Enthusiasmus Triumphatus, OR, A DISCOURSE OF The Nature, Causes, Kinds, and Cure, OF ENTHUSIASME;

Written by Philophilus Parresiastes, and prefixed to ALAZONOMASTIX HIS Observations and Reply:

Whereunto is added a Letter of his to a private Friend, wherein certain passages in his Reply are vindicated, and severall matters relating to Enthusiasme more fully cleared.


LONDON, Printed by I. Flesher, and are to be sold by W. Morden Bookseller in Cambridge, MDCLVI.


Enthusiasmus Triumphatus, OR, A DISCOURSE OF The Nature, Causes, Kinds, and Cure, OF ENTHUSIASME;

Written by Philophilus Parresiastes, and prefixed to ALAZONOMASTIX HIS Observations and Reply:

Whereunto is added a Letter of his to a private Friend, wherein certain passages in his Reply are vindicated, and severall matters relating to Enthusiasme more fully cleared.

LONDON, Printed by I. Flesher, and are to be sold by W. Morden Bookseller in Cambridge, MDCLVI.

To the Reader.

Reader,
THou maist very well marvell what may be the meaning that I should publish the Writings of another, the Authour being yet alive and at leisure to do it himself: But I can inform thee, though it perhaps may seem a Riddle to thee, that he is alive and not alive. For when I treated with him concerning this matter, I found him quite dead to all such kind of busi∣nesses. His Constitution is grown so unex∣pectedly and astonishingly grave or sower, I know not whether to call it, that there is now, as I told him, some small hopes that he may be brought off in time, to put on a pair of Sat∣tin eares, or wear a silk cap with as many seams as there be streaks in the back of a Lute, as himself expresses it, in the Preface to his Reply, Assuredly, said I, Mastix, thou hast an ambiti∣on of being one of those venerable Idols, or stalking peices of Gravity, to whom little boyes smack the top of their fingers so loudly, making long legges; and young girls and wo∣men drop so demure courtsies to as they passe by in the street. How strongly is my friend Mastix metamorphosed within this space of three or four yeares.


But Parresiastes, said he, is I perceive, the same man still, as merry and unluckie as ever: and for my self I am not so much changed or sunk into thy present temper, but that I can with the same patience bear with thy frolicks, as I could with others sullennesse in the dayes of my jollitie. But I know by certain and ap∣proved experience, that there is nothing so safe and permanently pleasant, as a staid mind and composed spirit; not easily loosned into pro∣fuse mirth. For such Jocantrie, while we are in these earthly Tabernacles, is but like the dan∣cing of men and women in an unswept room, it does but raise a dust and offend the eyes even of the Revellers themselves, what ever it does to the Spectatours. Wherefore what a vain thing were it in me, to ruffle the calme compo∣sure of my own Spirit, by perusing and repub∣lishing of that which proved so great an ag∣grievance to one, to whom I never did, nor yet do, bear the least enmity.

I seeing Mastix so seriously set against Mirth, presently conjectured, for all his smooth speeches, that it might happily fare with him after the usuall manner of other mortalls, who commonly do not wholly quit themselves of their passions, but change them; and there∣fore did not much mistrust, but that though I could not melt him into a merry temper, yet I might heat him into a fit of Indignation and


naturall sense of Revenge. And to this purpose I set before his eyes the high Insolencies of Eu∣genius against the Universities, his unpardonable Incivilities to that Miracle of Ages the noble Des-Cartes, besides his outragious Barbaritics up∣on Mastix his own self; where I exhibited to his view a whole Catalogue of those honourable Titles he so liberally bestows upon him through∣out his writings, being so many and so uncouth, that they might stuff out a whole Dictionary with terms of scurrility. These I spread before him, like the bloud of Mulberries before• Ele∣phants in battel, to provoke his Irascible. But to my amazement he seemed to me not at all mo∣ved, but in a carelesse manner made this Answer, The grosser these Revilements are, the Greater Christianity not to be incensed. Besides, if either he or any others by his defamations think worse of me then I deserve, the injury is theirs, not mine; as when one conceives a true Proposition to be false, the Proposition, saith Epictetus, is not hurt, but he that is mistaken in it.

When I saw these Engines levelled at his af∣fections could make no breach upon him, at last I betook me to more subtil weapons. Well said I, Mastix, it should seem you are grown a man of strange Master-dome over your Passions, or at least you are willing to appear so for the pre∣sent; but you have been as great a professor of Reason heretofore. I pray you let me ask you one question; whether do not you think your

Observations and Reply very serviceable for that purpose you intended them, viz. for the dis∣countenancing and quelling of vain Fantastry and Enthusiasme. Here he putting upon himself a ctosse and unexpected garb of Modesty, told me that it was unfit for him to speak any thing that may seem to tend to the commendation of his own Writings; but smilingly asked me what my opinion was thereof. I professe, said I, I cannot but think them very serviceable for that end, nor can imagine how that Fanatick spirit can be bet∣ter met withall, then by slighting and deriding it, there being alwayes so much Pride at the root from whence these Follies and Vanities bloom. For Fantasticks and Enthusiasts seek nothing more then the admiration of men, wherefore there is no such soveraign Remedy as scorn and neglect, to make them sober. But anxiously to contend in a drie way of Reason with them that professe themselves above it, is indeed to conde∣scend below a mans self, and use his sword there where he ought to have shown his whip, wh•ch was the mistake of the Scythians when they fought against their slaves; and therefore it being not so rational to prefer a private humor before a pub∣lick good, you ought not to be so shie in the mat∣ter I propound. I know not what you mean said Mastix, Your late laudable intentions, said I, have been as well against Enthusiasme as Atheisme, what pretence then have you that those two Pam∣phlets against Enthusiasme may not march in one


body, I mean, be bound up in one Volume with the rest of your Treatises, for they would be then more in view, and consequently do more service. It may be so, said Mastix, if they would do any at all. But you do not in the mean time con∣sider what disservice they may do to the rest of my Writings, which are so grave and serious, and how they may cause the Reader, through in∣cogitancy, to think me in good earnest no where having once found me so much in jest.

Now certainly, Mastix, said I, it is not Gravi∣ty but Melancholy that makes such a prudent fool of thee. Do not even the godliest and severest men that are, without either sin or scruple, laugh heartily at dinner and tell merry tales, though they begin and end their meal wi•h more then ordinary seriousnesse and devotion? Besides, the promiscuous jumbling of those divine Raptures, in your Reply, with your usuall merriment there, seems in my judgement far more harsh then the joyning both your Observations and it with the rest of your Discourses.

This struck Mastix home, as I thought, who a little changing his countenance, after some pause returned this answer. The truth is, said he, that confusion of so great seriousnesse with so humoursome mirth, is the very worst thing in all that book. Which my spirits so ill relish now I am more cool, that I would gladly, if opportu∣nity were offered, have my Reply distinguished into Sections with Arguments before every Secti∣on,


that there may be a due time of Interspirati∣on betwixt the ending of the serious and the entring into the merry passages, as well as there was in my writing of them. But this may be done, though these two Pamphlets be still kept apart from the rest in a lesser volume. That's true, said I, but you do not observe that you en∣deavour the declining of that which is unavoid∣able. For as sure as your Books will to the Press again after your death, these two, which you would keep out, will croud in with the rest.

Here Mastix began to scratch his head, and se•med utterly at a losse what to say. But at last recovering himself, what reason, said he, have I to take Philophilus for a Prophet, or admit of his Presage as probable, that my wr•tings should be so much in •equest hereafter, unlesse it be be∣cause they are in so little now, Writers having the same fate that Fashions, they all coming up by their turns and then going down again. But suppose your presage true, what then Philophi∣lus? I• plainly then follows, said I, that you are to republish your two Pamphlets, & joyn them with the rest of your Writings, especially ha∣ving opportunity thereby to cast your Reply in∣to Sections, and make what corrections else you think fit in either of them. It does not at all follow, sayes he. It follows indeed, that it is fit the thing should be done, but it does not neces∣sarily follow that I do •t my self. Friend Ma∣stix how captious are you, said I, My main drift


was to demonstrate that the thing was fit to be done, not questioning but that that being proved, you would not stick to do it your self. Well, said he, my friend Philophilus, it is acknowledged then on both sides, that it is fit and requisite to be done, but my self refusing of it, will any body else think you do it? Not any body, said I: Whe∣ther can you do it or no, said Mastix to me.

Here I began to fumble, but I could not but confesse that I could do it. The whole businesse, said Mastix, lies then betwixt you and me. As for my own part I am resolved I will not meddle with it, it being utterly against the present tem∣per of spirit I am in. And a thing so fit to be done in your own judgement, which you can do if you will, and will not be done unlesse by you, must lie at your door as a neglected duty if you refuse it. I marry, said I, friend Mastix this is rare indeed, I perceive though you can forego your wonted mirth, you have parted with little of your wit, that you can thus finely catch me in a noose of mine own making. Well, I will not be unwilling to think it my duty for this once, since it can be no otherwise. And I have Rea∣der outdone his desire in the prosecuting there∣of.

For I have not onely cast his Reply, but his Ob∣servations also into Sections, prefixing before each Section the Argument thereof, in which I might almost equalize my pains to his that first com∣piled the Books, at least I might the fruits of


them; being well assured that they will prove ten times more plain and consequently more pleasant then they were before, especially if thou takest notice of what Instructions I shall impart to thee in reference to their perusall.

Know therefore that in every Argument of the Sections of his Observations, there is exhibited to thee the Matter that Mastix speaks to in each Ob∣servation, & that so fully and faithfully, that if the Discourse he writes against lay open before thine eyes, it would not make him more intelligible. Now his Observations being so punctually num∣bred and fully understood, it will follow that his Reply will be as easie, the same numbring of the Observations being kept there also, so that if thou beest not satisfied in the sense, it is but ha∣ving recourse to the Observation, the number does direct thee to in the foregoing Pamphlet, and then all will be clear. The chief light there∣fore for understanding both, being the right framing of the Arguments of the Sections of his Observations, which were so plainly to propose to thy view the Matter that is first spoke to, it made me very carefull in contriving thereof. But I was lesse curious in the Arguments of the Sections of his Reply, they being not so much to tell what is spoke to, as what is spoke in every par∣ticular Section.

Besides this dividing his two Pamphlets into Sections, I have also prefixed A Brief Discourse concerning the Nature, Causes, Kindes, and Cure of


Enthusiasme, where though my pains seem more entirely my own, then in the following Books, yet to confesse ingenuously, they are here farre lesse, I having had more easie and frequent ac∣cesse to Mastix in this so serious and weighty a Matter. After the whole compilement whereof it being reduced to that form thou seest it, desi∣rous to leave out nothing, in so important a sub∣ject, that was of consequence to be put in; I ask∣ed him if it seemed not somthing maimed in the enumeration of the Causes of Enthusiasme, be∣cause there is nothing set down there concerning the Devil, nor the wilfull wickednesse of the mind of man; but all is resolved into Complexion or the present Temper or Distemper of the body, arising from naturall causes that necessarily act thereupon. For thus this Discourse, said I, may seem as well an Excuse for, as a Discovery of this disease of Enthusiasme. Why, said Mastix, I hope it is not your designe, I am sure it is not mine, to incense the mindes of any against En∣thusiasts as to persecute them: all that I aim at, is onely this, that no man may follow them. And your Discourse already, I think, is effectuall e∣nough for that purpose, it so plainly discovering that what seems so strange and taking in them, is not from God, but a meer Constitution of body, the fanaticall workings whereof, though they may be much heightned by some peculiar Vitio∣sity of the mind or subtile insinuations of the Devil, yet because it is not alwayes so, and that it does


very seldome plainly appear that there is any thing more of either Devil or Vitiosity in the Enthusiast then in others, saving what his meer Complexion leads him to, I think it is, said he, more safe to leave those Considerations out, their causality being more lax and generall then to be appropriated to Enthusiasme, and it being farre more laudable in my judgement and allow∣able to let the guilty go free, especially in mat∣ters of this nature, then to endanger the inno∣cent.

Thus, Reader, thou seest how thou art be∣holden to Mastix, as well for what is judiciously left out, as what is fitly and usefully taken in to the following Discourse. For I must confesse, that in the unridling of this Riddle of Enthusi∣asme, I have wholly plowed with his Heifer, which having told thee, I shall now dismisse thee, being unwilling any longer to detain thee from the reaping of the harvest of my Labours.

Philophilus Parresiastes.


The Contents of the ensuing Discourse.
1. THe great Vse and necessity of discovering the imposture of Enthusiasme.
2. What Inspiration is and what Enthusiasme.
3. A search of the Causes of Enthusiasme in the Faculties of the Soul.
4. The severall Degrees and Natures of her Fa∣culties.
5. Why Dreams, till we awake, seem reall trans∣actions.
6. The enormous strength of Imagination the cause of Enthusiasme.
7. Sundry naturall and corporeall causes that ne∣cessarily work on the Imagina•ion.
8. The power of meats to change the Imagination.
9. Baptista his potion for the same purpose.
10. The power of diseases upon the Fancy.
11. Of the power of Melancholy, and how it often sets on some one absurd conceit upon the minde, the party in other things being sober.
12. Severall Examples thereof.
13. A seasonable application of these examples for the weakning of the authority of bold Enthusiasts.
14. That the causality of Melancholy in this di∣stemper of Enthusiasme is more easily traced then in other extravagancies.
15. Melancholy apertinacious and religious com∣plexion.
16. That men are prone to suspect some speciall presence of God or of a Supernaturall power in what∣ever is Great or Vehement.

