Part 8
"Perhaps something repugnant to her kind, By strong antipathy, the Soul may kill!" But what can be contrary to the Mind, Which holds all contraries in concord still?
She lodgeth heat, and cold! and moist, and dry! And life, and death! and peace, and war together: Ten thousand fighting things in her do lie, Yet neither troubleth or disturbeth either.
[Sidenote: She cannot die for want of food.]
"Perhaps, for want of food, the Soul may pine!" But that were strange! since all things bad and good, Since all GOD's creatures, mortal and divine; Since GOD Himself is her eternal food.
Bodies are fed with things of mortal kind, And so are subject to mortality; But Truth, which is eternal, feeds the Mind, The Tree of Life, which will not let her die.
[Sidenote: Violence cannot destroy her.]
"Yet violence perhaps the Soul destroys, As lightning or the sunbeams dim the sight; Or as a thunder-clap or cannon's noise, The power 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 subtle form can through all dangers slide; Bodies are captive, Minds endure no band, "And Will is free, and can no force abide!"
[Sidenote: Time cannot destroy her.]
"But lastly, Time perhaps, at last, hath power, To spend her lively powers, and quench her light?" But old god SATURN, which doth all devour, Doth cherish her, and still augment her might
Heaven waxeth old; and all the spheres above Shall, one day, faint, and their swift motion stay; And Time itself, in time, shall cease to move, Only the Soul survives, and lives for aye.
Our bodies, every footstep that they make, March towards death, until at last they die: 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?
[Sidenote: Objections against the Immortality of the Soul.]
But now these Epicures begin to smile, And say, "My doctrine is more safe, than true!" And that "I fondly do myself beguile, While these received opinions I ensue."
[Sidenote: Objection.]
"For what!" they say, "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 dazzled are, now clearly see?"
[Sidenote: Answer.]
These questions make a subtle argument To such as think both Sense and Reason one: To whom, nor Agent, from the Instrument; Nor Power of Working, from the Work is known
But they that know that Wit can show 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, Wherein th'inward sense of Phantasy should sit, And th'outward senses' gatherings 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 marred by accident which haps amiss, And so amiss it everything 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 Council all awry do go.
Even so, the Soul, to such a Body knit, Whose inward senses undisposèd 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 choose the Good; If she such figures in the brain did find, As might be found, if it in temper stood.
But if a frenzy do possess the brain; It so disturbs and blots the forms of things, As Phantasy 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 humours, and the rage appease; Which this distemper in the Fancy wrought: Then will 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 power of sight, Even 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 Power to See, Though mists and clouds do choke 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 dryness 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, ÆSON'S youth repair, And straight She shews her wonted excellence.
As a good harper, stricken far in years, Into whose cunning hands, the gout is fall: All his old crotchets, in his brain he bears, But on his harp, plays ill, or not at all.
But if APOLLO take his gout away, That he, his nimble fingers may apply; APOLLO'S self will envy at his play, And all the world applaud his minstrelsy!
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 past.
But most of them, even to their dying hour, Retain a Mind more lively, quick, and strong, And better use their Understanding Power, Than 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 ravished to the heavenly spheres.
[Sidenote: 2. Objection.]
Yet say these men, "If all her organs die, Then hath the Soul no power, her Powers to use! So in a sort her Powers extinct do lie, When into Act She cannot them reduce."
"And if her Powers be dead, then what is She? For since from everything, some Powers do spring, And from those Powers some Acts proceeding be: Then kill both Power and Act, and kill the Thing."
[Sidenote: Answer.]
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 choose without the Body's aid, Though on such objects, they are working still, As through the Body's organs are conveyed:
So, when the Body serves her turn no more, And all her Senses are extinct and gone, She can discourse of what She learned before, In heavenly 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 it doubtless! and can use it too! And doth both th'other skills, in power retain! And can of both the proper actions do, If with his Lute, or Horse he meet again.
So, though the instruments by which we live And view the world, the Body's death doth kill: Yet with the Body, they shall all revive; And all their wonted offices fulfil.
[Sidenote: 3. Objection.]
