We that acquaint ourselves with every zone,
And pass both tropics, and behold both poles;
When we come home, are to ourselves unknown,
And unacquainted still with our own souls.

We study speech, but others we persuade;
We leech-craft learn, but others cure with it:
We interpret laws which other men have made,
But read not those which in our hearts are
writ.

Is it because the mind is like the eye,

Through which it gathers knowledge by degrees; Whose rays reflect not, but spread outwardly;

Not seeing itself, when other things it sees ?

No, doubtless; for the mind can backward cast,
Upon herself, her understanding light;

But she is so corrupt, and so defac'd,

As her own image doth herself affright.

As is the fable of the lady fair,

Which for her lust was turn'd into a cow; When thirsty, to a stream she did repair, And saw herself transform'd she wist not how;

At first she startles, then she stands amaz'd;
At last with terror she from hence doth fly,
And loathes the wat'ry glass wherein she gaz'd,

And shuns it still, although for thirst she die :

Ev'n so man's soul, which did God's image bear, And was at first fair, good, and spotless pure; Since with her sins her beauties blotted were,

Doth of all sights, her own sight least endure;

For ev'n at first reflection she espies

Such strange chimeras, and such monsters there; Such toys, such antics, and such vanities,

As she retires and shrinks for shame and fear.

And as the man loves least at home to be,

That hath a sluttish house, haunted with sprites; So she, impatient her own faults to see,

Turns from herself, and in strange things delights.

For this, few know themselves, for merchants broke,
View their estate with discontent and pain;

As seas are troubled, when they do revoke
Their flowing waves into themselves again.

And while the face of outward things we find,
Pleasing and fair, agreeable and sweet,
These things transport, and carry out the mind,
That with herself, the mind can never meet.

Yet if affliction once her wars begin,

And threat the feebler sense with sword and fire, The mind contracts herself and shrinketh in, And to herself she gladly doth retire;

As spiders touch'd seek their web's inmost part;
As bees in storms back to their hives return;
As blood in danger gathers to the heart;

As men seek towns, when foes the country burn.

If aught can teach us aught, affliction's looks,
Making us pry into ourselves so near,
Teach us to know ourselves beyond our books,
Or all the learned schools that ever were.

This mistress lately pluck'd me by the ear, And many a golden lesson hath me taught; Hath made my senses quick, and reason clear, Reform'd my will, and rectified my thought.

So do the winds and thunders cleanse the air; So working lees settle and purge the wine; So lopp'd and pruned trees do flourish fair; So doth the fire the drossy gold refine.

Neither Minerva, nor the learned muse,
Nor rules of art, nor precepts of the wise,
Could in my brain those beams of skill infuse,
As but the glance of this dame's angry eyes.

She within lists my ranging mind hath brought,
That now beyond myself I will not go;
Myself am centre of my circling thought,
Only myself I study, learn, and know:

I know my body's of so frail a kind,

As force without, fevers within can kill; I know the heavenly nature of my mind, But 'tis corrupted both in wit and will.

I know my soul hath power to know all things,
Yet is she blind and ignorant in all ;
I know I'm one of nature's little kings,
Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.

I know my life's a pain, and but a span;
I know my sense is mock'd in ev'ry thing;
And, to conclude, I know myself a man,
Which is proud, and yet a wretched thing.

D

THE DIGNITY OF MAN.

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 be

came;

The angels do admire this mystery,

And are astonish'd when they view the same:

Nor hath he giv'n these blessings for a day,
Nor made them on the body's life depend;
The soul, though made in time, survives for aye;
And though it hath beginning, sees no end.

THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL, PROVED BY SEVERAL REASONS.

HER only end, is never-ending bliss;
Which is, the eternal face of God to see;
Who, last of ends, and first of causes is:
And to do this, she must eternal be.

How senseless then, and dead a soul hath he, Which thinks his soul doth with his body die; Or thinks not so, but so would have it be,

That he might sin with more security!

For though these light and vicious persons say, Our soul is but a smoke, or airy blast, Which, during life, doth in her nostrils play, And when we die, doth turn to wind at last;"

Although they say, "Come, let us eat and drink; Our life is but a spark, which quickly dies:" Though thus they say, they know not what to think,

But in their minds ten thousand doubts arise.

Therefore no heretics desire to spread

Their light opinions, like these epicures; For so their stagg'ring thoughts are comforted, And other men's assent their doubt assures.

Yet, tho' these men against their conscience strive,
There are some sparkles in their flinty breasts,
Which cannot be extinct, but still revive;
That tho' they would, they cannot quite be beasts.