17. The mistake of heated Melancholy for holy Zeal and the Spirit of God.
18. The Ebbs and Flowes of Melancholy a fur∣ther cause of Enthusiasme.
19. The notorious mockery of Melancholy in re∣ference to Divine love.
20. That Melancholy partakes much of the Na∣ture of Wine, and from what complexion Poets & En∣thusiasts arise, & what the difference is betwixt them.
21. That a certain Dos•s of Sanguine mixt with Melancholy is the Spirit that usually inspires En∣thusiasts, made good by a large Induction of Examples.
22. More examples to the same purpose.
23. Of Enthusiasticall Ioy.
24. Of the mysticall Allegories of Enthusiasts.
25. Of Quaking and of the Quakers.
26. That Melancholy disposes to Apoplexies and Epilepsies.
27. Of the nature of Enthusiastick Revelations and Visions.
28. Of Extasie, The nature and causes thereof.
29. Whether it be in mans power to cast himself into an Enthusiastick Apoplexie, Epilepsie or Extasie.
30. Of Ent•usiastick Prophecy.
31. Of the Presage of a mans own heart from a supernaturall impulse sensible to himself, but unex∣plicable to others, where it may take place, and that it is not properly Enthusiasme.
32. Severall examples of Politicall Enthusiasme.
33. David George his prophecy of his rising again from the Dead and after what manner it was fulfilled.
34. A description of his person, manners, & doctrine.
35. The evident causes of his power of speech.
36. An account of those seeming graces in him.
37. That he was a man of Sanguine complexion.

38. Further and more sure proofs that he was of that temper.
39. That it was a dark fulsome Sanguine that hid the truth of the great promises of the gospel from his e•es.
40. The exact likenesse betwixt him and the Fa∣ther of the moderne Nicolaitans, and the Authours cen∣sure of them both.
41. A seasonable Advertisement in the behalf of them that are unawares taken with such Writers, as also a further confirmation that Enthusiastick mad∣nesse may consist with sobriety in other matters.
42. Of Philosophicall Enthusiasme.
43. Sundry Chymists and Theosophists obnoxious to this disease.
44. A promiscuous Collection of divers odd con∣ceits out of severall Theosophists and Chymists.
45. A particular Collection out of Paracelsus.
46. That it is he that has given occasion to the wildest Philosophick Enthusiasmes that ever was yet on foot.
47. That his Philosophy, though himself intended it not, is one of the safest sanctuaries for the Atheist, and the very prop of ancient Paganisme.
48. How it justifies the Heathens worshipping of the Starres, derogates from the authority of the mi∣racles of our Saviour, makes the Gospel ineffectuall for the establishing of the belief of a God, and a parti∣cular Providence, gratifies that professed Atheist Va∣ninus in what he most of all triumphs in, as serving his turn the best to elude all religion whatsoever.
49. That Paracelsus and his followers are neither Atheisticall nor Diabolicall, and what makes the Chy∣mist ordinarily so pittifull a Philosopher.
50. The writer of this Discourse no foe to either Theo∣sophist or Chymist, onely he excuses himself from being over credulous in regard of either.

51. The cure of Enthusiasme by Temperance, Hu∣mility, and Reason.
52. What is meant by Temperance.
53. What by Humility and the great advantage thereof for Wisdome and Knowledge.
54, What by Reason, and what the danger is of leaving that Guide, as also the mistake of them that expect the Spirit should not suggest such things as are rationall.
55. Further Helps against Enthusiasme.
56. Of the raised language of Enthusiasts; and of what may extraordinarily fall from them.
57. Of Enthusiastick prophecy that ordinarily happens to fools and madmen, and the reason why; as also why Extaticall men foresee things to come, and of the uncertainty of such predictions.
58. That if an Enthusiast should cure some disea∣ses by touching or stroaking the party diseased, that yet it might be no true mira•le.
59. Of the remote Notions, mysterious Stile, and moving Eloquence of Enthusiasts.
60. How we shall distinguish betwixt pure Religion and Complexion.
61. That the devotional Enthusiasm of holy & sin∣cere souls has not at all been taxed in all this Discourse.
62. That the fewell of devotion even in warrant∣able and sincere Enthusiasme is usually Melancholy.
63. That there is a peculiar advantage in Melan∣choly for divine speculations, and a prevention of the Atheists objection thereupon.
64. How it comes to passe that men are so nimble and dexterous in finding the truth of some things, and so slow and heavy in othersome, and that the dulnesse of the Atheists perception in divine matters is no argu∣ment against the truth of Religion.
Page 1
A short Discourse of the Na∣ture, Causes, Kindes, and Cure of Enthusiasme.
1. HAving undertaken the republishing of the two following Books, and reduced them both under one com∣mon Title of Enthusiasme, I think it not amisse to speak somewhat by way of Preface, concerning the nature of that Dis∣ease, partly because it may be the better discerned of what good use the Authour's pains are against this distemper of Fantastrie and Enthusiasme, and part∣ly because by a more punctuall discovery of this dis∣temper, the distemper it self, or at least the ill influ∣ence of it upon the credulous & inconsiderate, may be prevented. For where the naturall causes of things are laid open, there that stupid reverence and admiration which surprises the ignorant, will assuredly cease. Which is a thing of no lesse consequence then the preserving of that honest and rationall way of the edu∣cation of youth in liberall Arts and Sciences, and up∣holding of Christian Religion it self from being sup∣planted and overturned from the very foundations, by the dazeling and glorious plausibilities of bold En∣thusiasts, who speaking great swelling words of va∣nity, bear down the weak and unskilfull multitude into such a belief of Supernaturall graces and inspira∣tions in their admired Prophet, that they will not st•ck to listen to him, though he dictate to them what is contrary, not onely to solid Reason and the judgement
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of the most learned and pious in all ages, but even to the undoubted Oracles of the holy Scriptures them∣selves.

Wherefore for the detecting of this mysterious Imposture, we shall briefly, and yet, I hope, plainly enough, set out the Nature, Causes, Kinds, and Cure of this mischievous Disease.

2. The Etymologie, and varietie of the significati∣ons of this word Enthusiasme I leave to Criticks and Grammarians, but what we mean by it here, you shall fully understand after we have defined what Inspi∣ration is: For Enthusiasme is nothing else but a mis∣conceit of being inspired. Now to be inspired, is to be moved in an extraordinary manner by the power or Spirit of God to act, speak, or think what is holy, just, and true. From hence it will be easily understood what Enthusiasme is, viz. A full, but false perswa∣sion in a man that he is inspired.

3. We shall now enquire into the Causes of this Distemper• how it comes to passe that a man should be thus befooled in his own conceit: And truly un∣lesse we should offer lesse satisfaction then the thing is capable of, we must not onely treat here of Melan∣choly, but of the Faculties of the Soul of man, where∣by it may the better be understood how she may be∣come obnoxious to such disturbances of Melancholy, in which she has quite lost her own judgement and freedome, and can neither keep out nor distinguish betwixt her own fancies and reall truths.

4. We are therefore to take notice of the severall Degrees and Natures of the faculties of the Soul, the lowest whereof she exercises without so much as any perception of what she does, and these operations are fatall and naturall to her so long as she is in the body, and a man differs in them little from a Plant, which
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therefore you may call the Vegetative or Plantall fa∣culties of the Soul. The lowest of those Faculties of whose present operations we have any perception, are the outward Senses, which upon the pertingencie of the Object to the Sensitive Organ cannot fail to act, that is, the Soul cannot fail to be affected there∣by, nor is it in her power to suspend her perception, or at least, very hardly in her power. From whence it is plain that the Soul is of that nature, that she some∣times may awake fatally and necessarily into Phan∣tasmes and Perceptions without any will or consent of her own.

Which is found true also in Imagination, though that Facultie be freer then the former. For what are Dreams but the Imaginations and perceptions of one asleep, which notwithstanding steal upon the Soul, or rise out of her without any consent of hers, as is most manifest in such as torment us, and put us to extreme pain till we awake out of them. And the like ob∣reptions or unavoydable importunities of Thoughts, which offer or force themselves upon the mind, may be observed even in the day time, according to the nature or strength of the complexion of our Bodies; though how the Body doth engage the mind in Thoughts or Imaginations, is most manifest in Sleep. For according as Choler, Sanguine, Phlegme, or Melancholy are predominant, will the Scene of our dreams be, and that without any check or curb of dubitation con∣cerning the truth and existence of the things that then appear: Of which we can conceive no other reason then this, That the inmost seat of Sense is very fully and vigourously affected, as it is by objects in the day, of whose reall existence the ordinary assurance is, that they so strongly strike or affect our sensitive Fa∣cultie; which resides not in the externall Organs, no
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more then the Artificers skill in his instruments, but in some more inward Recesses of the brain: and there∣fore the true and reall seat of Sense being affected in our sleep, as well as when we are awake, 'tis the lesse marvell the Soul conceits her dreams while she is a dreaming, to be no dreams but reall transactions.

5. Now that the inward sense is so vigoroufly af∣fected in these dreams, proceeds, as I conceive, from hence; because the Brains, Animall spirits, or what ever the Soul works upon within, in her imaginative operations, are not considerably moved, altered or agitated from any externall motion, but keep intirely and fully that figuration or modification which the Soul necessarily & naturally moulds them into in our sleep, so that the opinion of the truth of what is re∣presented to us in our dreams, is from hence, that Ima∣gination then (that is, the inward figuration of our brain or spirits into this or that representation) is far stronger then any motion or agitation from with∣out, which to them that are awake dimmes and ob∣scures their inward imagination, as the light of the Sun doth the light of a candle in a room; and yet in this case also according to Aristotle Fancy is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, a kind of sense, though weak. But if it were so strong as to bear it self against all the occursions and impulses of outward objects, so as not to be bro∣ken, but to keep it self entire and in equall splendour and vigour with what is represented from without, and this not arbitrariously but necessarily and una∣voydably, as has been already intimated, the Party thus affected would not fail to take his own imagina∣tion for a reall object of sense: as it fell out in one that Cartesius mentions, (and there are several other exam∣ples of that kind) that had his arm cut off, who being hoodwinkt, complained of a pain in this and the o∣ther
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finger, when he had lost his whole arm. And a further instance may be in mad or Melancholy men, who have confidently affirmed that they have met with the Devil, or conversed with Angels, when it has been nothing but an encounter with their own fancie.

6. Wherefore it is the enormous strength of Ima∣gination (which is yet the Soul's weaknesse or un∣weildinesse whereby she so farre sinks into Phan∣tasmes, that she cannot recover her self into the use of her more free faculties of Reason and Understand∣ing) that thus peremptorily engages a man to believe a lie.

And if it be so strong as to assure us of the pre∣sence of some externall object which yet is not there, why may it not be as effectuall in the begetting of the belief of some more internall apprehensions, such as have been reported of mad and fanaticall men, who have so firmly and immutably fancied themselves to be God the Father, the Messias, the Holy Ghost, the Angel Gabriel, the last and chiefest Prophet that God would send into the world, and the like? For their conceptions are not so pure or immateriall, nor solid or rationall, but that these words to them are al∣wayes accompanied with some strong Phantasme or full imagination; the fulnesse and clearnesse whereof, as in the case immediately before named, does natural∣ly bear down the Soul into a belief of the truth and existence of what she thus vigorously apprehends; and being so wholly and entirely immersed in this conceit, and so vehemently touched therewith, she has either not the patience to consider any thing alledged against it, or if she do consider and find her self intangled, she will look upon it as a piece of humane sophistry, and prefer her own infallibility or the infallibility of
Page 6

the Spirit before a•l carnall reasonings whatsoever; As those whose fancies are fortified by long use and education in any absurd point of a false Religion, though wise enough in other things, will firmly hold the conclusion notwithstanding the clearest demon∣stration to the contrary. Now what Custome and Edu∣cation doth by degrees, distempered Fancy may do in a shorter time. But the case in both is much like that in dreams, where that which is represented is necessa∣rily taken for true, because nothing stronger enervates the perception. For as the ligation of the outward Organs of Sense keeps off such fluctuations or undulations of motion from without, as might break or obscure these representations in sleep; so prejudice and confidence in a conceit, when a man is awake, keeps his fond imagination vigorous and entire from all the assaults of Reason that would cause any du∣bitation.

Nor is it any more wonder that his Intellectualls should be sound in other things, though he be thus delirous in some one point, no more then that he that thinks he sees the devil in a wood, should not be at all mistaken in the circumstance of place, but see the ve∣ry same path, flowers, and grasse that another in his wits sees there as well as himself.

To be short therefore, the Originall of such per∣emptory delusions as mankind are obnoxious to, is the enormous strength and vigour of the Imagination; which Faculty though it be in some sort in our power, as Respiration is, yet it will also work without our leave, as I have already demonstrated, and hence men become mad and fanaticall whether they will or no.

