the low Condition of Poetry now when in our Plays scarce any one Rule of Decorum is observed but in the space of two Hours and an half we pass through all the Fits of Bethlem in one Scene we are all in Mirth in the next we are sunk into Sadness whilst even the most labour'd Parts are commonly starv'd for want of Thought a confused heap of Words and empty Sound of Rhyme This very Consideration should advance the Esteem of the following Poem wherein are represented the various Movements of the Mind at which we are as much transported as with the most excellent Scenes of Passion in Shakespear or Fletcher For in this as in a Mirrour that will not Flatter we see how the Soul Arbitrates in the Understanding upon the various Reports of Sense and all the Changes of Imagination How compliant the Will is to her Dictates and obeys her as a Queen does her King At the same time acknowledging a Subjection and yet retaining a Majesty How the Passions more at her Command like a well-disciplined Army from which regular Composure of the Faculties all operating in their proper Time and Place there arises a Complacency upon the whole Soul that infinitely transcends all other Pleasures What deep Philosophy is this to discover the Process of God's Art in fashioning the Soul of Man after his own Image by remarking how one part moves another and how those Motions are vary'd by several positions of each Part from the first Springs and Plummets to the very Hand that points out the visible and last Effects What Eloquence and Force of Wit to convey these profound Speculations in the easiest Language expressed in Words so vulgarly received that they are understood by the meanest Capacities For the Poet takes care in every Line to satisfy the Understandings of Mankind He follows Step by Step the workings of the Mind from the first Strokes of Sense then of Fancy afterwards of Judgment into the Principles both of Natural and Supernatural Motives Hereby the Soul is made intelligible which comprehends all things besides the boundless Tracks of Sea and Land and the vaster Spaces of Heaven that Vital Principle of Action which has always been busied in Enquiries abroad is now made known to its self insomuch that we may find out what we our selves are from whence we came and whither we must go we may perceive what noble Guests those are which we lodge in our Bosoms which are nearer to us than all other things and yet nothing further from our Acquaintance But here all the Labyrinths and Windings of the Humane Frame are laid open 'T is seen by what Pullies and Wheels the Work is carry'd on as plainly as if a Window were opened into our Breast For it is the Work of God alone to create a Mind The next to this is to shew how its Operations are perform'd UPON THE Present Corrupted State OF POETRY IN happy Ages past when Justice reign'd The Muses too their Dignity maintain'd Were only then in Shrines and Temples found With Innocence instead of Lawrel crown'd Anthems and Hallelujahs did resound In these Seraphick Tasks their hours they pass'd Pious as Sybil's and as Vestals chast They justly then were stil'd the Sacred Nine Nor were the Heav'n-born Graces more Divine Like them with Heav'n they did Alliance claim And wisest Kings their Votaries became Who though by Art and Nature form'd to Reign Their Homage paid amongst the Muses Train They thought Extent of Empire less Renown And priz'd their Poet's Wreath above their Prince's Crown Heav'ns Praise was then the only Theme of Verse Which Kings of Earth were honour'd to rehearse Their Songs did then fair Salem's Temple fill And Sion was the Muses Sacred Hill At length transplanted from the Holy Land To Pagan Regions pass'd the Sacred Band In Greece they settled but with lessen'd Grace And chang'd their Manners as they chang'd their Place Here Poetry beginning to decline First mingled Humane Praises with Divine Yet still they sung alone some Worthy's Name And only gave restoring Hero's Fame But grew at last a mercenary Trade The gift of heav'n the price of Gold was made Brib'd Poets with Encomiums did pursue The worst of Men and prais'd their Vices too They gave destroying Tyrants most Applause Who shed most Blood regardless of their Cause If meerly to Destroy can merit Fame Famines and Plauges the larger Trophies claim But this and worse with our licentious Times Compar'd in Poets were but Venial Crimes That Poetry which did at first inspire Coelestial Rapture and Seraphick Fire Her Talent in Hell's Service now employs The Prostitute and Bawd of Sensual Joys On Mischief's side engages all her Charms Against Religion her Offensive Arms Whilst Lust Extortion Sacrilege pass free She points her Satyr Virtue against Thee And turns on Heav'n its own Artillery But Wit 's fair Stream when from its genuine Course Constrain'd runs muddy and with lessen'd Force Our Poets when Deserters they became To Virtue 's Cause declin'd as much in Fame That Curse was on the lewd Apostates sent Who as they grew Debauch'd grew Impotent Wit 's short-liv'd Off-springs in our later Times Confess too plain their vicious Parents Crimes No Spencer's Strength or Davies