"But _how_, till then, shall She herself employ? Her spies are dead; which brought home news before: What she hath got and keeps, she may enjoy; But She hath means to understand no more."
"Then what do those poor Souls which nothing get? Or what do those which get and nothing keep, Like buckets bottomless, which all out let? Those Souls, for want of exercise, must sleep."
[Sidenote: Answer.]
See _how_ Man's Soul, against itself doth strive: Why should we not have other means to know? As children, while within the womb they live, Feed by the navel; Here, they feed not so.
These children (if they had some use of Sense, And should by chance their mothers talking, hear; That, in short time, they shall come forth from thence) Would fear their birth, more than our death we fear.
They would cry out, "If we, this place shall leave, Then shall we break our tender navel strings: How shall we then our nourishment receive, Since our sweet food, no other conduit brings?"
And if a man should, to these babes reply, That "Into this fair world they shall be brought, Where they shall see the earth, the sea, the sky, The glorious sun, and all that GOD hath wrought:
That there ten thousand dainties they shall meet, Which by their mouths they shall with pleasure take; Which shall be cordial too, as well as sweet, And of their little limbs, tall bodies make!"
This, would they think a fable! even as we Do think the story of the Golden Age; Or as some sensual spirits amongst us be, Which hold the World to Come, "a feigned Stage."
Yet shall these infants, after, find all true; Though, then, thereof, they nothing could conceive. As soon as they are born, the world they view, And with their mouths, the nurse's milk receive.
So when the Soul is born (for Death is nought But the Soul's Birth, and so we should it call!) Ten thousand things She sees, beyond her thought; And, in an unknown manner, knows them all.
Then doth She see by spectacles no more, She hears not by report of double spies, Herself, in instants, doth all things explore, For each thing present, and before her lies.
[Sidenote: 4. Objection.]
But still this Crew, with questions me pursues; "If Souls deceased," say they, "still living be", Why do they not return to bring us news Of that strange world, where they such wonders see?
[Sidenote: Answer.]
Fond men! if we believe that men do live Under the zenith of both frozen poles; Though none come thence, advertisement to give; Why bear we not the like faith of our Souls?
The Soul hath, here on earth, no more to do, Than we have business in our mother's womb; What child doth covet to return thereto? Although all children, first from thence do come!
But as Noah's pigeon which returned no more, Did shew she footing found, for all the flood; So when good Souls, departed through death's door, Come not again; it shews their dwelling good.
And doubtless such a Soul as up doth mount, And doth appear before her Maker's face, Holds this vile world in such a base account, As She looks down and scorns this wretched place.
But such as are detruded down to hell; Either for shame, they still themselves retire, Or tied in chains, they in close prison dwell, And cannot come, although they much desire.
[Sidenote: 5. Objection.]
"Well, well," say these vain spirits, "though vain it is To think our Souls to heaven or hell do go; Politic men have thought it not amiss, To spread this _lie_, to make men virtuous so!"
[Sidenote: Answer.]
Do _you_, then, think this moral Virtue, good? I think you do! even for your private gain; For commonwealths by Virtue ever stood; And common good, the private doth contain.
If then this Virtue, you do love so well, Have you no means, her practice to maintain? But you this lie must to the people tell, "That good Souls live in joy, and ill in pain."
Must Virtue be preservèd by a lie? Virtue and Truth do ever best agree. By this, it seems to be a verity, Since the effects so good and virtuous be.
For as the Devil, father is of lies, So Vice and Mischief do his lies ensue. Then this good doctrine did he not devise, But made this Lie which saith, "It is not true!"
[Sidenote: The General Consent of all.]
For how can that be false, which every tongue, Of every mortal man, affirms for true; Which truth hath, in all ages, been so strong, As loadstone-like, all hearts it ever drew.
For not the Christian or the Jew alone; The Persian, or the Turk acknowledge this: This mystery to the wild Indian known, And to the Cannibal and Tartar, is.
This rich Assyrian drug grows everywhere, As common in the North, as in the East! This doctrine doth not enter by the ear, But, of itself, is native in the breast!