7. Now what it is in us that thus captivates our Imagination, & carries it wide away out of the reach
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or hearing of that more free and superiour faculty of Reason, is hard particularly to define. But that there are sundry materiall things that do most certa•nly change our mind or Fancy, experience doth sufficient∣ly witnesse. For our Imagination alters as our Blood and Spirits are altered, (as I have above intimated and instanced in our dreams) and indeed very small thing• will alter them even when we are awake; The meer change of weather and various tempers of the aire, a little reek or suffumigation, as in those seeds Pomponi∣•u Mela mentions, which the Thracians, who knew not the use of wine, wont at their feasts to cast into the fire, whereby they were intoxicated into as high a measure of mirth, as they that drink more freely of the blood of the grape: The virtue of which is so great, that as Iosephus phrases it, it seems to create a new soul in him that drinks it, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, It transforms and regenerates the soul• into a new nature. But it doth most certainly bring a new scene of thoughts very or∣dinarily into their minds that have occasion to meddle with it. Which made the Persians undertake no weighty matter nor strike up a bargain of any great consequence, but they would consider of it first both welnigh fuddled and sober. For if they liked it in all the representations that those two contrary Tem∣pers exhibited to their minds, they thought themselves well assured that they might proceed safely and suc∣cesfully therein. And yet wine doth not alwayes so much change the thoughts and alter our temper as heighten it, in so much that its effect proves sometime contrary, onely by reason of the diversity o• persons; some being weeping drunk, others laughing, some kind, others raging; as it happens also in those that are stung with the Tarantula. Alii perpetuò rid•nt,
Page 8

alii canunt, alii plorant, &c. as Sennertus observes out of Matthiolus. But that which they both seem most to admire is, That the Fancie of the Tarantula∣ti should be so mightily carried away with Musick; for they do not onely forget their pain, but dance incessantly. Of which Epiphanius Ferdinandus tells a very remarkable story of an old man ninety foure yeares of age, that could scarce creep with a staff, who yet being bit by the Tarantula, presently upon the hearing of Musick leaped and skipped like a young kid. Akin to this is that kind of madnesse which they call S. Vitus his Dance, which disease Sennertus rightly affirms to proceed from a certain malignant humour gendred in the body, of near cog∣nation with this poyson of the Tarantula; which will help us for the explicating of the Causes of stran∣ger workings on the fancie then has yet been mention∣ed. As for example, in the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which are distempers of the mind, whereby men imagine themselves to be Wolves, Cats, or Doggs.

8. There are severall Relations in the forenamed Authour concerning the power that nourishment has to work upon imagination, and to change a mans dis∣position into the nature of that creature whose bloud or milk doth nourish him. A Wench at Bresla being struck with an Epilepsie upon the seeing of a Malefa∣ctours head cut off by the Executioner, when severall other remedies failed, was perswaded by some to drink the blood of a Cat, which being done, the wench not long after degenerates into the nature and propertie of that Animal, cries and jumps like a Cat, and hunts mice with like silence and watchfulnesse that they do, pursuing them as close as she could to their very holes. This Narration he transcribes out
Page 9

of Weinrichius, and has another short glance upon another in the same writer, of one that being long fed with swines blood, took a speciall pleasure in wallow∣ing and tumbling himself in the mire: as also of ano∣ther Girle who being nourished up with Goats milk, would skip like a Goat and brouze on trees as Goats use to do. We might adde a fourth, of one, who by eating the brains of a Bear became of a Bear-like disposition; but we will not insist upon smaller con∣siderations.

9. Baptista Porta drives on the matter much fur∣ther, professing that he had acquaintance with one that could, when he pleased, so alter the imagination of a man, as he would make him fancie himself to be this or that Bird, Beast, or Fish, and that in this madnesse the party thus deluded would move his body, as near as it was capable, so as such Creatures use to do; and if they were vocall, imitate also their voyce. This intoxicating Potion is made of the extract of certain hearbs, as Solanum manicum, Mandrake, and others, together with the heart, brain, and some other parts of this or that Animal, with whose image they would infect the fancie of the party. And he doth affirm of his own experience that trying this feat upon some of his comrades, when he was young, one that had gormundized much beef, upon the taking the potion, strongly imagined himself to be surround∣ed with bulls, that would be ever and anon running upon him with their horns.

10. What happens here in these cases where we can trace the Causes, sometimes falls out where we cannot so plainly and directly find out the reason. For Physi∣cians take notice of such kind of madnesses as make men confidently conceit themselves to be Doggs, Wolves, and Cats, when they have neither eat the
Page 10

flesh nor drunk the blood of any Cat, Dog, or Wolf, nor taken any such artificiall potion as we even now spake of to bring them into these diseases. The causes of which cannot be better guessed at then has been by Sennertus in that of S. Vitus his dance. For as there the body is conceived to be infested by some malignant humour near akin to the poyson of the Ta∣rantula, so in these distempers we may well conclude that such fumes or vapours arise into the brain from some foulnesse in the body (though the particular causes we do not understand) as have a very near analogie to the noxious humours or exhalations that move up and down and mount up into the imagination of those that have drunk the bloud of Cats, or have been nourished with the milk of those Animals above named, or taken such intoxicating potions as Baptista Porta has described.

11. We have given severall instances of that mighty power there is in naturall causes to work upon and unavoidably to change our imagination. We will name something now more generall, whose nature notwithstanding is so various and Vertumnus-like, that it will supply the place of almost all particulars, and that is Melancholy; of which Aristotle gives wit∣nesse that according to the severall degrees and tem∣pers thereof men vary wonderfully in their constitu∣tions, it making some slow and sottish, others wild, in∣genious, and amorous, prone to wrath and lust, o∣thers it makes more eloquent and full of discourse, others it raises up even to madnesse and Enthusiasme: and he gives an example of one Maracus a Poet of Syracuse, who never versified so well as when he was in his distracted fits. But it is most observable in Melancholy when it reaches to a disease, that it sets on some one particular absurd imagination upon
Page 11

the mind so fast, that all the evidence of reason to the contrary cannot remove it, the parties thus affected in other things being as sober and rationall as other men. And this is so notorious and frequent that Are∣taeus, Sennertus, and other Physicians define Melan∣choly from this very effect of it.

12. Aristotle affords us no examples of this kind, Others do. Democritus junior, as he is pleased to style himself, recites severall stories out of Authours to this purpose. As out of Laurentius one concerning a French Poet, who using in a feaver•Vnguentum po∣puleum to anoint his temples to conciliate sleep, took such a conceit against the smell of that ointment, that for many yeares after he imagined every one that came near him to sent of it, and therefore would let no man talk with him but aloof off, nor would he wear any new clothes, because he fancied they smelt of that ointment; but in all other things he was wise and discreet, and would talk as sensibly as other men. An∣other he has of • Gentleman of Limosen (out of Anthony Verduer) who was perswaded he had but one leg, affrighted into that conceit by having that part struck by a wild Boar, otherwise a man well in his wits. A third he hath out of Platerus, concern∣ing a Countreyman of his, who by chance having fallen into a pit where Frogs and Frogs-spawn was, and having swallowed down a little of the water, was afterward so fully perswaded that there were young frogs in his belly, that for many yeares following he could not rectifie his conceit: He betook himself to the study of Physick for seven yeares together to find a cure for his disease: He travelled also in Italy, France, and Germany to confer with Physicians a∣bout it, and meeting with Platerus consulted him with the rest. He fancied the crying of his guts to be
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the croaking of the frogs, and when Platerus would have deceived him by putting live frogs into his ex∣crements that he might think he had voided them and was cured; his skill in Physick made that trick ineffectuall. For saving this one vain conceit, the man was, as he reports, a learned and prudent man. We will adde onely a fourth out of Laurentius, which is of a Nobleman of his time, a man of reason and discretion in all other things, saving that he did conceit himself made of glasse; and though he loved to be visited by his friends, yet had a speciall care that they should not come too near him, for fear they should break him. Not much un∣like to this is that of a Baker of Ferrara, that thought he was compos'd of butter, and therefore would not sit in the sun, nor come near a fire for fear he should be melted. It would be an infinite task to set down all at large. Sennertus has given some hints of the varie∣ty of this distemper, remitting us to Schenkius, Mar∣cellus, Donatus, Forestus and others for more full Nar∣rations. Some, saith he, are vexed and tormented with the fear of death, as thinking they have com∣mitted some crime they never did commit, some fan∣cy they are eternally damned, nay they complain that they are already tormented with hell fire, others take themselves to be a dying, others imagine themselves quite dead, and therefore will not eat, others fear that the heavens will fall upon them, others dare not clinch their hands for fear of bruising the world be∣twixt their fists, some fancy themselves Cocks, some Nightingales, some one Animal, some another, some entertain conference with God or his Angels, others conceit themselves bewitched or that a black man or Devil perpetually accompanies them, some complain of their poverty, others fancie themselves persons of
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honour, Dukes, Princes, Kings, Popes, and what not? Much to this purpose may you see in Sennertus, and more in Democritus junior.

13. That which is most observable and most use∣full for the present matter in hand is; That notwith∣standing there is such an enormous lapse of the fancy aud judgement in some one thing, yet the party should be of a sound mind in all other, according to his naturall capacities and abilities; which all Physicians acknowledge to be true, and are ready to make good by innumerable examples. Which I conceive to be of great moment more thorowly to consider. I do not mean how it may come to passe (for that we have al∣ready declared) but what excellent use it may be of, for to prevent that easie and ordinary Sophisme which imposes upon many, who, if an Enthusiast speak elo∣quently, and it may be rationally and piously (you may be sure zealously and fervently enough and with the greatest confidence can be imagined) are so credu∣lous, that, because of this visible dresse of such lauda∣ble accomplishments, they will believe him even in that which is not onely not probable, but vain and foolish, nay, sometime very mischievous and impious to believe; as, That the party is immediately and ex∣traordinarily inspired of God, that he is a speciall Mes∣senger sent by him, the last and best Prophet, the holy Ghost come in the flesh, and such like stuff as this: which has been ever and anon set on foot in all ages by some Enthusiast or other. Amongst whom I do not deny but there may be some who for the main practicall light of Christianity might have their judg∣ments as consistent, as those Melancholists above na∣med had in the ordinary prudentiall affairs of the world, but as for this one particular of being super∣naturally inspired, of being the last Prophet, the last
Page 14

Trumpet, the Angel in the midst of Heaven with the eternall Gospel in his hand, the holy Ghost incor∣porated, God come to judgement, and the like, this certainly in them, is as true, but farre worse, dotage, then to fancy a mans self either a Cock or Bull, when it is plain to the senses of all that he is a Man.

14. But it being of so weighty a concernment I shall not satisfie my self in this more generall account of Enthusiasme, that it may very well be resolved in∣to that property of Melancholy whereby men be∣come to be delirous in some one point, their judge∣ment standing untouched in others. For I shall. easily further demonstrate that the very nature of Melancho∣ly is such, that it may more fairly and plausibly tempt a man into such conceits of inspiration and superna∣turall light from God, then it can possibly do into those more extravagant conceits of being Glasse, But∣ter, a Bird, a Beast or any such thing.

15. For besides that which is most generall of all, that Melancholy enclines a man very strongly and peremptorily to either believe or misbelieve a thing (as is plain in that passion of Suspicion and Iealousie, which upon little or no occasion will winne so full as∣sent of the mind, that it will engage a man to act as vigorously as if he were certain that his jealousies were true) it is very well known that this Complexi∣on is the most religious complexion that is, and will be as naturally tampering with divine matters (though in no better light then that of her own) as Apes and Monkies will be imitating the actions and manners of men. Neither is there any true spirituall grace from God but this meer naturall constitution, according to the severall tempers and workings of it, will not onely resemble, but sometimes seem to out∣strip,
Page 15

by reason of the fury and excesse of it, and that not onely in Actions, but very ordinarily in Eloquence and Expressions; as if here alone were to be had that live sense and understanding of all holy things, or at least as if there were no other state to be paralleld to it. The event of which must be, if a very great mea∣sure of the true grace of God do's not intervene, that such a Melancholist as this must be very highly puf∣fed up, and not onely fancy himself inspired, but be∣lieve himself such a speciall piece of Light and Holi∣nesse that God has sent into the world, that he will take upon him to reform, or rather annull the very Law and Religion he is born under, and make himself not at all inferiour to either Moses or Christ, though he have neither any sound Reason nor visible miracle to extort belief.

16. But this is still too generall, we shall yet more particularly point out the Causes of this Imposture. Things that are great or vehement, People are subject to suspect they rise from some supernaturall cause; in∣somuch that the wind cannot be more then ordinary high, but they are prone to imagine the Devil raised it, nor any sore Plague or Disease, but God in an ex∣traordinary manner to be the Authour of it. So rude Antiquity conceiv'd a kind of Divinity in almost any thing that was extraordinarily great. Whence some have worshipped very tall Trees, others large Rivers, some a great Stone or Rock, othersome high and vast mountains, whence the Greeks confound great and holy in that one word 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 that signifies both. And the Hebrews by the Cedars of God, the mountains of God, the Spirit of God, and the like, understand high Cedars, great Mountains, and a mighty Spirit or Wind. We may adde also what is more familiar, how old Women and Nurses use to tell little Children
Page 16

when they ask concerning the Moon, •••ting at it with their fingers, that it is Gods Candle, because it is so great a Light in the night. All which are argu∣ments or intimations, that mans nature is v••y prone to suspe•t some speciall presence of God in any thing that is great, or vehement. Whence it is a stro•g tem∣ptation with a Melancholist when he feels a storm of devotion or zeal come upon him like a mighty wind, his heart being full of affection, his head pregnant with clear and sensible representations, and his mouth flowing and streaming with fit and powerfull expres∣sions, such as would astonish an ordinary Auditorie to hear; it is I say a shrewd temptation to him to think that it is the very Spirit of God that then moves supernaturally in him, when as all that excesse of zeal and affection and fluencie of words is most pal∣pably to be resolved into the power of Melancholy, which is a kind of naturall inebriation. And that there is nothing better then nature in it, it is evident both from the experience of good and discreet men, who have found themselves strangely vary in their zeal, devotion and elocution as Melancholy has been more or lesse predominant in them, and also from what all may observe in those that have been wicked, mad and blasphemous, and yet have surpassed in this mistaken gift of prayer; as is notorious in Hacket, who was so besotted with a conceit of his own zeal and eloquence, that he fancyed himself the Holy-Ghost.