come there the Spirits of Sense do make These Spirits of Sense in Fantasy's high Court Judge of the Forms of Objects ill or well And so they send a good or ill Report Down to the Heart where all Affections dwell If the Report be good it causeth Love And longing Hope and well assured Joy If it be ill then doth it Hatred move And trembling Fear and vexing Griefs annoy Yet were these natural Affections good For they which want them Blocks or Devils be If Reason in her first Perfection stood That she might Nature's Passions rectify SECT XXIII Local Motion BEsides another Motive-Power doth arise Out of the Heart from whose pure Blood do spring The Vital Spirits which born in Arteries Continual Motion to all Parts do bring This makes the Pulses beat and Lungs respire This holds the Sinews like a Bridle 's Reins And makes the Body to advance retire To turn or stop as she them slacks or strains Thus the Soul tunes the Body's Instruments These Harmonies she makes with Life and Sense The Organs fit are by the Body lent But th' Actions flow from the Soul's Influence SECT XXIV The Intellectual Powers of the Soul BVT now I have a Will yet want a Wit T' express the working of the Wit and Will Which though their Root be to the Body knit Use not the Body when they use their Skill These Pow'rs the Nature of the Soul declare For to Man's Soul these only proper be For on the Earth no other Wights there are That have these Heav'nly Pow'rs but only we SECT XXV Wit Reason Understanding Opinion Judgment Wisdom THE Wit the Pupil of the Soul 's clear Eye And in Man's World the only shining Star Look in the Mirror of the Fantasy Where all the Gath'rings of the Senses are From thence this Pow'r the Shapes of things abstracts And them within her Passive Part receives Which are enlightned by that part which Acts And so the Forms of single things perceives But after by discoursing to and fro Anticipating and comparing things She doth all Vniversal Natures know And all Effects into their Causes brings When she rates things and moves from Ground to Ground The Name of Reason she obtains by this But when by Reason she the Truth hath found And standeth fix'd she Vnderstanding is When her Assent she lightly doth incline To either part she his Opinion's Light But when she doth by Principles define A certain Truth she hath true Judgment 's Sight And as from Senses Reason's Work doth spring So many Reasons Vnderstanding gain And many Vnderstandings Knowledge bring And by much Knowledge Wisdom we obtain So many Stairs we must ascend upright E're we attain to Wisdom's high Degree So doth this Earth eclipse our Reason's Light Which else in Instants would like Angels see SECT XXVI Innate Ideas in the Soul YEt hath the Soul a Dowry natural And Sparks of Light some common things to see Not being a Blank where Nought is writ at all But what the Writer will may written be For Nature in Man's Heart her Laws doth pen Prescribing Truth to Wit and Good to Will Which do accuse or else excuse all Men For ev'ry Thought or Practice good or ill And yet these Sparks grow almost infinite Making the World and all therein their Food As Fire so spreads as no place holdeth it Being nourish'd still with new Supplies of Wood. And though these Sparks were almost quench'd with Sin Yet they whom that just One hath justify'd Have them increas'd with heav'nly Light within And like the Widow's Oil still multiply'd SECT XXVII The Power of Will and Relation between the Wit and Will AND as this Wit should Goodness truly know We have a Will which that true Good should chuse Tho Will do oft when Wit false Forms doth show Take Ill for Good and Good for Ill refuse Will puts in practice what the Wit deviseth Will ever acts and Wit contemplates still And as from Wit the Pow'r of Wisdom riseth All other Virtues Daughters are of Will Will is the Prince and Wit the Counsellor Which doth for common Good in Council sit And when Wit is resolv'd Will lends her Power To execute what is advis'd by Wit Wit is the Mind 's chief Judge which doth controul Of Fancy's Court the Judgments false and vain Will holds the Royal Scepter in the Soul And on the Passions of the Heart doth reign Will is as free as any Emperor Nought can restrain her gentle-Liberty No Tyrant nor no Torment hath the pow'r To make us will when we unwilling be SECT XXVIII The Intellectual Memory TO these