None that acknowledge GOD, or Providence, Their Soul's eternity did ever doubt; For all religion takes her root from hence, Which no poor naked nation lives without.
For since the world for Man created was, (For only Man, the use thereof doth know) If Man do perish like a withered grass, How doth GOD's wisdom order things below?
And if that wisdom still wise ends propound, Why made He Man, of other creatures king? When (if he perish here!) there is not found, In all the world so poor and vile a thing?
If Death do quench us quite; we have great wrong; Since for our service, all things else were wrought: That daws, and trees, and rocks should last so long, When we must in an instant pass to nought.
But, blest be that Great Power! that hath us blest With longer life, than heaven or earth can have Which hath infused into one mortal breast, Immortal Powers, not subject to the grave.
For though the Soul do seem her grave to bear, And in this world is almost buried quick; We have no cause the Body's death to fear, "For when the shell is broke, out comes a chick."
[Sidenote: Three kinds of Life answerable to the three powers of the Soul.]
For as the Soul's _essential_ Powers are three, The Quick'ning Power, the Power of Sense, and Reason; Three kinds of Life to her designèd be, Which perfect these three Powers, in their due season.
The first Life in the mother's womb is spent, Where She her Nursing Power doth only use; Where, when She finds defect of nourishment, Sh' expels her body, and this world She views.
This, we call Birth! but if the child could speak, He, Death would call it! and of Nature, 'plain That She should thrust him out naked and weak; And in his passage, pinch him with such pain.
Yet, out he comes! and in this world is placed, Where all his Senses in perfection be; Where he finds flowers to smell, and fruits to taste, And sounds to hear, and sundry forms to see.
When he hath passed some time upon this Stage, His Reason, then, a little seems to wake, Which though She spring, when Sense doth fade with age, Yet can She here, no perfect practice make.
Then doth th' aspiring Soul, the Body leave, Which we call Death. But were it known to all, What Life our Souls do, by this death, receive; Men would it, Birth! or Gaol Delivery! call.
In this third Life, Reason will be so bright, As that her Spark will like the sunbeams shine; And shall, of GOD enjoy the real sight, Being still increased by influence divine.
[Sidenote: An acclamation!]
O ignorant poor Man! what dost thou bear, Locked up within the casket of thy breast; What jewels, and what riches hast thou there. What heavenly treasure in so weak a chest!
Look in thy Soul! and thou shall beauties find, Like those which drowned NARCISSUS in the flood; Honour and Pleasure both are in thy Mind, And all that in the world is counted Good.
Think of her worth! and think that GOD did mean This worthy Mind should worthy things embrace! Blot not her beauties, with thy thoughts unclean; Nor her, dishonour with thy Passions base.
Kill not her Quick'ning Power with surfeitings! Mar not her Sense with sensualities! Cast not her serious Wit on idle things! Make not her free Will slave to vanities!
And when thou thinkest of her Eternity; Think not that Death against her nature is; Think it a Birth! and, when thou goest to die, Sing like a swan, as if thou wentst to bliss!
And if thou, like a child, didst fear before, Being in the dark, when thou didst nothing see; Now I have brought thee Torch-light, fear no more. Now, when thou diest; thou canst not hoodwinked be.
And thou, my Soul! which turn'st thy curious eye, To view the beams of thine own form divine; Know, that thou canst know nothing perfectly, While thou are _clouded_ with this flesh of mine.
Take heed of _overweening_! and compare Thy peacock's feet, with thy gay peacock's train; Study the _best_ and _highest_ things that are; But of thyself, an humble thought retain!
Cast down thyself! and only strive to raise The glory of thy Maker's sacred name! Use all thy powers, that Blessed Power to praise, Which gives thee power to Be, and Use the same.
FINIS.
HYMNS OF
ASTRÆA, IN
ACROSTIC
VERSE.
_LONDON:_ Printed for I. S. 1599.
[_Hymns of ASTRÆA._]
HYMN I.
_Of ASTRÆA._
E ARLY, before the day doth spring, L et us awake, my Muse! and sing! I t is no time to slumber! S o many joys this Time doth bring, A s time will fail to number.