17. And when men talk so much of the Spirit, if they take notice what they ordinarily mean by it, it is nothing else but a strong and impetuous motion whereby they are zealously and fervently carried in matters of Religion: so that Fervour, Zeal, and Spirit is in effect all one. Now no Complexion is so
Page 17

hot as Mel•••oly when it is heated, being like boil∣ing water, as Aristotle observs (〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.) so that it transcends the flame of fire, or it is 〈◊〉 heated stone or iron when they are red hot, for they are then more hot by far then a burning Coal. We shall omit here to play the Grammarian, and to take notice how well Aristotles〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 suites with the very word zeale of which we speake, but shall cast our eyes more carefully upon the things themselves, and parallel out of the same Philosopher what they call Spirit, to what he affirmes to be con∣tained in Melancholy. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. The spirit then that wings the Enthusiast in such a wonderful •anner, is nothing else but that flatulency which is in the melan∣choly complexion, & rises out of the Hypochondriacal humour upon some occasionall heat, as winde out of an AEolipila applied to the fire. Which fume mounting into the head, being first actuated and spirited and somewhat refined by the warmth of the heart, fills the mind with variety of imaginations, and so quickens and inlarges invention, that it makes the Enthusiast to admiration fluent and eloquent, he being as it were drunk with new wine drawn from that Cellar of his own that lies in the lowest region of his body, though he be not aware of it, but takes it to be pure Nectar, and those waters of life that spring from above. Aristotle makes a long Parallelisme betwixt the na∣ture and effects of wine and Melancholy, to which both Fernelius and Sennertus do referre.

18. But this is not all the advantage that Melan∣choly affords towards Enthusiasme, thus unexpected∣ly and suddenly to surprise the minde with such vehe∣ment fits of zeal, such streams & torents of Eloquence in either exhorting others to piety, or in devotions
Page 18

towards God; but it addes a greater weight of beliefe that there is something supernatural in the business, in that the same complexion discovers it selfe to them that lie under it in such contrary effects. For as it is thus vehemently hot, so it is as stupidly cold; whence the Melancholist becomes faithlesse, hopelesse, heartlesse and almost witlesse. Which Ebbs of his con∣stitution must needs make the overflowing of it seem more miraculous and supernatural. But those cold and abject fits of his make him also very sensibly and winningly Rhetorical, when he speaks of disconsola∣tion, desertion, humilitie, mortification, and the like, as if he were truely and voluntarily carried through such things, when as onely the fatal necessity of his complexion has violently drag'd him thorow the meer shadows and resemblances of them. But he finding himselfe afterwards beyond all hope or any sense or presage of any power in himselfe lifted aloft again, he does not doubt that any thing less was the cause of this unexspected joy and triumph, then the immediate arme of God from heaven that has thus exalted him, when it is nothing indeed but a Paroxysme of Melan∣choly which is like the breaking out of a flame after a long smoaking and reeking of new rubbish laid upon the fire. But because such returnes as these come not at set times, nor make men sick, but rather delight them, they think there is something divine therein, and that it is not from natural causes.

19. There is also another notorious Mockery in this Complexion, Nature confidently avouching her self to be God, whom the Apostle calls Love, as if it were his very essence; when as indeed it is here no∣thing else but Melancholy that has put on the gar∣ments of an Angel of light. There is nothing more true then that Love is the fulfilling of the Law, and
Page 19

the highest perfection that is competible to the soul of man; and that this also is so plain and unavoidable, that a man may be in a very high degree mad, and yet not fail to assent unto it. Nay, I dare say, Me∣lancholy it self would be his monitour to reminde him of it, if there were any possibility that he should forget so manifest and palpable a Truth. For the sense of Love at large is eminently comprehended in the temper of the Melancholist, Melancholy and wine being of so near a nature one to the other. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, But wine makes men amorous; which the Philosopher proves in that a man in wine will kisse such persons as a sober man would scarce touch with a pair of tongs, by reason of their age and uglinesse. And assuredly it was the fumes of Melan∣choly that infatuated the fancie of a late new fangled Religionist, when he sat so kindly by a Gipsie under an hedge, and put his hand into her bosome in a fit of devotion, and vaunted afterwards of it as if it had been a very pious and meritorious action.

20. But now that Melancholy partakes much of the nature of Wine, he evinces from that it is so spi∣ritous; and that it is so spiritous, from that it is so spumeous: and that Melancholy is flatuous or spiri∣tous, he appeals to the Physitians, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Where∣fore the Philosopher assignes another companion to Venus besides the plump youth Bacchus, which the Poets bestow upon her, who, though more seemingly sad, yet will prove as faithfull an attendant as that other, and this is Melancholy.〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Now besides this Flatulencie that solicits to lust, there may be such a due dash of Sanguine in the Melancholy, that the complexion may prove stupen∣diously
Page 20

enravishing. For that more sluggish Du•∣cour of the blood will be sometime so quickned and actuated by the fiercenesse and sharpnesse of the Me∣lancholy humour (as the fulsomnesse of sugar is by the acrimony of Lemons) that it will afford farre more sensible pleasure; and all the imaginations of love, of what kind soever, will be •arre more lively and vigorous, more piercing and rapturous, then they can be in pure Sanguine it self. From this complexion are Poets, and the more highly pretending Enthusiasts: Betwixt whom this is the great difference, that a Poet is an Enthusiast in jest, and an Enthusiast is a Poet in good earnest; Melancholy prevailing so much with him, that he takes his no better then Poeticall fits, and figments for divine inspiration and reall truth.

21. But that it is a meer naturall flatuous and spi∣ritous temper with a proportionable Dosis of Sanguine added to their Melancholy, not the pure Spirit of God that thus inacts them; is plainly to be discovered not onely in their language, which is very sweet and melt∣ing, as if sugar plums lay under their tongue, but from notorious circumstances of their lives. And in my apprehension it will be a sufficient pledge of this truth if we set before our eyes those that have the most highly pretended to the Spirit, and that have had the greatest power to delude the people. For that that pride and tumour of minde whereby they are so confidently carried out to professe, as well as to con∣ceive so highly of themselves, that no lesse Title must serve their turns, then that of God, the holy-Ghost, or Paraclet, the Messias, the last and chiefest Prophet, the Iudge of the quick and the dead, and the like; that all this comes from Melancholy is manifest by a lower kind of working of that complexion. For to
Page 21

begin with the first of these Impostours, Simon Ma∣gus, who gave out that he was God the father, he prov'd himself to be but a wretched lecherous man by that inseparable companion of his, Helena, whom he called Selene; and affirmed to be one of the Divine powers, when she was no better then a lewd Strumpet. There was also one Menander a Sama∣ritan, that vaunted himself to be the Saviour of the world, a maintainer of the same licentious and im∣pure opinions with Simon. Montanus professed him∣self to be the Spirit of God, but that it was the spi∣rit of Melancholy that besotted him, his two drabs Prisca and Maximilla evidently enough declare, who are said to leave their own husbands to follow him. We might adde a third, one Quintilla, a woman of no better fame and an intimate acquaintance of the other two, from whence the Montanists were also called Quintillians. Manes also held himself to be the true Paraclet, but lest a sect behind him indoctri∣nated in all licentious and filthy principles. Mahomet more successefull then any, the last and chiefest Pro∣phet that ever came into the world, (if you will believe him) that he was Melancholy, his Epilepticall fits are one argument, and his permission of plurality of wives and concubines, his lascivious descriptions of the joyes of heaven or Paradise, another. But I must confesse I do much doubt whether he took himself to be a Prophet or no; for he seems to me rather a plea∣sant witty companion, and shreud Politician, then a meer Enthusiast: and so wise as not to venture his credit or success upon meer conceits of his own, but he builds upon the weightiest principles of the Religion of Jews and Christians: such as, That God is the Cre∣atour and Governor of the world, That there are An∣gells and Spirits, That the Soule of man is immortall,
Page 22

and that there is a Judgement and an everlasting re∣ward to come after the natural death of the body. So that indeed Mahometisme seems but an abuse of cer∣tain principles of the doctrine of Moses and Christ to a political design, and therefore in it selfe far to be preferred before the vain and idle Enthusiasmes of Dâ∣vid George; who yet was so highly conceited of his own light, that he hoped to put Mahomet's nose out of joynt, giving out of himselfe that he was the last and chiefest prophet, when as lef• to the intoxication of his own Melancholy and Sanguine, he held neither heaven nor hell, neither reward nor punishment after this life, neither Devil nor Angell, nor the immortalitie of the Soul; but though born a Christian, yet he did Mahomitise in this that he also did indulge plurality of wives. It should seem that so dark and fulsome a dash of Blood there was mixed with his Melancholy, that though the one made him a pretended Prophet, yet the other would not suffer him to entertain the least presage of any thing beyond this mortal life. He also that is said to insist in his steps, and talks so magni∣ficently of himself, as if he was come to judge both the quick and the dead, by an injudicious distorting and forcing of such plain substantial passages of Scrip∣ture as assure us of the existence of Angels and Spirits, and of a life to come, bears his condemnation in him∣selfe, and proclaims to all the world that he is rather a Priest of Venus or a meer Sydereal Preacher out of the sweetness and powerfulness of his own natural Complexion, then a true Prophet of God, or a friend of the mystical Bride-groom Christ Iesus; to whose very person as to her Lord and Soveraigne, the Church his spouse, doth owe all reverential love and honour. But such bloated and high swoln Enthusiasts that are so big in the conceit of their own inward worth, have
Page 23

little either sense or beliefe of this duty, but fancy themselves either equal or superiour to Christ; Whom notwithstanding God has declared supreme head over men and Angels. And yet they would disthrone him, and set up themselves, though they can show no Title but an unsound kind of popular Eloquence, a Rapso∣die of sleight and soft words, rowling and streaming Tautologies, which if they at any time bear any true sense with them, it is but what every ordinary Chri∣stian knew before; But what they oft insinuate by the by, is a bominably false, as sure as Christianity it self is true. Yet such fopperies as these seem fine things to the heedless and pusillanimous: but surely Christ will raise such a discerning spirit in his Church, that by Evi∣dence and conviction of Reason, not by force or ex∣ternal power, such Mock-prophets and false Messias∣ses as these will be discountenanced and hissed off of the stage; nor will there be a man that knows him∣selfe to be a Christian that will receive them.

22, We have I think by a sufficient Induction dis∣covered the condition and causes of this mysterious mockery of Enthusiastical love in the highest workings of it, and shown how it is but in effect a natural com∣plexion, as very often Religious zeal in general is dis∣covered to be: As is also observable from the tumul∣tuous Anabaptists in Germany: For amongst other things that they contended for, this was not the least, to wit, a freedome to have many wives: So that it should seem that for the most part this religious heat in men, as it arises meerly from nature, is like Aurum fulminans, which though it flie upward somewhat, the greatest force when it is fired is found to go down∣ward. This made that religious sect of the Beguardi conceit that it was a sin to kiss a woman, but none at all to lie with her. The same furnisht Carpocrates
Page 24

and Apelles, `two busie sectaries in their time, the one with his Marcellina, the other with his Philumena to spend their lust upon.

23. But enough of this. Neerest to this Enthusi∣astical affection of Love is that of Ioy and Triumph of Spirit, that Enthusiasts are several times actuated withall to their own great admiration. But we have already intimated the neer affinity betwixt Melancho∣ly and Wine, which cheers the heart of God and Man, as is said in the Parable. And assuredly Melancholy that lies at first smoaring in the heart and blood, when heat has overcome it (it consisting of such solid parti∣cles, which then are put upon motion and agitation) is more strong and vigorous then any thing else that moves in the blood and Spirits, and comes very neer to the nature of the highest Cordialls that are. Which Aristotle also witnesses, asserting that Melancholy while it is cold, causes sadnesse and despondency of minde, but once heated, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Extasies and Raptures with triumphant joy and singing.

24. There are Three delusions yet behinde which because they come into my memory I will not omit to speak of, viz. Mystical interpretations of Scripture, Quakings, and Visions, all which are easily resolved into effects of Melancholy. For as for the first we have already shown that Melancholy as well as Wine, makes a man Rhetoricall or Poetical; and that Genius how fancieful it is, and full of allusions and Meta∣phors and fine resemblances, every one knows. And what greater matter is there in applying moral and spiritual meanings to the history of the Bible, then to the History of Nature? and there is no Rhetorician nor Poet but does that perpetually. Or how much easier is it to make a story to set out a moral meaning, then
Page 25

to apply a moral sense to such stories as are already a foot? And for the former AEsop was old excellent at it without any suspicion of inspiration, and the later Sir Francis Bacon has admirably wel performed in his Sapientia Veterum, without any such peculiar or extraordinary illapses of a divine Spirit into him, a business, I dare say, he never dreamt of, and any man that understands him will willingly be his Com∣purgatour.

25. And for Quaking, which deluded soules take to be an infallible sign they are in actuated by the Spi∣rit of God; that it may be onely an effect of their Melancholy is apparent: for none have so high pas∣sions as Melancholists; and that Fear, Love or Vene∣ration in the height will cause great Trembling, can∣not be denied. And to these passions none are any thing nigh so obnoxious as those of the Melancholy Com∣plexion, because of the deepness of their resentments and apprehensions. That Fear causes trembling there is nothing more obvious, and it is as true of Love, which the Comoedian had judiciously noted in that passage where Phaedria upon the sight of his Thais, speaking to Parmeno, Totus tremo, say's he, horreó{que} post quam aspexi hanc. And for Veneration, which con∣sists in a maner of these two mixt together, it is a passi∣on that Melancholy men are soundly plunged in whe∣ther they will or no, when they are to make their ad∣dresses to any person of honour or worth, or to go a∣bout some solemn or weighty performance in publick, they wil quake & tremble like an Aspinleaf; some have bin struck silent, others have faln down to the ground. And that Fancy in other cases wil work upon the Spi∣rits, and cause a tumultuous and disorderly comotion in them, or so suffocate the heart that motion will be in a manner quite extinct, and the party fall down
Page 26

dead, are things so familiarly known, that it is enough onely to mention them. Wherefore it is no wonder the Enthusiast fancying these natural Paroxysms with which he is surprised, to be extraordinary visits of the Deity, and illapses of the holy Ghost into his Soul; which he cannot but then receive; with the highest Veneration imaginable; it is no wonder, I say, that Fear, and Ioy, and Love should make such a confusi∣on in his spirits, as to put him into a fit of trembling and quaking. In which case the fervour of his spirits and heat of imagination may be wrought-up to that pitch that it may amount to a perfect Epilepsie, as it often happens in that sect they call Quakers, who undoubtedly are the most Melancholy Sect that ever was yet in the world.