high Pow'rs a Store-house doth pertain Where they all Arts and gen'ral Reasons lay Which in the Soul ev'n after Death remain And no Lethaean Flood can wash away SECT XXIX The Dependency of the Soul's Faculties upon each Other THis is the Soul and these her Virtues be Which though they have their sundry proper Ends And one exceeds another in Degree Yet each on other mutually depends Our Wit is giv'n Almighty God to know Our Will is giv'n to love him being known But God could not be known to us below But by his Works which through the Sense are shown And as the Wit doth reap the Fruits of Sense So doth the quick'ning Pow'r the Senses feed Thus while they do their sundry Gifts dispence The Best the Service of the Least doth need Ev'n so the King his Magistrates do serve Yet Commons feed both Magistrates and King The Common's Peace the Magistrates preserve By borrow'd Pow'r which from the Prince doth spring The Quick'ning Power would be and so would rest The Sense would not be only but be well But Wit 's Ambition longeth to the best For it desires in endless Bliss to dwell And these three Pow'rs three sorts of Men do make For some like Plants their Veins do only fill And some like Beasts their Senses pleasure take And some like Angels do contemplate still Therefore the Fables turn'd some Men to Flow'rs And others did with brutish Forms invest And did of others make Celestial Pow'rs Like Angels which still travel yet still rest Yet these three Pow'rs are not three Souls but one As One and Two are both contain'd in Three Three being one Number by it self alone A Shadow of the blessed Trinity Oh! What is Man great Maker of Mankind That thou to him so great Respect dost bear That thou adorn'st him with so bright a Mind Mak'st him a King and ev'n an Angel's Peer Oh! What a lively Life what heav'nly Pow'r What spreading Virtue what a sparkling Fire How great how plentiful how rich a Dow'r Dost thou within this dying Flesh inspire Thou leav'st thy Print in other Works of thine But thy whole Image thou in Man hast writ There cannot be a Creature more divine Except like thee it should be infinite But it exceeds Man's Thought to think how high God hath rais'd Man since God a Man became The Angels do admire this Mystery
Soul destroys As Lightning or the Sun-beams dim the Sight Or as a Thunder clap or Cannon's noise The Pow'r of Hearing doth astonish quite But high Perfection to the Soul it brings T' encounter things most excellent and high For when she views the best and greatest things They do not hurt but rather clear the Eye Besides as Homer's Gods ' gainst Armies stand Her subtil Form can through all Dangers slide Bodies are Captive Minds endure no Band And Will is free and can no Force abide But lastly Time perhaps at last hath pow'r To spend her lively Pow'rs and quench her Light But old God Saturn which doth all devour Doth cherish her and still augment her Might Heav'n waxeth old and all the Spheres above Shall one Day faint and their swift Motion stay And Time it self in time shall cease to move Only the Soul survives and lives for ay Our Bodies ev'ry Footstep that they make March towards Death until at last they dye Whether we work or play or sleep or wake Our Life doth pass and with Time's Wings doth fly But to the Soul Time doth Perfection give And adds fresh Lustre to her Beauty still And makes her in eternal Youth to live Like her which Nectar to the Gods doth fill The more she lives the more she feeds on Truth The more she feeds her Strength doth more increase And what is Strength but an Effect of Youth Which if Time nurse how can it ever cease SECT XXXII Objections against the Immortality of the Soul with their respective Answers BVT now these Epicures begin to smile And say My Doctrine is more safe than true And that I fondly do my self beguile While these receiv'd Opinions I ensue For what say they Doth not the Soul wax old How comes it then that Aged Men do dote And that their Brains grow sottish dull and cold Which were in Youth the only Spirits of note What Are not Souls within themselves corrupted How can there Idiots then by Nature be How is it that some Wits are interrupted That now they dazled are now clearly see These Questions make a subtil Argument To such as think both Sense and Reason One To whom nor Agent from the Instrument Nor Pow'r of Working from the Work is known But they that know that Wit can shew no Skill But when she Things in Sense's Glass doth view Do know if Accident this Glass do spill It nothing sees or sees the False for true For if that Region of the tender Brain Where th' inward Sense of Fantasy should sit And th' outward Senses Gath'rings should retain By Nature or by Chance become unfit Either at first uncapable it is And so