Part 5

Since Nature fails us in no needful thing; Why want I means, mine inward self to see? Which sight, the Knowledge of Myself might bring; Which, to true wisdom, is the first degree.

That Power (which gave me eyes, the world to view) To view myself, infused an Inward Light, Whereby my Soul, as by a Mirror true, Of her own form, may take a perfect sight.

But as the sharpest Eye discerneth nought, Except the sunbeams in the air do shine; So the best Soul, with her reflecting thought, Sees not herself, without some light Divine.

O LIGHT! (which makest the Light, which makest the Day; Which settest the Eye without, and Mind within) Lighten my spirit, with one clear heavenly ray! Which now to view itself, doth first begin.

For her true form, how can my Spark discern? Which dim by Nature, Art did never clear; When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, Are ignorant, both What She is! and Where!

One thinks the Soul is Air, another Fire, Another, Blood diffused about the heart, Another saith, the Elements conspire, And to her Essence, each doth give a part.

Musicians think our Souls are Harmonies; Physicians hold that they Complexions be: Epicures make them Swarms of Atomies, Which do, by change, into our bodies flee!

Some think one General Soul fills every brain, As the bright sun sheds light in every star; And others think the name of Soul is vain, And that We, only Well-mixed Bodies are.

In judgement of her Substance, thus they vary; And thus they vary in judgement of her Seat; For some, her chair up to the Brain do carry, Some thrust 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 is all in all, and all in part!" Some say, "She is not contained, 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 learned in this, as they!

For no crazed 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 selfsame thing have taught.

GOD, only-Wise! to punish Pride of Wit, Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought! As the proud Tower, 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 fallen again; To make it new, the Form of Man didst take, And, GOD with GOD, becam'st a Man with men!

Thou! that hast fashioned twice, this Soul of ours, So that She is, by double title, Thine; Thou, only, knowest her nature and her powers, Her subtle form, Thou, only, canst define!

To judge herself, She must herself transcend, As greater circles comprehend the less: But She wants power, her own powers to extend, As fettered men cannot their strength express.

But Thou, bright morning Star! Thou, rising Sun! Which, in these later times, has brought to light Those mysteries, that, since the world began, Lay hid in darkness and eternal night!

Thou, like the sun, doth with indifferent ray, Into the palace and the cottage shine! And showest the Soul, both to the Clerk and Lay, By the clear Lamp of thy 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 subtle line of her immortal face.

[Sidenote: What the Soul is?]

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 the Spirit be to the Body knit, As an apt meane her powers to exercise; Which are Life, Motion, Sense, and Will, and Wit: Yet she survives, although the Body dies.

[Sidenote: That the Soul is a thing subsisting by itself, without the Body.]

She is a Substance, and a real thing, 1. Which hath, itself, an actual working Might, 2. Which neither from the Sense's power doth spring, 3. Nor from the Body's humours tempered right.

She is a Vine, which doth no propping need, To make her spread herself, or spring upright; She is a Star, whose beams do not proceed From any sun, but from a native light.

[Sidenote: That the Soul hath a proper operation, without the Body.]

For when She sorts things present with the past, And thereby things to come doth oft foresee; When She doth doubt at first, and choose at last: These acts her own, without the Body, be.

When of the dew, which the Eye and Ear do take, From flowers abroad, and bring into the brain; She doth, within, both wax and honey make: This work is hers, this is her proper pain!

When She from sundry acts, one Skill doth draw; Gathering from divers fights, one Art of War; From many Cases like, one Rule of Law: These, her collections, not the Sense's, 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, Ere She in act, doth any part begin: What instruments doth then, the Body lend?

When without hands, She thus doth castles build; Sees without eyes, and without feet doth run; When She digests the world, yet is not filled: By her own power, these miracles are done.

When She defines, argues, divides, compounds; Considers Virtue, Vice, and General Things; And marrying diverse principles and grounds, Out of their match, a true conclusion brings:

These actions, in her closet, all alone, (Retired within herself) She doth fulfil; Use of her Body's organs, She hath none, When She doth use the powers 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 gathering notes out of the world's great book.

Nor can herself discourse, or judge of ought, But what the Sense collects, and home doth bring, And yet the Power 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 Power 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 shew, 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 herself doth only Judge and Choose:

Even as our great wise Empress (that now reigns By sovereign title over sundry lands) Borrows, in mean affairs, her subjects' pains, Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands:

But things of weight and consequence indeed, Herself doth in her chamber them debate; Where, all her Councillors she doth exceed As far in judgement, as she doth in State.