26. Now that Melancholy disposes a man to A∣poplexies and Epilepsies is acknowledged both by Phi∣losophers and Physicians. For what is Narcotical and deads the motion of the Spirits, if it be highly such, proves also Apoplectical. Besides grosse vapours stop∣ping the Arteriae Carotides and Plexus Coroides, and so hindring the recourse and supply of Spirits, may doe the same. Some would illustrate the matter from the fumes of Charcoale; that has often made men fall down dead. But take any or all of these, Melancho∣ly is as like to afford such noxious vapours as any other temper whatsoever. And that an Epilepsie may arise from such like causes, these two diseases be∣ing so neer a kin, as Galen writes, is very rea∣sonable; and that the morbifick matter is, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as his Master Pelops expresses it, it is evident from the suddain and easy dis∣cussion of the fit.

27. But in both these there being a ligation of the outward senses, what ever is then represented to the
Page 27

mind is of the nature of a dream. But these fits being not so ordinary as our naturall sleep, these dreams the praecipitant and unskilfull are forward to con∣ceit to be Representations extraordinary and su∣pernatural, which they call Revelations or Visions, of which there can be no certainty at all no more then of a Dream.

28. The mention of Dreams puts me in mind of a∣nother Melancholy Symptome, which Physitians call Extasie, which is nothing else but Somnus praeter naturam profundus, the causes whereof are none o∣ther then those of natural sleep, but more intense and excessive; the effect is the deliration of the party after he awakes; for he takes his dreams for true Histories and real Transactions. The reason whereof, I con∣ceive, is the extraordinary clearness and fulness of the representations in his sleep, arising from a more per∣fect privation of all communion with this outward world, and so there being no interfareings or cross-strokes of motion from his body so deeply overwhelm∣ed and bedeaded with sleep, what the imagination then puts forth of her self, is as clear as broad day, and the perception of the soul is at least as strong and vigorous as it is at any time in beholding things a∣wake, and therefore Memory as thoroughly sealed therewith, as from the sense of any external Ob∣ject. The vigour and clearness of these Visions dif∣fers from those in ordinary sleep, as much as the liveliness of the images let in artificially into a dark room accurately darkned from those in one carelesly made dark, some chinks or crevises letting in light, where they should not. But strength of perception is no sure ground of truth: And such visions as these let them be never so clear, yet they are still in the nature of dreams. And he that regardeth dreams is like him
Page 28

that catcheth at a shadow, or followeth after the wind, as Syracides speaks.

29. Whether it be in any mans power to fall into these Epilepsies, Apoplexies, or Extasies when he pleas∣es, is neither an useless nor a desperate question: For we may find a probable solution from what has been already intimated; for the Enthusiast in one of his Melancholy intoxications (which he may accelerate by solemn silence and intense and earnest meditation) finding himself therein so much beyond himselfe, con∣ceits it a sensible presence of God, and a supernatural manifestation of the Divinity, which must needs raise that passion of Veneration, and most powerful Devo∣tion, which consists of Love, Fear, and Joy, which single passions have been able to kill men or cast them into a trance, how can they then (if they be well fol∣lowed by imagination and desire in the Enthusiast of a neerer union with this inward Light) fail to cast him into Tremblings, Convulsions, Apoplexies, Extasies, and what not; Melancholy being so easily changeable into these symtomes? And it is very probable that this may be the condition of some of those they call Qua∣kers. But for St. Austins African Presbyter (who was named Restitutus) who by a lamenting voice or mournful tone would be cast into such an Extasie, he is found alone in that, and is hardly imitable, it arising from some proper & peculiar constitution of his own. That Cardan and Facius his Father could cast them∣selves when they would into an Extasie, I can as ea∣sily believe as that the Laplanders could, and doe in my own judgment refer them both to one cause, which Sennertus notes that Cardan somewhere does intimate concerning his Father, that he had 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which I conceive also to be the case of the worser sort of Quakers. But this kind of Enthu∣siasme
Page 29

I doe not so much aim at as that which is Natural.

As for those Visions that Enthusiasts see wake∣ing, we have already referred their causes to that strength of Imagination in a Melancholy Spirit.

30. And for that fervour of minde whereby they are carried out so confidently to foretell things to come, that there is nothing supernatural in it may be evidenced in that either some probable grounds, that ordinary prudence may discover, might move them to think this or that, the vehemency of their own Melan∣choly adding that confidence to their presage as if God himself had set it upon his Spirit; or else in that they most frequently presage false, and therefore when they foretell true, it is justly imputed to chance. As a man that dreams a nights, it is a hard case if in so many years dreams he light not on some 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as they are called, such as are plainly and directly true, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as they that shoot oft may some times hit the mark, (as Plutarch speaks) but tis more by luck then good skil.

31. And yet notwithstanding humbly conceive that there may be such a presage in the spirit of a man that is to act in things of very high concernment to himselfe or to the publick, as may be a sure guide to him, especially if he continue sincerely devout and pious. For it is not at all improbable but such as act in very publick affairs in which Providence has a more special hand, that these agents driving on her design may have a more special assistance and animation from her. Of which, as others have not the sense, so nei∣ther can they imagine the manner of it. And this is the case, I thinke, wherein that of Syracides may be ve∣rified,
Page 30
That a mans own heart will tell him more then seven watchmen on an high Tower. But this is Enthu∣siasme in the better sense, and therefore not so proper for our discourse who speak not of that which is true, but of that which is a mistake; the Causes whereof we having so fully laid down, we will now consider the Kindes of it, bur briefly and onely so far forth as suits with our present purpose and design.

Wherefore setting aside all accuracie, we shall content our selves to distribute it from the condition of the Persons in which it resides, into Political and Philosophical. For Enthusiasme most-what works according to the natural Genius of the party it doth surprise.

32. Wherefore those whose temper carries them most to Political affaires, who love rule and honour and have a strong sense of civil rights, Melancholy heating them makes them sometimes fancy themselves great Princes (at least by divine assignment) & deliver∣ers of the people sent from God, such as were in likely∣hood the false Messiasses that deceived the people of the Jews, as Theudas and that AEgyptian Impostor, also Barcocab, Ionathas, Dositheus and several others, who it's likely, it being the common fame amongst the Jews that the Messias the deliverer was about that time to come, according to the heat and forwardness of their own Melancholy, conceited themselves to be him. Which is the easier to believe, there being seve∣ral instances in History of those that have fancyed themselves Monarchs, Popes, and Emperours, when as yet they have been but Foot-boys, Grooms, and Ser∣ving-men. Whether there might not be as much of Villany as Melancholy in some of these false Messias∣ses, if it be suspected, it will be hard to take off the suspicion. But there was a German in whom we may
Page 31

more safely instance not many yeers ago here in Eng∣land, that stiled himselfe a Warrior of God, David the second, who in deep compassion of the sufferings of his Countrey would very fain have got some few for∣ces here in England to carry over; with which he was confident he could have silenced the enemy and setled all Germany in peace. The man seemed to be a ve∣ry religious man, and a great hater of Tyranny and oppression, and very well in his wits to other things, onely he was troubled with this infirmity that he fan∣cyed himfelfe that David the Prophets foretell of, who should be that peaceable Prince and great Deliverer of the Jews. He published a short writing of his which I had the opportunity of seeing, which was full of zeal and Scripture-eloquence: I saw his person in Lon∣don, if he that showed me him was not mistaken. He was a tal proper man, of a good age, but of a very pale wasted melancholy countenance. Another also of later yeers I had the hap to meet withall, whose dis∣course was not onely rational but pious, and he seem∣ed to have his wits very well about him, nor could I discover the least intimation to the contrary, onely he had this flaw that he conceited that he was by God appointed to be that fifth Monarch of which there is so much noise in this age, which imagination had so possessed him, that he would sometime have his ser∣vant to serve him all in plate, and upon the knee, as a very learned and religious friend of mine told me af∣terward.

33. Wherefore I do not look upon this man as so sober as the former, nor on either as comparable to that David that was born at Delph, lived first in low∣er Germany with those of his sect, after came to Ba∣sil, Anno 1544. and there dyed, 1556. and was dig∣ged up again, 1559. Wherein his prophecy of himselfe
Page 32

was in an ill-favoured manner fulfilled, who to up∣hold the fluctuating minds of his followers, whom he would have perswaded that he was immortall, told them at his death, that he should rise again within three yeares, presaging that of himself that he denied would ever come to passe in any one else.

34 This David George a man of very low paren∣tage, was yet in the judgement of his very enemies, one of notable naturall parts, a comely person to look upon, and of a gracefull presence. He was also square of body, yellow-bearded, gray ey'd bright and shi∣ning, grave and sedate in speech; in a word, all his mo∣tions, gestures and demeanours were so decent and becoming, as if he had been wholly composed to ho∣nesty and godlinesse. He lived very splendidly and magnificently in his house, and yet without the least stir or disorder. He was a religious frequenter of the Church, a liberall reliever of the poor, a comfortable visiter of the sick, obedient to the Magistrate, kind and affable to all persons, discreet in all things, very cunning in some, as in his closenesse and reservednesse in his Doctrine to those of Basil, where he liv'd, to whom he communicated not one Iota of it, but yet he sedulously dispersed it in the further parts of Ger∣many both by books and letters, the main heads whereof you shall hear as follows.

1. That the doctrine hitherto delivered by Moses, the Prophets, Christ himself, and his Apostles, is maimed and imperfect, published onely to keep men in a childish obedience for a time, till the fulnesse and perfection of David George his Doctrine should be communicated to the world, which is the onely do∣ctrine that can make man-kind happy, and replenish them with the knowledge of God.
2. That David George is the true Christ and
Page 33
Messias, the dear Son of God, born not of the flesh but of the holy Ghost and Spirit of Christ, which God had reserved in a secret place, his body being reduced to nothing, and has infused it wholly into the soul of David George.
3. That this David the Messias is to restore the house of Israel, and reerect the Tabernacle of God, not by the crosse, afflictions and death, as the other Messias; but by that sweetnesse and love and grace that is given to him of his Father.
4. That the power of remission of sins is given to this David George, and that it is he that is now come to judge the world with the last judgement.
5. That the holy Scriptures, the sayings and te∣stimonies of the Prophets, of Christ and of his Apo∣stles do all point, if rightly understood in the true mystery of them, to the glorious coming of David George, who is greater then Christ himself, as being born of the spirit and not of the flesh.
6. That all sin and blasphemy against the Father or the Sonne may be remitted or pardoned, but the sin against the holy Ghost, that is, against David George, is never to be remitted.
7. That the resurrection of Christ out of the grave, and the resurrection of the dead is a meer mysterie or Allegorie.
8. That Angels and Devils are onely good men and evil men, or their Virtues and Vices.
9. That Matrimony is free, no obligation, and that no man thereby is confined to one woman; but that procreation of children shall be promiscuous or in common to all those that are born again or regenera∣ted by the spirit of David George.
These things are recorded in the Life and Doctrine of David George, published by the Rector and Uni∣versity of Basil 1559.

Page 34
35. As for his own writings not a little admired by some, his moving eloquence, his powerfull anima∣tions to the great duties of Godlinesse, I have already laid down such naturall Principles as they may be easi∣ly resolved into, without any recourse to any superna∣tura•l Spirit. For a man illiterate, as he was, but of good parts, by constant reading of the Bible will naturally contract a more winning and commanding Rhetorick then those that are learned, the intermix∣ture of tongues and of artificiall phrases debasing their style, and making it sound more after the manner of men, though ordinarily there may be more of God in it then in that of the Enthusiast.

36. If he may with some zeal and commotion of mind recommend to hi• Reader, Patience, Peace∣ablenesse, Meeknesse, Brotherly kindnesse, Equity, Discretion, Prudence, Self-deniall, Mortification, and the like, there is nothing in all this but what his own Sanguine temper may suggest without any inspiration from God. For there is no Christian virtue to be named which concerns manners, but Complexion will afford a spurious imita•ion of it: and therefore they answering in so near similitude one to another, it will be an easie thing to colour over those meer Mock-graces with Scripture Phrases; so that he that has but these complexionall Virtues and a Scripturall style, amongst the lesse skilfull will look like an Apo∣stle or Prophet, but amongst the rude Multitude he may boast himself to be what he will without suspicion or contradiction. The most unlikely of all these imi∣tations is Self-deni•ll, which seems abhorrent from a Sanguine temper; But Enthusiasme is not without a mixture of Melancholy• and we are speaking now of E•thusiastick Sanguine, in which the fiercer Passions will also lodge, and therefore this Self-denial & Mor∣tification
Page 35

may be nothing else but the Sanguines cen∣flict and victory over the most harsh and fierce Me∣lancholy. And that it is the Reign of Sanguine, not the Rule of the Spirit, is discoverable both from the complexion of the head of this sect, as also from the general disposition of his followers, and that tender love they bear to their own dear carkases, who would not, I dare say, suffer the least aching of their little fingers by way of external Martyrdome for any Reli∣gion; and therefore their prudence and discretion con∣sists most in juglings, aequivocat•ons, and slight tergi∣versations, peaceable compliances with an•thing rather then to suffer in body or goods: which is the natural dictate of Sanguine triumphant; which dominion yet seems far better then the Tyranny of Choler and Me∣lancholy, whose pragmatical ferocity can neither prove good to it selfe nor just to others; bei•g prone to im∣pose, and as forward to avenge the refusal of every frivolous and impertinent foppery or abhorred falsitie with inhumane and cruel persecutions.