B ut, whereto shall we bend our Lays? E ven up to heaven, again to raise T he Maid! which, thence descended, H ath brought again the Golden Days A nd all the world amended.
R udeness itself, She doth refine! E ven like an Alchemist divine, G ross Times of Iron turning I nto the purest form of Gold; N ot to corrupt, till heaven wax old A nd be refined with burning.
HYMN II.
_To ASTRÆA._
E TERNAL Virgin! Goddess true! L et me presume to sing to you! I OVE, even great JOVE hath leisure S ometimes, to hear the vulgar crew, A nd hears them, oft, with pleasure.
B lessed ASTRÆ! I, in part, E njoy the blessings you impart! T he Peace! the milk and honey! H umanity! and civil Art! A richer dower than money.
R ight glad am I, that now I live, E ven in these days, whereto you give G reat happiness and glory! I f after you, I should be born; N o doubt, I should my birthday scorn, A dmiring your sweet Story.
HYMN III.
_To the Spring._
E ARTH now is green, and heaven is blue! L ively Spring, which makes all new. I olly Spring doth enter. S weet young sunbeams do subdue A ngry, agèd Winter.
B lasts are mild, and seas are calm! E very meadow flows with balm! T he earth wears all her riches! H armonious birds sing such a psalm A s ear and heart bewitches!
R eserve, sweet Spring! this Nymph of ours, E ternal garlands of thy flowers! G reen garlands never wasting! I n her shall last our State's fair Spring, N ow and for ever flourishing, A s long as heaven is lasting.
HYMN IV.
_To the month of May._
E ACH day of thine, sweet month of May! L ove makes a solemn Holy Day. I will perform like duty! S ince thou resemblest, every way, A STRÆA, Queen of Beauty.
B oth you, fresh beauties do partake! E ither's aspect, doth Summer make, T houghts of young Love awaking! H earts you both, do cause to ache; A nd yet be pleased with aching.
R ight dear art thou! and so is She! E ven like attractive sympathy G ains unto both, like dearness. I ween this made Antiquity N ame thee, Sweet May of Majesty! A s being both like in clearness.
HYMN V.
_To the Lark._
E ARLY, cheerful, mounting Lark! L ight's gentle Usher! Morning's Clerk! I n merry notes delighting; S tint awhile thy song, and hark, A nd learn my new inditing!
B ear up this Hymn! to heaven, it bear! E ven up to heaven, and sing it there! T o heaven, each morning bear it! H ave it set to some sweet sphere, A nd let the angels hear it!
R enowned ASTRÆA, that great name! (E xceeding great in worth and fame, G reat worth hath so renowned it) I t is ASTRÆA's name, I praise! N ow then, sweet Lark! do thou it raise; A nd in high heaven resound it!
HYMN VI.
_To the Nightingale._
E VERY night, from even till morn, L ove's Chorister amid the thorn, I s now so sweet a singer! S o sweet, as for her Song, I scorn A POLLO'S voice and finger.
B ut, Nightingale! sith you delight E ver to watch the starry night, T ell all the stars of heaven! H eaven never had a star so bright A s now to earth is given!
R oyal ASTRÆA makes our day E ternal, with her beams! nor may G ross darkness overcome her! I now perceive, why some do write, "N o country hath so short a night A s England hath in summer."
HYMN VII.
_To the Rose._
E YE of the garden! Queen of Flowers! L OVE's cup, wherein he nectar pours! I ngendered first of nectar. S weet nurse-child of the Spring's young Hours! A nd Beauty's fair Character!
B est jewel that the earth doth wear! E ven when the brave young sun draws near, T o her hot love pretending; H imself likewise, like form doth bear, A t rising and descending.
R ose, of the Queen of Love beloved! E ngland's great Kings (divinely moved) G ave Roses in their banner: I t shewed, that Beauty's Rose indeed, N ow in this Age should them succeed, A nd reign in more sweet manner.
HYMN VIII.
_To all the Princes of Europe._
E UROPE! the Earth's sweet Paradise! L et all thy Kings (that would be wise I n Politic Devotion) S ail hither, to observe her eyes, A nd mark her heavenly motion!