Or as the man, whom she doth now advance, Upon her gracious Mercy Seat to sit, Doth common things, of course and circumstance, To the Reports of common men commit:

But when the Cause itself must be decreed, Himself in person, in his proper Court, To grave and solemn hearing doth proceed, Of every proof, and every by-report.

Then, like God's angel, he pronounceth right, And milk and honey from his tongue do 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 unto the Fantasy, Whatever each of them abroad discerns; And there enrol 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 even against their false reports, decrees; And oft She doth condemn, what they prefer, For with a power above the Sense, She sees:

Therefore, no Sense, the precious joys conceives, Which in her private contemplations be; For then, the ravished Spirit, the Senses leaves, Hath her own powers, and proper actions free.

Her harmonies are sweet and full of skill, When on the Body's instrument She plays: But the proportions of the Wit and Will, Those sweet accords are even the angels' lays.

These tunes of Reason are AMPHION's lyre, Wherewith he did the Theban city found; These are the notes, wherewith the heavenly Quire, The praise of Him, which spreads the heaven, doth sound.

Then her self-being nature shines in this, That She performs her noblest works alone! "The work, the touchstone of the nature is!" And "by their operations, things are known!"

[Sidenote: 2. 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 enrol, A quick Resulting, and a Consequence?

What is it, then, that doth the Sense accuse, Both of false judgements, and fond appetites? Which 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 tower; Sense saith, "They are crows!" What makes us think them men? When we, in agues, think all sweet things sour; What makes us know our tongue's false judgements then?

What power was that, whereby MEDEA saw, And well approved and praised the better course, When her rebellious Sense did so withdraw Her feeble powers, as she pursued the worst?

Did Sense persuade ULYSSES not to hear The Mermaid's songs? which so his men did please, As they were all persuaded through the ear, To quit the ship, and leap into the seas.

Could any power 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 drowned, 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 Power, Which doth, in us, the erring Sense correct: Therefore the bee did suck the painted flower, And birds, of grapes the cunning shadow peckt.

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 power, which She extends, Which being in divers parts diversified, The divers Forms of objects apprehends?

This power spreads outward; but the root doth grow In th'inward Soul, which only doth perceive; For the Eyes and Ears, no more their objects know, Than glasses know what faces they receive.

For if we chance to fix our thoughts elsewhere; Although our eyes be ope, we do not see, And if one Power did not both see and hear, Our sights and sounds would always double be.

Then is the Soul a Nature which contains The power of Sense within a greater power; Which doth employ and use the senses' pains, But sits and rules within her private bower.

[Sidenote: 3. That the Soul is more than the Temperature of the Humours of the body.]

If She doth then the subtle Sense excel, How gross are they, that drown her in the blood! Or in the Body's humours tempered well, As if in them, such high perfection stood.

As if most skill in that musician were, Which had the best and best-tuned instrument; As if the pencil neat, and colours clear Had power to make the painter excellent

Why doth not Beauty then refine 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 alchemist 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 power 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! maimed! and blind! But we perceive, when these privations be, A 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 herself absent! And in the Body's substance not the mist.

But it on Her, not She on it depends, For She the Body doth sustain and cherish. Such secret powers of life to it, She lends; That when they fail, then doth the Body perish.

Since, then, the Soul works by herself alone, Springs not from Sense, nor Humours well agreeing; Her nature is peculiar, and her own. She is a Substance! and a Perfect Being.

[Sidenote: That the Soul is a Spirit.]

But though this Substance be the root of Sense, Sense knows her not! (which doth but bodies know) She is a Spirit, and a heavenly 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 alchemists do find, When they, in everything, seek gold, _in vain_.

For She, all natures under heaven 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.

Yet of the forms, She holds the first degree, That are to gross material bodies knit; Yet She herself is bodiless and free, And, though confined, is almost infinite.

[Sidenote: That it cannot be a Body.]

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 confined within some place; But She all place within herself 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, Except the one, the other do deface; But in the Soul, ten thousand forms do sit, And none intrudes into her neighbour's place.

All bodies are, with other bodies filled, But She receives both heaven and earth together, Nor are their Forms, by rash encounter, spilled, For there they stand, and neither toucheth either.

Nor can her wide embracements fillèd be; For they that most and greatest things embrace, Enlarge thereby their mind's capacity, As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space.

All things received, do such proportion take, As those things have, wherein they are received: So little glasses, little faces make; And narrow webs, on narrow frames be weaved:

Then, what vast body must we make the Mind? Wherein are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands, And yet each thing a proper place doth find, And each thing in the true proportion stands.