37. Now that Sanguine was the complexion of David George, the foregoing description of his person will probably intimate to any Physiognomer. For it is very hard to finde an healthy body very comely and beautiful, but the same proves more then ordinarily venereous and lustful. We might instance in several both men and women. Helena, Lais, Faustina, Alci∣biades, Ismael Sophi of Persia, and Demetrius, who is said to have been of an admirable countenance, and majestick graceful presence, mingled with gravity and benignity, also exceeding full of clemency, justice, pie∣ty and liberality but so libid•nous and volup•uous, that no King was ever to be compared to him.

38. But two surer signes are yet behind of this Prophets natural constitution, which are, His denying
Page 36

of a life to come and existence of Angels or Spirits, and his allowing of plurality or community of wives. The former whereof I must confesse I cannot so much impute to any thing as to a more luscious and fulsome mixture of Sanguine in his Enthusiastick complexion. For nothing will so slake a mans desires, or dead his belief of that more spiritual and immaterial state and condition, as this sweet glut of blood that so thickens and clouds the Spirits, that the mind cannot imagine or presage any thing beyond the present concernment of this mortal Body. And of the latter I think it is acknowledged by all, that no such genuine cause can be assigned as this same complexion of Sanguine that disposes men so strongly to the love of women.

39 Wherefore this Enthusiast being overborne by the power of his own constitution into the misbeliefe of those great promises of Eternal life, set forth in the Scripture, took the holy writers thereof either to be mistaken, or onely to have intended Allegories by what they writ; and that fervour that he found in himself to love, and peace, and equity and the like, boyling so high as to the driving of him into a per∣swasion that he was inspired, he conceited his misbe∣lief of those precious promises of Immortality and glo∣ry in the heavens, a special piece of illumination al∣so; and the resurrection of the dead to be nothing else but to be raised into a like ardency towards such things with himselfe, and to a like misbelief with him of that celestial crown the Apostle speaks of. And therefore he not being able to raise his minde by faith to heaven, he brought heaven to earth in his vain ima∣gination: Which was lesse pains then Mahomet took, who was fain to walk to the mountain, when he saw the mountain would not move to him.

40. This is a brief account of David George, whose
Page 37

error the Father of our modern Nicolaitans did drink in so carefully, as if he were loath one drop should spill beside. Never was that in Solomon so plainly verified in any as in these two, As face answers to face, so the heart of man to man. Wherefore concern∣ing them both I dare pronounce, that though they equalized themselves to Christ, and made themselves Judges of the quick and the dead, yet they were more devoid of true judgment in matters of religion then the meanest of sincere Christians; and though they have so deified, or (as they phrase it) begodded them∣selves all over, I might say bedaubed themselve• with the faigned and counterfeit colours or paint of high swelling words of vanity to amaze the vulgar, yet they were in truth meer men, of shallow mindes and liquorsome bodies, cleaving to the pleasures of the flesh, and so deeply relishing the sweet of this present life, that all hope or desire of that better was quite extinct in them; and therefore their setled and radi∣cate ignorance made them so Enthusiastically confi∣dent in their own errour.

41. But that my zeal to the Truth may not turn to the injury of any, I cannot pass by this Advertise∣ment; That this poyson we speak of is so subtilly con∣veyed, and silently supposed in the reading these wri∣tings, that a good man and a true Christian may be ea∣sily carried away into an approbation of them with∣out any infection by them (as not minding what they imply or drive at) or yet any defection from the main principles of Christianity; and indeed by how much the heat seems greater toward the highest perfection of holiness, the Reader is made the more secure of the Writers soundness in the main Essentials of Religion, though it be far otherwise at the bottome. For Mad∣ness and Melancholy drive high, and we have prov'd
Page 38

by divers instances that a man may be most ridicu∣lously and absurdly wilde in some one thing, and yet sound and discreet in the rest, as Gazeus handsomely sets it out in a story of an old man that conceited him∣selfe God the Father. And Acosta verifies it in a true history of his own knowledge concerning a cer∣tain learned and venerable Professor of Divinity in the K••gdome of Peru, whom he doth affirm to have been as per•ectly in his senses, as to soundness of brain, as himself was at that time when he wrote the Narra∣tion; Which being something long • shall transcribe only what precisely makes to my purpose. This Peru∣via• Doctor would sadly and soberly affirme that he should be a King, yea and a Pope too, the Apostoli∣cal Sea being translated to those parts, as also that holinesse was granted unto him above all Angels and heavenly hosts, and above all Apostles, yea, that God made profer unto him of Hypostatical uni∣on, but that he refused •o accept of it. Moreover that he was appointed to be Redeemer of the world as to matter of Efficacie, which Christ, he said, had been no further then to Sufficiency onely. That all Ecclesiasti∣cal estate was to be abroga•ed, and that he would make new Laws, plain and easy, by which the restraint of Clergy-men from marriage should be taken a way, and multitude of wives allowed, and all necessi•y of Confession avoided. Which things he did maintain before the Judges of the Inquisition with that earnest∣ness and confidence, with so many and so large citati∣ons out of the Prophets, Apocalyps, Psalmes, and o∣ther books, with such unexpected Applications, and Allegorical Interpretations of them, that the Audito∣tory knew not whether they should laugh more at his fancy, or admire his memory. But himselfe was so well a•sured of the matter, that nothing but death
Page 39

could quit him of the delirium. For he dyed a Martyr to this piece of madness of his, to the eternal infamy of his Judges, who were either so unwise as not to know that Melancholy may make a man delirous as to some one particular thing, though his Intellectuals be sound in others, or else so cruel and barbarous as to murder a poor distracted man. The story you may read more at large in a late Treatise concerning Enthu∣siasme; what I have transplanted hither, is further to evidence the truth of what Physicians say of Melan∣choly, that it may onely befool the understanding in some one point, and leave it sound in the rest; as also to confirme what I did above observe, that Enthusiasts for the most part are intoxicated with vapours from the lowest region of their Body, as the Pythiae of old are conceived to have been inspired through the pow∣er of certain exhalations breathed from those caverns they had their recesse in. For what means this bold purpose of contriving a new law for plurality of wives amongst Christians, but that his judgment was over-clouded by some venereous fumes and vapours?

42. That other kinde of Enthusiasme I propound∣ed was Philosophical, because found in such as are of a more speculative and Philosophical complexion; and Melancholy here making them prone to Religion and devotion, as well as to the curious contemplation of things, these natural motions and affections towards God may drive them to a beliefe that he has a more then ordinary affection towards them, and that they have so special an assistance and guidance from him, nay such a mysterious, but intimate and real union w•th him, that every fine thought or fancy that steals into their mind, they may look upon as a pledge of the Divine savor, and a si•gular illumination from God; imitating in this the madness of Elionora Meliorina
Page 40

a Gentlewoman of Mantua, who being fully per∣swaded she was married to a king, would kneel down and talk with him, as if he had been there present with his retinue; and if she had by chance found a piece of glasse in a muck-hill, light upon an oyster shell, piece of tin or any such like thing that would glister in the Sun-shine, she would say it was a jewel sent from her Lord and husband, and upon this account fild her ca∣binet full of such trash. In like manner those inspired Melancholists stuff their heads and writings with eve∣ry flaring fancy that Melancholy suggests to them, as if it were a precious Truth bestowed upon them by the holy Spirit, and with a devotional reverence they enter∣tain the unexpected Paroxysmes of their own natural distemper, as if it were the power and presence of God himself in their Souls.

43. This disease many of your Chymists and seve∣ral Theosophists, in my judgement, seem very obnoxi∣ous to, who dictate their own conceits and fancies so magisterially and imperiously as if they were indeed Authentick messengers from God Almighty. But that they are but Counterfeits, that is, Enthusiasts, no in∣fallible illuminated men, the gross fopperies they let drop in their writings will sufficiently demonstrate to all that are not smitten in some measure with the like Lunacy with themselves. I shall instance in some few things concealing the names of the Authors, because they are so sacred to some.

44. Listen therefore attentively, for I shall relate very great mysteries. The vertues of the Planets doe not ascend, but descend. Experience teaches as much, viz. That of Venus or Copper is not made Mars or Iron, but of Mars is made Venus, as being an inferi∣or sphere. So also Iupiter or Tinne is easily changed into Mercury or Quick-silver, because Iupiter is the
Page 41

second from the firmament, and Mercury the second from the Earth. Saturn is the first from the heaven, and Luna the first from the Earth. Sol mixeth it self with all, but is never bettered by his Inferiours. Now know that there is a great agreement betwixt Saturn or Lead, and Luna or Silver, Iupiter and Mercury, Mars and Venus, because in the midst of these Sol is placed. What can it be but the heaving of the Hypochondria that lifts up the mind to such high comparisons from a supposition so false and foolish? But I have observed generally of Chymists and Theosophists, as of severall other men more pal∣pably mad, that their thoughts are carryed much to Astrology, it being a fancyfull study built upon very sleight grounds, and indeed I do not question, but a relique of the ancient superstition and Idolatry a∣mongst the rude Heathens, which either their own Melancholy, or something worse, instructed them in.

There are other pretty conceits in these Writers concerning those heavenly Bodies, as, That the Starres and Planets, the Moon not excepted, are of the same quality with precious stones that glister here on the earth, and that though they act nothing, yet they are of that nature as that the wandring Spirits of the air see in them as in a looking-glasse things to come, and thereby are inabled to prophecy.

That the Starres are made of the Sun, and yet that the Sun enlightens them.

That our eyes have their originall from the Starres, and that that is the reason why we can see the Starres.

That our eyes work or act upon all they see, as well as what they see acts on them. That also is a very speciall mysterie for an inspired man to utter; That there is onely Evening and Morning under the Sun.

That the Starres kindle heat in this world every
Page 42

where for generation, and that the difference of Starres makes the difference of Creatures.

That were the heat of the Sun taken away, he were one light with God.

That all is Gods self.

That a mans self is God, if he live holily.

That God is nothing but an hearty Loving, friend∣ly Seeing, good Smelling, well T•sting, kindly Feel∣ing, amorous Kissing, &c. Nor the Spirit, say I, that inspires this mystery any thing but Melancholy and Sanguine.

That God the Father is of himself a dale of dark∣nesse, were it not for the light of his Sonne.

That God could not quell Lucifers rebellion, be∣cause the battle was not betwixt God and a beast, or God and a man but betwixt God and God, Lucifer being so great a share of his own essence.

That Nature is the Body of God, nay God the Father, who is also the World, and whatsoever is any way sensible or perceptible.

That the Starre-powers are Nature, and the Starre-circle the mother of all things, from which all is sub∣sists and moves.

That the Waters of this world are mad, which makes them rave and run up and down so as they do in the channels of the Earth.

That the blew Orb is the waters above the Fir∣mament.

That there be two kinds of Fires, the one cold and the other hot, and that Death is a cold fire.

That Adam was an Hermaphrodite.

That the Fire would not burn, nor there have been any darknesse, but for Adams fall.

That it is a very suspicable matter that Saturn be∣fore the fall was where Mercury, and Mercury where Saturn is.

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That there are Three souls in a man, Animall, An∣gelicall, and Divine; and that after Death the Ani∣mal Soul is in the grave, the Angelicall in Abrahams bosome, and the Divine soul in Paradise.

That God has eyes, eares, nose, and other corpo∣reall parts.

That every thing has sense, imagination, and a fi∣duciall Knowledge of God in it, Metals, Meteors and Plants not excepted.

That this earth at last shall be calcined into Cry∣stall.

That at the center of the earth is the Fire of hell, which is caused and kindled by the Primum mobile and influences of the Starres.

That the Artick pole draws waters by the Axel∣tree, which after they are entered in, break forth again by the Axeltree of the Antartick.

That the Moon as well as the Starres are made of a lesse pure kind of fire mixed with air.

That the pure Blood in man answers to the Element of fire in the great world, his heart to the Earth, his Mouth to the Artick pole, and the opposite Orifice to the Antartick pole.

That the proper seat of the Mind or Understand∣ing is in the mouth of the Stomack or about the Splene.

That Earthquakes and Thunders are not from naturall causes, but made by Angels or Devils.

That there were no Rain-bowes before Noahs flood.

That the Moon is of a conglaciated substance, having a cold light of her own, whereby the light of the Sun which she receives and casts on us becomes so cool.

45. Hitherto our Collections have been promi∣scuous,
Page 44

what follows is out of Paracelsus onely; as for example:

That the variety of the Altitudes of the Sun do's not cause Summer and Winter, because the Sun has the same heat, be he higher or lower, but that there be AEstivall and Hybernall Starres that are the grand causes of these seasons.

That the absence of the Sun is not the cause of night, for as much as his light is so great that it may illuminate the earth all over at once as clear as broad day, but that Night is brought on by the influence of dark Starres that raye out darknesse and obscurity upon the earth, as the Sun does light.

That the Gnomi, Nymphae, Lemures and Penates, Spirits endued with understanding as much or more then Men, are yet wholly mortall, not having so much as an immortall soul in them.