few things or none at all receives Or marr'd by Accident which haps amiss And so amiss it ev'ry thing perceives Then as a cunning Prince that useth Spies If they return no News doth nothing know But if they make Advertisement of Lies The Prince's Counsels all awry do go Ev'n so the Soul to such a Body knit Whose inward Senses undisposed be And to receive the Forms of Things unfit Where nothing is brought in can nothing see This makes the Idiot which hath yet a Mind Able to know the Truth and chuse the Good If she such Figures in the Brain did find As might be found if it in temper stood But if a Phrensy do possess the Brain It so disturbs and blots the Forms of Things As Fantasy proves altogether vain And to the Wit no true Relation brings Then doth the Wit admitting all for true Build fond Conclusions on those idle Grounds Then doth it fly the Good and Ill pursue Believing all that this false Spy propounds But purge the Hamours and the Rage appease Which this Distemper in the Fansy wrought Then shall the Wit which never had Disease Discourse and judge discreetly as it ought So though the Clouds eclipse the Sun 's fair Light Yet from his Face they do not take one Beam So have our Eyes their perfect Pow'r of Sight Ev'n when they look into a troubled Stream Then these Defects in Sense's Organs be Not in the Soul or in her working Might She cannot lose her perfect Pow'r to see Though Mists and Clouds do choak her Window-Light These Imperfections then we must impute Not to the Agent but the Instrument We must not blame Apollo but his Lute If false Accords from her false Strings be sent The Soul in all hath one Intelligence Though too much Moisture in an Infant 's Brain And too much Driness in an old Man's Sense Cannot the Prints of outward things retain Then doth the Soul want Work and idle sit And this we Childishness and Dotage call Yet hath she then a quick and active Wit If she had Stuff and Tools to work withal For give her Organs fit and Objects fair Give but the aged Man the young Man's Sense Let but Medea Aeson's Youth repair And straight she shews her wonted Excellence As a good Harper stricken far in Years Into whose cunning Hands the Gout doth fall All his old Crotchets in his Brain he bears But on his Harp plays ill or not at all But if Apollo takes his Gout away That he his nimble Fingers may apply Apollo's self will envy at his Play And all the World applaud his Minstralsy Then Dotage is no Weakness of the Mind But of the Sense for if the Mind did waste In all old Men we should this Wasting find When they some certain Term of Years had pass'd But most of them ev'n to their dying Hour Retain a Mind more lively quick and strong And better use their understanding Pow'r Then when their Brains were warm and Limbs were young For though the Body wasted be and weak And though the Leaden Form of Earth it bears Yet when we hear that half-dead Body speak We oft are ravish'd to the heav'nly Spheres Yet say these Men If all her Organs die Then hath the Soul no pow'r her Pow'rs to use So in a sort her Pow'rs extinct do lie When unto Act she cannot them reduce And if her Pow'rs be dead then what is she For since from ev'ry thing some Pow'rs do spring And from those Pow'rs some Acts proceeding be Then kill both Pow'r and Act and kill the thing Doubtless the Body's Death when once it dies The Instruments of Sense and Life doth kill So that she cannot use those Faculties Although their Root rest in her Substance still But as the Body living Wit and Will Can judge and chuse without the Body's Aid Though on such Objects they are working still As through the Body's Organs are convey'd So when the Body serves her turn no more And all her Senses are extinct and gone She can discourse of what she learn'd before In heav'nly Contemplations all alone So if one Man well on the Lute doth play And have good Horsemanship and Learning's Skill Though both his Lute and Horse we take away Doth he not keep his former Learning still He keeps
the Name of Soul is vain And that we only well mix'd Bodies are In Judgment of her Substance thus they vary And vary thus in Judgment of her Seat For some her Chair up to the Brain do carry Some sink it down into the Stomach's Heat Some place it in the Root of Life the Heart Some in the Liver Fountain of the Veins Some say She 's all in all and all in ev'ry part Some say she 's not contain'd but all contains Thus these great Clerks their little Wisdom show While with their Doctrines they at Hazard play Tossing their light Opinions to and fro To mock the Lewd as learn'd in This as They. For no craz'd Brain could ever yet propound Touching the Soul so vain and fond a Thought But some among these Masters have been found Which in their Schools the self-same