THE PREFACE TO THE READER.

THe very nerves and sinews of Religion is hope of immortality. What greater incitement to virtue and justice then eternall happinesse? what greater ter­riculament from wickednesse, then a full perswa­sion of after-judgement and continuall torture 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, vvhom the fear of hell doth not affright, die so unvvillingly, nor vvicked men so securely; nor vvould so many be vvicked. For even natu­rall-providence vvould bid them look forvvard.

Beside, some men of a melancholick temper (vvhich commonly distrust and suspicion do ac­company) though othervvise 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 vvith anxiety of mind busie themselves to prove the truth of that strongly, vvhich they desire vehemently to be true. And this body, vvhich dissolution vvaits upon, helpeth our infidelity exceedingly. For the soul not seeing it self, judgeth it self of such a na­ture, [Page] as those things are to which she is nearest united: Falsly saith, but yet ordinarily, I am sick, I am weak, I faint, I die; when it is nough: but the perishing life of the body that is in such plight, to which she is so close tied in most inti­mate love and sympathy. So a tender mother, if she see a knife struck to her childs heart, would shreek and swound as if her self 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,

[Page] 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 most what perswa­ded of the souls immortality, yet here they may reade 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'll reap from this Poem, it will be according as their Genius is fitted for it. For as Plato speaks in his Io, [...], or accor­ding to the more usuall phrase [...], &c. The spirit of every Poet is not alike, nor his writings alike suteable to all dispositions. As Io, the reci­ter of Homers verses, professeth himself to be snatcht away with an extraordinary fury or ec­stacie 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 himself 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 apprehensions 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 [Page] sung Montibus & Sylvis to the waste Woods and solitary Mountains. For all men are so full of their own phansies and idiopathyes, that they scarce have the civility to interchange any words with a stranger. If they do chance to heare 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, vvithout canvasing; and vvould be thought rather to propound then to assert vvhat I have here or elsevvhere vvritten. But continu­ally to have exprest my diffidence in the very tractates themselves, had been languid and ridi­culous.

It vvere a piece of injustice to expect of o­thers, that vvhich I could never indure to stoup to my self. That knovvledge vvhich is built up­on humane authority is no better then a Castle in the Aire. For vvhat man is [...] or at least can be prov'd 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 signifiing the thing is so, then any true understanding that the thing is so indeed.

What ever may seem strange in this Poem, con­demne [Page] 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 soules 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 poetry. For I will assure thee (Reader) that it will be nothing but igorance of my scope, that shall make any do othervvise 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.

THE PREFACE TO THE READER.

TO preface much concerning these lit­tle after-pieces of Poetry, I hold need­lesse, having spoke my mind so fully before. The motives that drevv me to adde them to the former are exprest in the Po­ems themselves. My drift is one in them all: vvhich is to raise a certain number of vvell orde­red Phantasms, fitly shaped out and vvarily con­trived, vvhich I set to skirmish and conflict vvith all the furious phansies of Epicurisine and Athe­isme. But here's my disadvantage, that victory vvill be no victory, unlesse the adversary ac­knovvledge himself overcome. None can ac­knovvledge himself overcome, unlesse he perceive the strength, and feel the stroke of the more povv­erfull arguments. But the exility and subtletie of many, and that not of the meanest, is such (nor can they be othervvise) that they vvill (as that kind of thunder vvhich the Poets do commonly call [...], from its over quick and penetrating energie) go through their more porous and spon­gie minds vvithout any sensible impression.

Sure I am that sensuality is alvvayes an ene­my to subtilty of reason, vvhich hath its rise from subtilty of phansie: so that the life of the body, be­ing [Page] vigorous and radiant in the soul, hinders us of the sight of more attenuate phantasms. 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 illustration for this purpose. Why is it that we see our ovvn faces there by night? What can reflect the species (as they phrase it) when the glasse is pervious and transparent? Surely refle­ction 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 burie these weak idola in their [...]ore ori­ent lustre.

The starres shine and fill the aire with their species by day, but are to be seen onely in a deep pit, which may fence the Sunnes light from stri­king our sight so strongly. Every contemptible candle conquers the beams of the Moon, by the same advantage that the Sunnes doth the Starres, 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 energie, we shall behold the night.

[Page] All this is but to shew, how the stronger or nearer [...] 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 consider what Aristotle saith of phansie, that it is [...]. Thus much I will take of him, that Phansie is sense; and adde to it that [...] is also [...], and [...] 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 but the very energie of the soul, there seems to be no re­all and intrinsecall difference betwixt the [...] and [...] 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 [...] and [...] in the soul it self is all one.

But now sith it is the same nature, why is there not the same degree of energie in both? I say there is, as appears plainly in sleep, where we find all as clear and energeticall as when we wake.

But here these [...] or [...] (for I have prov'd them all one) do as greater and [Page] 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 the soul into a perpetuall sensuall ener­gie, if we foster this and unite our minds, will, and animadversion with it, will by its close nearnesse with the soul dim and obscure those more subtil and exile phantasms or [...] 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 stars in the beams of the Sunne, scarce to be seen, unlesse we withdraw our selves out of the flush vigour of that light, into the profunditie 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 vvritings fall into the hands of men othervvise qualified, I shall gain the lesse appro­bation. But if they vvill endeavour to compose themselves as near as they can to this temper; though they vvere of another opinion then vvhat [Page] my writings intend to prove, I doubt not but they vvill have the happinesse to be overcome, and to prove gainers by my victorie.

To say any thing more particularly concern­ing these last I hold it needlesse. Onely let me excuse my self, if any chance to blame me for my [...], as confuting that which no man will assert. For it hath been asserted by some; as those Mauri whom Ficinus speaks of; and the question is also discussed by Plotinus in his fourth Ennead, where he distinguisheth of, all souls be­ing one, after this manner, [...]. The latter member is that, vvhich my arguments conclude against. Though they vvere [...] yet vvere vve safe enough; as safe as the beams of the Sunne the Sunne 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 vvorking 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, vvhich is of great moment: For if one onely soul act in every body, vvhat ever vve are novv, surely this body laid in the dust vve shall be nothing.

[Page] As for the Oracles ansvver to Amelius, if any vulgar conceited man think it came from a devil with bats vvings and a long tail, the Seventies translation of the eighth verse of 32 chapter of Deuteronomie 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, [...]. 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 vvhile he vvas living, and of Plotinus after his death, vvas some foul fiend, yet tis no prejudice to their esteem, since our Saviour Christ vvas acknovvledged by the devil.

But I have broke my vvord, by not breaking off my speech before this. Reader, tis time novv to leave thee to the perusall of my vvritings, vvhich 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 vvritings of other men.