That the Starres are as it were the Phials, or Cu∣curbits, in which the Meteoricall Sal. Sulphure, and Mercury are contained, and that the windes which are made of these, by the AEthereall Vulcanes, are blown forth out of these Emunctories, as when a man blows or breaths out of his mouth.

That the Starres are as it were the pots in which the Archeus or heavenly Vulcan prepares pluvious mat∣ter, which exhaled from thence first appears in the form of clouds, after condenses to rain.

That Hail and Snow are also the fruits of the Starres, proceeding from them as flowers and blos∣somes from hearbs or trees.

That Thunder is caused by the Penates, who ta∣king AEthereall Sulphure, Sal-nitre and Mercury, and putting them into their Al•del, that is their Star, after a sufficient preparation there, the Starre then powres them forth into the aire, and so they become
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the matter of Thunder, whose sound is so great and terrible, because it is re-echoed from the arched roof of Heaven, as when a Gun is let off under an hol∣low vault.

That the Lightnings without thunder are as it were the deciduous flowers of the aestivall Starres.

That the Starres eat and are nourished, and there∣fore must ease themselves, and that those falling Starres, as some call them, which are found on the earth in the form of a trembling gelly are their ex∣crement.

That those Meteors called Dracones volantes have a brutish understanding and sense in them.

That the Parelii and Paraselenae are made by the Penates as by Artificers, that counterfeit the form and shape of a silver Pot in adulterate metall.

That all Humane and naturall understanding is in the Starres, and conveyed from thence to man, and that he must suck it from thence to feed his soul, as he takes in meat to nourish his body.

That the reason of Divination is this, That a man has a sydereall body besides this terrestriall which is joyned with the Starres; and so when this sydereall body is more free from the Elements, as in sleep, this body and the Starres confabulating together, the mind is informed of things to come.

That the Starres are struck with a terrour or hor∣rour of the approach of any mans death, whence it is that no man dies without some sign or notice from them, as the dances of dead men, some noise in the house or the like.

That as by a divine faith the dead are raised and mountains cast into the midst of the Sea, so by the faith of nature the influence of the Starres, who know all the secrets of nature, is to be commanded,
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and thereby a man may know naturally what is to come.

That Giants, Nymphs, Gnomi and Pygmies were the conceptions and births of the imaginative power of the influence of the Starres upon matter prepared by them, and that they had no souls, as it is most likely the Inhabitants of the more remote parts of the world have none, as not being the off-spring of Adam.

That a Fowler by the help of his Starre need not go after birds, for they will flie after him, and so Fishes swimme to the Fisherman, and wilde beasts follow the hunter upon the same account of his Starres.

That the separation of the three parts of the world, Europe, Asia, Africa, is a certain representation of the three Chymicall principles, Sal, Salphure and Mercury, of which three the whole world was made.

That there is an artificiall way of making an Ho∣munculus, and that the Fairies of the woods, Nymphs and Giants themselves had some such origi∣nall, and that these Homunculi thus made will know all manner of secrets and mysteries of art, themselves receiving their lives, bodies, flesh, bone, and blood from an artificiall principle.

46. These are the rampant and delirous Fancies of that great boaster of Europe Paracelsus, whose un∣bridled imagination and bold and confident obtrusion of his uncouth and supine inventions upon the world has, I dare say, given occasion to the wildest Philoso∣phicall Enthusiasmes that ever was broached by any either Christian or Heathen. That last conceit of his some have endevoured to Allegorise, as the Persians do the Alcoran, ashamed of the grosse sense of it, but in my apprehension so frigidly and unsutably, that
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it would confirm a man the more, that the letter is the intended truth; and if one compare it with what he writes of Nymphs, Giants, and Fairies in his Sci∣entia Astronomica, he will make no further doubt of it.

47. There is some affectation of Religion, I con∣fesse, in his writings and farre more in his followers, who conceive themselves taught of God, when I plain∣ly discern, their brains are mee•ly heated and infected by this strong spirit of Phantastrie that breaths in Paracelsus his books. I know it is no part of Pru∣dence to speak slightly of those that others admire, but that Prudence is but Craft that commands an un∣faithfull silence. And I know not how any honest man can discharge his conscience in prudentially con∣niving at such falsities as he sees insnare the minds of men, when they do not onely abuse their Intellectu∣alls by foppish and ridiculous conceptions, but insi∣nuate such dangerous and mischievous opinions as supplant and destroy the very Fundamentalls of Chri∣stian Religion. For I appeal to any man, what is nearer to ancient Paganisme then what this bold wri∣ter has uttered concerning the Starres? or what San∣ctuary so safe for the Atheist that derides and eludes all Religion, then such a miraculous influence of the heavens as Paracelsus describes in his Scientia Astro∣nomica? Wherefore I should be very much amazed at the Madnesse and Inconsistency of him and his fol∣lowers, who have ever and anon a fling against Hea∣then Philosophy, when themselves take into their writings the very dregs of it, viz. the grosse princi∣ples of the ancient Pagan superstition and Idolatry, did I not remember that they are Enthusiasts and fol∣low not the guidance of Reason, but the strength of Fancy.

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Iupiter est quodcunque vides, &c.
This taken in the coursest sense, I make no questi∣on but it was the grand Principle from whence did flow so many varieties and impurities of the Pagan superstition, they fancying they met God in every object of their senses; and our exorbitant Enthusiasts professe, That every thing is God in love or wrath: Which, if I understand any thing, is no better then Atheisme. For it implies that God is nothing else but the Vniversall Matter of the world, dressed up in severall shapes and forms, in sundry properties and qualities; some gratefull, some ungratefull; some holy, some profane; some wise, some senselesse; some weak, some strong, and the like. But to slice God into so many parts is to wound him and kill him, and to make no God at all.

48. Again, how does Paracelsus justifie the Hea∣thens worshipping the Starres, he making them such knowing, powerfull, and compassionate spectatours of humane affairs! And why might they not pray to them as Anne Bodenham the Witch did to the Planet Iupiter for the curing diseases, if they have so much power and knowledge as to generate men here below, and conferre gifts upon them? For it would be no more then asking a mans Father or Godfather bles∣sing. For if it be admitted that any one nation is be∣got by the Starres, the Atheist will assuredly assume that they are all so. Moreover how shall we repair the losse (and damage done to the authority of our blessed Saviour his miracles? whereby not onely Christianitie, but the first Fundamentalls of all true Religion are eminently established, viz. the discovery of a Speciall and Particular Providence of God; and an hope of a Life to come. For if the Starres can make such living creatures of prepared matter that
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have sense and understanding, which yet have no im∣mortal souls, but wholy return into dead mater again, why is it not so with men as well as them? And if they can contribute the power of such wonder-working wisdome as was in Moses and in Christ, or what is so very nigh to it, what footsteps does there remain of proof that there is any God or Spirits? For all is thus resolvable into the power of the stars. A thing that that zealous and industrious Atheist Caesar Vaninus triumphs in exceedingly in his Amphitheatrum aeternae Providentiae: Where he cites several Astrological pas∣sages out of Cardan under pretence to refute them, in which he fetches the original of those three eminent Law-givers, Moses, Christ, and Mahomet, from the influence of the stars. The law of Moses is from Sa∣turn, saies Cardan, that of Christ from Iupiter and Mercury, that of Mahomet from Sol and Mars: The Law of the Idolaters from the Moon and Mars. And in another place Cardan imputes that sweetness, and meeknesse, and wisdome, and eloquence that was in our Saviour, whereby he was able to dispute in the Temple at twelve yeers of age, to the influence of Iu∣piter. Pomponatius also acknowledges the wisdome and miracles of Christ, but refers all to the starrs, a man as far laps't into Atheisme, I conceive, as Vani∣nus himselfe; so that these wilde fancies of the Enthu∣siasts are in truth the chiefe Props or Shelters that Atheists uphold or defend themselves by. But how fancieful and confounded an account there is of Astro∣logy, let any man that has patience as well as sobrie∣ty of reason, judge.

49. I do not speak these things as if I thought ei∣ther Paracelsus or his followers thus Atheistical, but to shew their Phantastrie and Enthusiasme, they so hotly pretending to matters of Christianity and Reli∣gion,
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and yet handling them so grosly and indiscreetly, blurting out any garish foolery that comes into their mind, though it be quite contrary to the Analogie of Faith, nor has any shew of ground in solid Reason, onely to make themselves to be stared upon and won∣dred at by the world. But the event of it is, that as some admire them, so others execrate them, as men of an impious and diabolical spirit. Which I confesse I think too harsh a censure, well meaning men being lyable to Melancholy and Lunacies as well as to A∣gues and burning Feavers. Yet a man should be so far off from thinking the better of any discovery of Truth by an Enthusiastick spirit, that he should rather for that very cause suspect it, because that temper that makes men Enthusiastical is the greatest enemy to Reason, it being more thick and muddy, and therefore once heated intoxicates them like wine in the must, and is more likely to fill their brains full of odde fan∣cies then with any true notions of Philosophy. But men of a purer blood, and finer spirits, are not so ob∣noxious to this distemper: For this is the most natural seat of sublimer Reason; when as that more mecha∣nical kind of Genius that loves to be tumbling of and trying tricks with the matter (which they call making experiments) when desire of knowledge has so heated it that it takes upon it to become Architectonical and flie above its sphere, it commits the wildest hallucina∣tions imaginable, that material or corporeal fancie egregiously fumbling in more subtile and spiritual spe∣culations. This is that that commonly makes the Chymist so pitiful a Philosopher, who from the nar∣row inspection of some few toys in his own art, con∣ceives himself able to give a reason of all things in Di∣vinity and Nature; as ridiculous a project, in my judgment, as that of his that finding a piece of a bro∣ken
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oar on the sand, busied his brains above all mea∣sure to contrive it into an entire ship.

50. What I have hitherto spoken, I would have so understood as coming from one that neither contemns the well-meaning of the Theosophist, or disallows of the industry of the Chymist, but I shall ever excuse my selfe from giving any credit to either, any further then some lusty miracle, transcendent medicine, or solid Reason shall extort from me.

51. We have spoken of the kindes of Enthusiasme so far as we held it serviceable for our design, we shall now touch upon the Cure of this Disease. Where waving all pretense to the knowledge of Physick or acquaintance with the Apothecaries shop, we shall set down onely such things as fall under a moral or Theological consideration, giving onely instructions for the guidance of a mans life in reference to this grand errour of Enthusiasme: which a sober man can∣not well determine whether it be more ridiculous, or deplorable and mischievous. Now the most soveraign medicine that I know against it, is this Diatrion or Composition of Three excellent Ingredients, to wit, Temperance, Humility, and Reason, which as I doe not despair but that it may recover those that are somewhat farre gone in this Enthusiastick distem∣per, so I am confident, that it will not fail to pre∣vent it in them that are not as yet considerably smitten.

52. By Temperance I understand a measurable Abstinence from all hot or heightning meats or drinks, as also from all venereous pleasures, and tactual delights of the body, from all softnesse and effeminacy, a con∣stant and peremptory adhesion to the perfectest degree of chastity in the single life, and of Continency in wedlock, that can be attain'd to. For it is plain in
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sundry examples of Enthusiasme above named, that the more hidden and lurking fumes of lust had tainted the fancies of those Pretenders to Prophecy and Inspi∣ration. We will adde also to these, moderate exer∣cise of Body, and seasonable taking of the fresh aire, a due and discreet use of Devotion, whereby the Blood is ventilated and purged from dark oppressing vapors; Which a temperate dyet, if not fasting, must also accompany; or else the more hot and zealous our addresses are, the more likely they are to bring mis∣chief upon our own heads, they raising the feculency of our intemperance into those more precious parts of the Body the Brains, and animal Spirits, and so intoxi∣cating the mind with fury and wildnesse.

53. By Humility I understand an entire Submissi∣on to the will of God in all things, a Deadness to all self-excellency and preheminency before others, a per∣fect Privation of all desire of singularity or attracting of the eyes of men upon a mans own person: As little to relish a mans own praise or glory in the world, as if he had never been born into it; but to be wholly contented with this one thing, that his will is a subduing to the will of God, and that with thank∣fulnesse and reverence he doth receive what ever Di∣vine Providence brings upon him; be it sweet or sour, with the hair or against it, it is all one to him, for what he cannot avoid it is the gift of God to the world in order to a greater good. But here I must confesse, That he that is thus affected, as he seeks no knowledge to please himselfe, so he cannot avoid being the most knowing man that is. For he is surrounded with the beams of Divine wisdome as the low depressed Earth with the raies of the stars his deeply and profoundly humbled soul being as it were the Center of all hea∣venly illuminations, as this little globe of the Earth is
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of those celestial influences. I professe I stand amazed while I consider the ineffable advantages of a mind thus submitted to the Divine will, how calm, how comprehensive, how quick and sensible she is, how free, how sagacious, of how tender a touch and judg∣ment she is in all things. When as pride and strong de∣sire ruffles the mind into uneven waves and boisterous fluctuations, that the aeteranl light of Reason concern∣ing either Nature or Life, cannot imprint its perfect and distinct image or character there; nor can so subtile and delicate motions and impressions be sensi∣ble to the understanding disturbed and agitated in so violent a storm. That man therefore who has got this Humble frame of Spirit, which is of so mighty concernment for acquiring all manner of wisdome as well Natural as Divine, cannot possibly be so foolish as to be mistaken in that which is the genuine result of a contrary temper, and such is that of Enthusiasme, that puffs up men into an opinion that they have a more then ordinary influence from God that acts upon their Spirits, and that he designes them by special appointment to be new Prophets• new Law-givers, new Davids, new Messiasses, and what not? when it is nothing but the working of the Old man in them in a fanatical maner.