thing have taught God only wise to punish Pride of Wit Among Men's Wits hath this Confusion wrought As the proud Tow'r whose Points the Clouds did hit By Tongues Confusion was to ruin brought But Thou which didst Man 's Soul of Nothing make And when to Nothing it was fall'n again To make it new the Form of Man didst take And God with God becam'st a Man with Men. Thou that hast fashion'd twice this Soul of ours So that she is by double Title thine Thou only know'st her Nature and her Pow'rs Her subtile Form thou only canst define To judge her self she must her self transcend As greater Circles comprehend the less But she wants Pow'r her own Pow'rs to extend As fetter'd Men cannot their Strength express But thou bright Morning-Star thou Rising Sun Which in these latter Times hast brought to Light Those Mysteries that since the World begun Lay hid in Darkness and Eternal Night Thou like the Sun dost with an equal Ray Into the Palace and the Cottage shine And shew'st the Soul both to the Clerk and Lay By the clear Lamp of th' Oracle divine This Lamp through all the Regions of my Brain Where my Soul sits doth spread such Beams of Grace As now methinks I do distinguish plain Each subtile Line of her Immortal Face The Soul a Substance and a Spirit is Which God himself doth in the Body make Which makes the Man for every Man from this The Nature of a Man and Name doth take And though this Spirit be to th' Body knit As an apt Means her Pow'rs to exercise Which are Life Motion Sense and Will and Wit Yet she survives although the Body dies SECT I. That the Soul is a Thing subsisting by its self and has proper Operations without the Body SHE is a Substance and a real Thing 1. Which hath its self an actual working Might 2. Which neither from the Senses Power doth spring 3. Nor from the Body's Humours temper'd right She is a Vine which doth no propping need To make her spread her self or spring upright She is a Star whose Beams do not proceed From any Sun but from a Native Light For when she sorts Things present with Things past And thereby Things to come doth oft fore-see When she doth doubt at first and chuse at last These Acts her Own without her Body be When of the Dew which th' Eye and Ear do take From Flow'rs abroad and bring into the Brain She doth within both Wax and Honey make This Work is her's this is her proper Pain When she from sundry Acts one Skill doth draw Gath'ring from divers Fights one Art of War From many Cases like one Rule of Law These her Collections not the Senses are When in th' Effects she doth the Causes know And seeing the Stream thinks where the Spring doth rise And seeing the Branch conceives the Root below These things she views without the Body's Eyes When she without a Pegasus doth fly Swifter than Lightning's Fire from East to West About the Centre and above the Sky She travels then although the Body rest When all her Works she formeth first within Proportions them and sees their perfect End E'er she in Act doth any Part begin What Instruments doth then the Body lend When without Hands she doth thus Castles build Sees without Eyes and without Feet doth run When she digests the World yet is not fill'd By her own Pow'rs these Miracles are done When she defines argues divides compounds Considers Virtue Vice and general Things And marrying divers Principles and Grounds Out of their Match a true Conclusion brings These Actions in her Closet all alone Retir'd within her self she doth fulfil Use of her Body's Organs she hath none When she doth use the Pow'rs of Wit and Will Yet in the Body's Prison so she lies As through the Body's Windows she must look Her divers Powers of Sense to exercise By gath'ring Notes out of the World 's great Book Nor can her self discourse or judge of ought But what the Sense collects and home doth bring And yet the Pow'rs of her discoursing Thought From these Collections is a diverse Thing For though our Eyes can nought but Colours see Yet Colours give them not their Pow'r of Sight So though these Fruits of Sense her Objects be Yet she discerns them by her proper Light The Workman on his Stuff his Skill doth show And yet the Stuff gives not the Man his Skill Kings their Affairs do by their Servants know But order them by their own Royal Will So though this cunning Mistress and this Queen Doth as her Instruments the Senses use To know all things that are felt heard or seen Yet she her self doth only judge and chuse Ev'n as a prudent Emperor that reigns By Sovereign Title over sundry Lands Borrows in mean Affairs his Subjects Pains Sees by their Eyes and writeth by their Hands But Things of weight and consequence indeed Himself doth in his Chamber them debate Where all his Counsellors he doth exceed As far in Judgment as