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Heav'n 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 ay.

"Our bodies, ev'ry 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 in

crease:

And what is strength, but an effect of youth, Which if time nurse, how can it ever cease?

SECTION XXXII.

OBJECTIONS AGAINST THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL, WITH THEIR RESPECTIVE ANSWERS.

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 receiv'd opinions I ensue.

OBJECTION I.

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 the idiots then by nature be?
How is it that some wits are interrupted,
That now they dazzled are, now clearly see?

ANSWER.

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 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,

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: VOL V.

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 choose 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 humours, and the rage appease, Which this distemper in the fancy 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 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:

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But as Noah's pigeon, which return'd no more,

Did show, she footing found, for all the flood; So when good souls, departed through Death's door,

Come not again, it shows 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 ty'd in chains, they in close prison dwell, And cannot come, although they much desire.

OBJECTION V.

Well, well, say these vain spirits, though vain it is To think our souls to Heav'n or Hell do go; Politic men have thought it not amiss,

To spread this lie, to make men virtuous so.

ANSWER.

Do you then think this moral virtue good?
I think you do, ev'n 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 preserved 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 the father is of lies,

So vice and mischief do his lies ensue :
Then this good doctrine did not he devise;
But made this lie, which saith, it is not true.

For, how can that be false, which ev'ry tongue
Of ev'ry mortal man affirms for true?
Which truth bath in all ages been so strong,
As, load-stone 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 ev'ry where;
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.

Note that acknowledge God, or providence,
Their soul's eternity did ever doubt;
For all religion taketh 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 wither'd 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 naught.

But bless'd be that Great Pow'r, that hath us bless'd With longer life than Heav'n or Earth can have; Which bath infus'd into our mortal breast

Immortal pow'rs not subject to the grave.

For though the soul do seem her grave to bear,
And in this world is almost bury'd quick,
We have no cause the body's death to fear;
For when the shell is broke, out comes a chick.

SECTION XXXIII.

THREE KINDS OF LIFE ANSWERABLE TO THREE POWERS OF THE SOUL.

FOR as the soul's essential pow'rs are three ;
The quick'ning pow'r, the pow'r of sense and reason;
Three kinds of life to her designed be,
[son.

Which perfect these three pow'rs in their due sea

The first life in the mother's womb is spent, Where she the nursing pow'r 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 would thrust him out naked and weak, And in his passage pinch him with such pain.

Yet out he comes, and in this world is plac'd,
Where all his senses in perfection be;
Where he finds flow'rs to smell, and fruits to taste,
And sounds to hear, and sundry forms to see.

When he hath pass'd some time upon the stage, His reason then a little seems to wake; [age, Which though she spring when sense doth fade with Yet can she here no perfect practice make.

Then doth 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 jail-deliv'ry call.

In this third life, reason will be so bright,

As that her spark will like the sun-beams shine, And shall of God enjoy the real sight, Being still increas'd by influence divine.

SECTION XXXIV. THE CONCLUSION.

O IGNORANT poor man! what dost thou bear? Lock'd up within the casket of thy breast? What jewels, and what riches hast thou there? What heav'nly treasure in so weak a chest?

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