Doubtless, this could not be, but that She turns Bodies to Spirits, by sublimation strange; As fire converts to fire, the things it burns; As we, our meats into our nature change.

From their gross Matter, she abstracts the Forms, And draws a kind of Quintessence from things, Which to her proper nature, She transforms, To bear them light on her celestial wings.

This doth She, when from things particular, She doth abstract the universal kinds, Which bodiless and immaterial are, And can be lodged but only in our minds.

And thus, from divers accidents and acts, Which do within her observation fall; She, goddesses and Powers Divine abstracts, As Nature, Fortune, and the Virtues all.

Again, how can She, several bodies know, If in herself a body's form She bears? How can a mirror sundry faces show, If from all shapes and forms it be not clear?

Nor could we by our eyes, all colours learn, Except our eyes were, of all colours void, Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discern, Which is with gross and bitter humours cloyed.

Nor may a man, of Passions judge aright, Except his mind be from all Passions free; Nor can a Judge, his office well acquite, If he possest of either party be!

If, lastly, this quick power a Body were, Were it as swift, as is the wind or fire, (Whose atomies do, th' one down sideways bear, And make the other, in pyramids aspire);

Her nimble body, yet in _time_ must move, And not in instants through all places slide: But She is nigh! and far! beneath! above! In point of time which thought can not divide.

She's sent as soon to China, as to Spain, And thence returns, as soon as She is sent, She measures with one time and with one pain, An ell of silk, and heaven's wide-spreading tent.

As then, the Soul a Substance hath alone Besides the Body, in which She is confined; So hath She _not_ a body of her own, But is a Spirit and immaterial Mind.

[Sidenote: That the Soul is created immediately by God.--_Zach_, xii. x.]

Since Body and Soul have such diversities; Well, might we muse, how first their match began, But that we learn, that He, that spread the skies And fixed the earth, first formed the Soul in Man.

This true PROMETHEUS, first, made man of earth, And shed in him a beam of heavenly fire: Now, in their mother's womb, before their birth, Doth in all sons of men, their souls inspire.

And as MINERVA is, in fables, said, From JOVE, without a mother, to proceed; So our true JOVE, without a mother's aid, Doth, daily, millions of MINERVAS breed.

[Sidenote: Erroneous opinions of the creation of souls.]

Then neither, from Eternity before, Nor from the time, when time's first point began; Made He all souls! which now He keeps in store, Some in the moon, and others in the sun:

Nor in the secret cloister doth He keep, These virgin spirits until their marriage day, Nor locks them up in chambers, where they sleep, Till they awake within these beds of clay.

Nor did He first a certain number make, Infusing part in beasts, and part in men, And as unwilling farther pains to take, Would make no more, than those He framèd then.

So that the widow Soul, her Body dying, Unto the next born Body married was; And so by often changing and supplying, Men's souls to beasts, and beasts' to men did pass.

(These thoughts are fond! for since the bodies born Be more in number far than those that die; Thousands must be abortive, and forlorn, Ere others' deaths, to them their souls supply.)

But as GOD's handmaid, Nature, doth create Bodies, in time distinct and order due; So GOD gives souls the like successive date, Which Himself makes in bodies formèd new.

Which Himself makes, of no material things, For unto angels, He no power hath given, Either to form the shape, or stuff to bring, From air, or Fire, or substance of the heaven.

[Sidenote: That the Soul is not traduced from the parents.]

Nor He, in this, doth Nature's service use, For though from bodies she can bodies bring; Yet could she never, souls from souls traduce, As fire from fire, or light from light doth spring.

Alas! that some that were great lights of old, And in their hands the Lamp of GOD did bear, Some reverend Fathers did this error hold, Having their eyes dimmed with religious fear.

"For when," say they, "by rule of faith we find, That every soul unto her body knit, Brings from the mother's womb, the Sin of Kind, The root of all the ill She doth commit."

"How can we say, that GOD, the Soul doth make, But we must make Him author of her sin; Then from man's soul, She doth beginning take, Since in man's soul, corruption did begin."

"For if GOD make her, first he makes her ill, (Which GOD forbid! our thoughts should yield unto) Or makes the body, her fair form to spill; Which, of itself, it hath no power to do."

"Not Adam's Body, but his Soul did sin, And so herself unto corruption brought: But our poor Soul corrupted is within, Ere She hath sinned, either in act or thought"; "And yet we see in her such powers divine, As we could gladly think, from GOD she came; Fain would we make Him author of the wine, If for the dregs, we could some other blame."