he doth in State Or as the Man whom Princes do advance Upon their gracious Mercy-Seat to sit Doth Common Things of Course and Circumstance To the Reports of common Men commit But when the Cause it self must be decreed Himself in Person in his proper Court To grave and solemn Hearing doth proceed Of ev'ry Proof and ev'ry By-Report Then like God's Angel he pronounceth Right And Milk and Honey from his Tongue doth flow Happy are they that still are in his sight To reap the Wisdom which his Lips do sow Right so the Soul which is a Lady free And doth the Justice of her State maintain Because the Senses ready Servants be Attending nigh about her Court the Brain By them the Forms of outward Things she learns For they return into the Fantasie Whatever each of them abroad discerns And there inrol it for the Mind to see But when she sits to judge the Good and Ill And to discern betwixt the False and True She is not guided by the Senses Skill But doth each thing in her own Mirror view Then she the Senses checks which oft do
err And ev'n against their false Reports decrees And oft she doth condemn what they prefer For with a Pow'r above the Sense she sees Therefore no Sense the precious Joys conceives Which in her private Contemplations be For then the ravish'd Spirit th' Senses leaves Hath her own Pow'rs and proper Actions free Her Harmonies are sweet and full of Skill When on the Body's Instruments she plays But the Proportions of the Wit and Will Those sweet Accords are even th' Angels Lays These Tunes of Reason are Amphion's Lyre Wherewith he did the Thebane City found These are the Notes wherewith the Heavenly Choir The Praise of him which made the Heav'n doth sound Then her self-being Nature shines in This That she performs her noblest Works alone The Work the Touch-Stone of the Nature is And by their Operations Things are known SECT II. That the Soul is more than a Perfection or Reflection of the Sense ARE they not senseless then that think the Soul Nought but a fine Perfection of the Sense Or of the Forms which Fancy doth inrol A quick Resulting and a Consequence What is it then that doth the Sense accuse Both of false Judgment and fond Appetites What makes us do what Sense doth most refuse Which oft in Torment of the Sense delights Sense thinks the Planets Spheres not much asunder What tells us then their Distance is so far Sense thinks the Lightning born before the Thunder What tells us then they both together are When Men seem Crows far off upon a Tow'r Sense saith they 're Crows What makes us think them Men When we in Agues think all sweet things sowre What makes us know our Tongue 's false Judgment then What Pow'r was that whereby Medea saw And well approv'd and prais'd the better Course When her rebellious Sense did so withdraw Her feeble Pow'rs that she pursu'd the worse Did Sense perswade Vlysses not to hear The Mermaid's Songs which so his Men did please That they were all perswaded through the Ear To quit the Ship and leap into the Seas Could any Pow'r of Sense the Roman move To burn his own Right Hand with Courage stout Could Sense make Marius sit unbound and prove The cruel Lancing of the knotty Gout Doubtless in Man there is a Nature found Beside the Senses and above them far Though most Men being in sensual Pleasures drown'd It seems their Souls but in their Senses are If we had nought but Sense then only they Should have sound Minds which have their Senses sound But Wisdom grows when Senses do decay And Folly most in quickest Sense is found If we had nought but Sense each living Wight Which we call Brute would be more sharp than we As having Sense's apprehensive Might In a more clear and excellent Degree But they do want that quick discoursing Pow'r Which doth in us the erring Sense correct Therefore the Bee did suck the painted Flow'r And Birds of Grapes the cunning Shadow peck'd Sense outsides knows the Soul through all things sees Sense Circumstance She doth the Substance view Sense sees the Bark but she the Life of Trees Sense hears the Sounds but she the Concords true But why do I the Soul and Sense divide When Sense is but a Pow'r which she extends Which being in divers parts diversify'd The divers Forms of Objects apprehends This Power spreads outward but the Root doth grow In th' inward Soul which only doth perceive For th' Eyes and Ears no more their Objects know Than Glasses know what Faces they receive For if we chance to fix our Thoughts elsewhere Though our Eyes open be we cannot see And if one Pow'r did not both see and hear Our Sights and Sounds would always double be Then is the Soul a Nature which contains The Pow'r of Sense within a greater Pow'r Which doth employ and use the Sense's Pains But sits and Rules within her private Bow'r SECT III. That the Soul is more than the Temperature of the Humours of the Body IF she doth then the subtile Sense excel How gross are they that drown her in the Blood Or in the Body's Humours temper'd well As if in them such high Perfection stood As if most Skill in that Musician were Which had the best and best tun'd Instrument As if the Pensil neat and Colours clear Had Pow'r to make the Painter excellent Why doth not Beauty then resine the Wit And good Complexion rectify the Will Why doth not Health bring Wisdom still with it Why doth not Sickness make Men brutish still Who can in Memory or Wit or Will Or Air or Fire or Earth or Water find What Alchymist can draw with all his Skill The Quintessence of these out of the Mind If th' Elements which have nor Life nor Sense Can breed in us so great a Pow'r as this Why give they not themselves like Excellence Or other things wherein their Mixture is If she were but the Body's Quality Then would she be with it sick maim'd and blind But we perceive where these Privations be An healthy perfect and sharp sighted Mind If she the Body's Nature did partake Her Strength would with the Body's Strength decay But when the Body's strongest Sinews slake Then is the Soul most active quick and gay If she were but the Body's Accident And her sole Being did in it subsist As White in Snow she might her self absent And in the Body's Substance not be miss'd But it on her not she on it depends For she the Body doth sustain and cherish Such secret Pow'rs of Life to it she lends That when they fail then doth the Body perish Since then the Soul works by her self alone Springs not from Sense nor Humours well agreeing Her Nature is peculiar and her own She is a Substance and a perfect Being SECT IV. That the Soul is a Spirit BVT though this Substance be the Root of Sense Sense knows her not which doth but Bodies know She is a Spirit and Heav'nly Influence Which from the Fountain of God's Spirit doth flow She is a Spirit yet not like Air or Wind Nor like the Spirits about the Heart or Brain Nor like those Spirits which Alchymists do find When they in ev'ry thing seek Gold in vain For she all Natures under Heav'n doth pass Being like those Spirits which God's bright Face do see Or like Himself whose Image once she was Though now alas she scarce his Shadow be For of all Forms she holds the first Degree That are to gross material Bodies knit Yet she her self is bodyless and free And though confin'd is almost infinite Were she a Body how could she remain Within this Body which is less than she Or how could she the World 's great Shape contain And in our narrow Breasts contained be All Bodies are confin'd within some place But she all Place within her self confines All Bodies have their Measure and their Space But who can draw the Soul 's dimensive Lines No Body can at once two Forms admit
wide Arms embraced are Yet their best Object and their noblest Use Hereafter in another World will be When God in them shall heav'nly Light infuse That Face to Face they may their Maker see Here are they Guides which do the Body lead Which else would stumble in Eternal Night Here in this World they do much Knowledge read And are the Casements which admit most Light They are her farthest reaching Instrument Yet they no Beams unto their Objects send But all the Rays are from their Objects sent And in the Eyes with pointed Angles end If th' Objects be far off the Rays do meet In a sharp Point and so things seem but small If they be near their Rays do spread and fleet And make broad Points that things seem great withal Lastly Nine things to Sight required are The Pow'r to see the Light the visible thing Being not too small too thin too nigh too far Clear Space and Time the Form distinct to bring Thus see we how the Soul doth use the Eyes As Instruments of her quick Pow'r of Sight Hence doth th' Arts Optick and fair Painting rise Painting which doth all gentle Minds delight SECT XV. Hearing NOW let us hear how she the Ears employs Their Office is the troubled Air to take Which in their Mazes forms a Sound or Noise Whereof her self doth true Distinction make These Wickets of the Soul are plac'd on high Because all Sounds do lightly mount aloft And that they may not pierce too violently They are delay'd with Turns and Windings oft For should the Voice directly strike the Brain It would astonish and confuse it much Therefore these Plaits and Folds the Sound restrain That it the Organ may more gently touch As Streams which with their winding Banks do play Stopp'd by their Creeks run softly through the Plain So in th' Ear 's Labyrinth the Voice doth stray And doth with easy Motion touch the Brain This is the slowest yet the daintiest Sense For ev'n the Ears of such as have no Skill Perceive a Discord and conceive Offence And knowing not what 's good yet find the Ill. And though this Sense first gentle Musick found Her proper Object is the Speech of Men But that Speech chiefly which God's Harolds Sound When their Tongues utter what his Spirit did pen. Our Eyes have Lids our Ears still ope we see Quickly to hear how ev'ry Tale is prov'd Our Eyes still move our Ears unmoved be That though we hear quick we be not quickly mov'd Thus by the Organs of the Eye and Ear The Soul with Knowledge doth her self endue Thus she her Prison may with Pleasure bear Having such Prospects all the World to view These Conduit-pipes of Knowledge feed the Mind But th' other three attend the Body still For by their Services the Soul doth find What things are to the Body good or ill SECT XVI Taste THE Body's Life with Meats and Air is fed Therefore the Soul doth use the Tasting Pow'r In Veins which through the Tongue and Palate spread Distinguish ev'ry Relish Sweet and Sow'r This is the Body's Nurse but since Man's Wit Found th' Art of Cook'ry to delight his Sense More Bodies are consum'd and kill'd with it Than with the Sword Famine or Pestilence SECT XVII Smelling NExt In the Nostrils she doth use the Smell As God the Breath of Life in them did give So makes he now this Pow'r in them to dwell To judge all Airs whereby we breath and live This Sense is also Mistress of an Art Which to soft People sweet Perfumes doth sell Though this dear Art doth little Good impart Since They smell best that do of nothing smell And yet good Scents do purify the Brain Awake the Fancy and the Wits refine Hence old Devotion Incense did ordain To make Men's Spirits more apt for Thoughts Divine SECT XVIII Feeling LAstly The Feeling Pow'r which is Life's Root Through ev'ry living Part it self doth shed By Sinews which extend from Head to Foot And like a Net all o'er the Body spread Much like a subtile Spider which doth sit In middle of her Web which spreadeth wide If ought do touch the utmost Thread of it She feels it instantly on ev'ry side By Touch the first pure Qualities we learn Which quicken all things hot cold moist and dry By Touch hard soft rough smooth we do discern By Touch sweet Pleasure and sharp Pain we try SECT XIX Of the Imagination or Common Sense THese are the outward Instruments of Sense These are the Guards which ev'ry thing must pass E'er it approach the Mind's Intelligence Or touch the Fantasy Wit 's Looking-Glass And yet these Porters which all things admit Themselves perceive not nor discern the things One common Pow'r doth in the Forehead sit Which all their proper Forms together brings For all those Nerves which Spirits of Sense do bear And to those outward Organs spreading go United are as in a Centre there And there this Pow'r those sundry Forms doth know Those outward Organs present things receive This inward Sense doth absent things retain Yet strait transmits all Forms she doth perceive Unto an higher Region of the Brain SECT XX. Fantasy WHere Fantasy near Hand maid to the Mind Sits and beholds and doth discern them all Compounds in one things diff'rent in their Kind Compares the Black and White the Great and Small Besides those single Forms she doth esteem And in her Ballance doth their Values try Wheresome things good and some things ill do seem And Neutral some in her fantastick Eye This buisy Pow'r is working Day and Night For when the outward Senses Rest do take A thousand Dreams fantastical and light With flutt'ring Wings do keep her still awake SECT XXI Sensitive Memory YET always all may not afore her be Successively she this and that intends Therefore such Forms as she doth cease to see To Memory's large Volume she commends This Ledger-Book lies in the Brain behind Like Janus Eye which in his Poll was set The Lay-man's Tables Store-house of the Mind Which doth remember much and much forget Here Sense's Apprehension End doth take As when a Stone is into Water cast One Circle doth another Circle make Till the last Circle touch the Bank at last SECT XXII The Passion of the Sense BUT though the Apprehensive Pow'r do pause The Motive Vertue then begins to move Which in the Heart below doth Passions cause Joy Grief and Fear and Hope and Hate and Love These Passions have a free commanding Might And divers Actions in our Life do breed For all Acts done without true Reason's Light Do from the Passion of the Sense proceed But since the Brain doth lodge the Pow'rs of Sense How makes it in the Heart those Passions spring The mutual Love the kind Intelligence 'Twixt Heart and Brain this Sympathy doth bring From the kind Heat which in the Heart doth reign The Spirits of Life do their Beginning take These Spirits of Life ascending to the Brain When they