54. By Reason I understand so setled and cautious a Composure of mind, as will suspect every high flown and forward fancy that endevours to carry away the assent before deliberate examination; she not endu∣ring to be gulled by the vigour or garishnesse of the representation, nor at all to be born down by the weight or strength of it; but patiently to trie it by the known Faculties of the Soul, which are either the Common notions that all men in their wits agree upon, or the Evidence of outward Sense, or else a cleer and
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distinct Deduction from these. What ever is not agre∣able to these three, is Fancy, which testifies nothing of the Truth or Existence of any thing, and therefore ought not, nor cannot be assented to by any but mad men or fools. And those that talk so loud of that high∣er Principle the Spirit with exclusion of these, betray their own ignorance, and while they would by their wilde Rhetorick disswade men from the use of their Rational faculties under pretence of expectation of an higher and more glorious Light, do as madly, in my mind, as if, a company of men travailing by night with links, torches and lanthorns, some furious Orator amongst them should by his wonderful strains of Elo∣quence so befool them into a misconceit of their pre∣sent condition, comparing of it with the sweet and cheerful splendor of the day, that they should through impatience and indignation beat out their links, and torches and break a pieces their lanthorns against the ground, and so chuse rather to foot it in the dark with hazard of knocking their noses against the next Tree they meet, and tumbling into the next ditch, then to continue the use of those convenient lights that they had in their sober temper prepared for the safety of their journey. But the Enthusiasts mistake is not one∣ly in leaving his present guide before he has a better, but in having a false notion of him he does expect. For assuredly that Spirit of illumination, which resides in the soules of the faithful is a Principle of the purest Reason that is communicable to the humane Nature. And what this Spirit has, he has from Christ (as Christ himselfe witnesseth) who is the eternal 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 the all-comprehending Wisdome and Reason of God, where∣in he sees through the natures and Ideas of all things with all their respects of Dependency and Indepen∣dency, Congruity and Incongruity, or what ever ha∣bitude
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they have one to another, with one continued glance at once. And what ever of Intellectual light is communicated to us is derived from hence, and is in us Particular Reason, or Reason in Succession, or by peece-meal. Nor is there any thing the holy Spirit did ever suggest to any man but it was agreeable to, if not demonstrable from, what we call Reason. And to be thus perswaded, how powerful a Curb it will be upon the exorbitant impressions and motions of Melancho∣ly and Enthusiasme, I leave it to any man to judge.

55. To these three notable and more generall Helps, we might adde some particular Considerati∣ons whereby we may keep off this Enthusiastical per∣tinacity from our selves, or discover it when it has ta∣ken hold upon others. As for example; If any man shall pretend to the discovery of a Truth by inspirati∣on that is of no good use or consequence to the Church of God, it is to me little less then a Demonstration, that he is Fanatical. If he heaps up Falshoods as well as Truths, and pretends to be inspired in all, it is to me an evidence he is inspired in none of those my ste∣ries he offers to the world.

56. There are certain advantages also that Enthu∣siasts have, which are to be taken notice of, whereby they have imposed upon many; as, That they have spoken very raisedly and divinely, which most cer∣tainly has happened to sundry persons a little before they have grown stark mad; and that they may hit of something extraordinary is no pledge of the truth of the rest. For this unquiet and tumultuous spirit of me∣lancholy shaking their whole bodily frame, is like an Earth-quake to one in a dungeon, which for a small moment makes the very walls gape and cleave, and so lets in light for a while at those chinks; but all closes up again suddenly, and the prisoner is confined to his
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wonted darknesse; This therefore was a Chance in nature, not a gratious visit of the Spirit of God.

57. Hereunto you may also joyn the luck of Pro∣phecy, be it sleeping or waking; for such things have happened to mad men and fools, and Aristotle offers at a pretty reason that may reach both. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. To which he also addes why Extaticall men foresee future things, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. All which inti∣mates thus much, That an alienation of mind and rest from our own motions fits us for a reception of impressions from something else, and so by a quick sense and touch we may be advertised through a com∣munication of motion from the Spirit of the world what is done at a distance, or what causes are con∣spiring to bring this or that to passe• which turning off again make the Prediction false: For every thing that offers to be, does not come into actuall being. Wherefore all these Presages are not 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 but may be onely 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, they are the words of Aristotle, but such as some skil∣ful Platonist will most easily explain. All that I aim at is this. That Prophesie may arise from on this side of the pure and infallible Deity, and it is our mi∣stake that we think that what predictions fall out true, are certainly foreknown by the Foreteller. For the present conspiracy of causes that shoot in∣to the vacant mind may corrupt and alter, and be blown away like clouds, that at first seem to assure the husbandman of a following rain.

58. But there is yet a stronger allurement then Prophecy to draw on belief to the Enthusiast, which is a semblance of doing some miracle, as the curing
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some desperate disease; as it happened very lately in this Nation. For it is very credibly reported, and I think cannot be denied, That one by the stroaking of a mans arm that was dead and uselesse to him, recovered it to life and strength. When I heard of it, and read some few pages of that miraculous Physi∣cians writing, my Judgement was that the cure was naturall, but that his blood and spirits were boyled to that height that it would hazard his brain, which proved true; for he was stark mad not very long af∣ter. There may be very well a healing and sanative Contagion as well as morbid and venemous. And the Spirits of Melancholy men being more massy, and ponderous, when they are so highly refined and actu∣ated by a more then ordinary heat and vigour of the body, may prove a very powerfull Elixir, Nature having outdone the usuall pretenses of Chymistrie in this case.

59. Whatever credit the Enthusiast may conciliate to himself from his moving Eloquence, his mysteri∣ous style and unexpected notions, they are easily to be resolved into that principle of Melancholy above named, the sense of which complexion is so deep and vigorous, that it cannot fail to inable the Tongue to tell her story with a great deal of life and affection; and the imagination is so extravagant that it is farre easier for her to ramble abroad and fetch in some odde skue conceit from a remote obscure corner, then to think of what is nearer and more ordinarily intelligi∣ble. But these things are so fully and plainly com∣prehended in those Generall causes of Enthusiasme we have already declared, besides what we have par∣ticularly touched upon before, that it will not be worth our labour to insist any longer upon them. When we have satisfied a Scruple or two concerning
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what we have said of Melancholy and Enthusiasme, I think we shall have omitted nothing materially per∣tinent to this present Speculation.

60. And the first is, How we can distinguish be∣twixt Religion and Melancholy, we having attribu∣ted so notable effects thereunto. The second is, whe∣ther we have not reviled and vilified all Enthusiasme whatsoever, and invited men to a cold Pharisaicall stupidity and acting, merely according to an outward letter without an inward testimony of life.

The meaning of the first scruple must be restrain'd to such things as in their externals are laudable and approveable, viz. whether such as they, be out of a Divine or Naturall principle, whether from God or Complexion. For in those things that are at their very first view discerned to be culpable, it is plain that they are not from God. I answer therefore, That there are three main discriminations betwixt the Spirit and the most Specious Complexion. The first is, That that Piety or Goodnesse which is from the Spirit of God is universall, extirpating every vice and omitting nothing that is truely a divine virtue. The second is, A belief of those Holy Oracles comprehended in the Old and New Testament, they being rightly inter∣preted, and particularly, of that Article, That Iesus Christ, even he that died on the crosse at Ierusalem betwixt two thieves, is the Sonne of God, and Sove∣raigne of men and Angels, and that he in his own person shall come again to judge the quick and the dead. The third and last is, An universall Prudence, whereby a man admits nor acts nothing, but what is solidly rationall at the bottome, and of which he can give a good account, let the successe be what it will. He that finds himself thus affected, may be sure it is the Spirit of God, not the power of Complexion or
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Nature that rules in him. But this man to others, if they be unbelieving and so rude and unprepared as not to be capable of Reason, he is nothing to them, un∣lesse he can do a miracle. How vain then is the En∣thusiast that is destitute of both? But those ancient Records of miracles done in the behalf of Christiani∣ty, are a sufficient Testimony of the truth of our Re∣ligion to those whose hearts are rightly fitted for it.

61. To the Second scruple I answer, That there has not one word all this time been spoken against that true and warrantable Enthusiasme of devout and holy souls, who are so strangely transported in that vehement love they bear towards God, and that un∣expressible Joy and Peace they find in him. For they are modest enough and sober in all this, they witnes∣sing no other thing to the world then what others may experience in themselves, and what is plainly set down in the holy Scriptures, That the kingdome of God is Righteousnesse and Peace and Joy in the Holy-Ghost. But in none of these things do they pretend to equallize themselves to Christ, whom God has ex∣alted above men and Angels, but do professe the effi∣cacie of his Spirit in them to the praise and glory of God, and the comfort and incouragement of their drooping Neighbour. But what is above this, with∣out evident Reason or a Miracle, is most justly deemed to proceed from no supernaturall assistance but from some Hypochondriacall distemper.

62. Moreover for these Rapturous and Enthusia∣sticall affections even in them that are truely good and pious, it cannot be denied but that the fuell of them is usually naturall o•••ntracted Melancholy, which any man may perceive that is religious, unlesse his Soul and Body be blended together, and there be a confusion of all; as it is in mistaken Enthusiasts, that
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impute that to God which is proper to Nature. But Melancholy usually disposes, and the mind perfects the action through the power of the Spirit. And a wise and holy man knows how to make use of his opportunity according to that Monition of the Apo∣stle, If a man be sad, let him pray; if cheerfull, let him sing Psalmes.

63. But there is also a peculiar advantage in Me∣lancholy for divine speculations; and yet the myste∣ries that result from thence, are no more to be suspect∣ed of proving meer fancies, because they may occa∣sionally spring from such a constitution, then Mathe∣maticall Truths are, who ow their birth to a Mathe∣maticall complexion; Which is as truly a comple∣xion as the Religious complexion is; and yet no sober man will deny the truth of her Theorems. And as it would be a fond and improper thing to affirm that such a complexion teaches a man Mathematicks, so it would also be to affirm that Melancholy is the onely mother of Religion.

64. But most certain it is and observation will make it good, That the souls of men while they are in these mortall bodies are as so many Prisoners immu∣red in severall prisons with their fingle loop-holes looking into severall quarters, and therefore are able to pronounce no further then their proper prospect will give them leave. So the severall Complexions of mens bodies dispose or invite them to an easie and happy discovery of some things, when yet notwithstanding if you conferre with them concerning other some that lie not within their prospect or the limits of their na∣turall Genius, they will be enf•••ed either to acknow∣ledge their ignorance, or if they will take upon them to judge (which is the more frequent) they will abundantly discover their errour and mistake. Which
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sometimes seems so grosse and invincible that a man may justly suspect that they want not onely the pati∣ence but even the power of contemplating of some ob∣jects, as being not able to frame any conception of what they are required to think of; and such are the duller sort of Atheists that rank the notion of a Spi∣rit and consequently of a God in the list of Inconsi∣stencies and ridiculous Non-sense. Wherein though they seek to reproach Religion, they seem to me main∣ly to shame themselves, their Atheisme being very easie to be paralleld with Enthusiasme in this regard. For as some Enthusiasts being found plainly mad in some one thing, have approved themselves sober e∣nough in the rest; so these Atheists though they show a tolerable wit and acutenesse in other matters, yet approve themselves sufficiently slow and heavy in this.

FINIS.


OBSERVATIONS UPON Anthroposophia Theomagica, And Anima Magica Abscondita.

By ALAZONOMASTIX PHILALETHES.

Psalm. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits end.

LONDON, Printed by I. Flesher. 1655.



To Eugenius Philalethes the Author of Anthropo∣sophia Theomagica, and Anima Magica Abscondita.
SIR,
THE Great deserved fame that followed this noble work of yours (the due re∣compense of all eminent performances) engaged me to peruse the same, with much eagerness of mind, and yet with no lesse at∣tention; I being one of those, that professe them∣selves much more willing to learn, then able to teach. And that you may see some specimen of the fruits of your labour and my proficiency, I thought fit to present you with these few Observations. Which, considering the barrennesse of the Matrix, (as you Chymists love to call it) in which they were conceived, may be termed rather many then few: And that imputed to the alone virtue, or Magicall Multiplication, or Theomagical fecundi∣ty of your Divine Writings, not at all to the steri∣lity


of my disfurnished Braine. Which now not∣withstanding, having gathered both warmth and moisture from the heat and luxuriancy of your youthfull fansie, findes it selfe after a manner transformed into your own complexion, and trans∣lated into the same temper with your selfe. In so much that although I cannot with the height of a protestation in the presence of my glorious God (as your selfe has gallantly done (in pag. 50. lin. 17. of Anthropos. Theomag.) affirme that the af∣fection and zeale to the truth of my Creatour has forced mee to write, yet I dare professe in the word of an honest man, that nothing but an inplacable enmity to immorality and foolery has moved me at this time to set Pen to Paper. And I confesse my indignation is kindled the more, having so long observed that this disease is growne even Epidemicall in our Nation. viz. to desire to be filled with high-swolne words of Vanity, rather then to feed on sober Truth, and to heate and warme our selves rather by preposterous and fortuitous imaginations, then to move cautiously in the light of a purified minde and improved Rea∣son. Wherefore I being heightned with the same Zeale of discountenancing of Vanitie and con∣ceitednesse, that your selfe is of promoting the Truth, you will permit to me the same freedome in the prosecution thereof. For as we are growne neare akin in temper and com∣plexion,


so we ought mutually to allow each other in our Actings alike, according to our common Temper and Nature, and the accu∣stomed Liberty of the Philalethean Family. In confidence whereof till wee meete againe in the next Page, I take leave and subscribe my selfe,

A Chip of the same Block

Alazonomastix Philalethes.


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Observations upon Anthropo∣sophia Theomagica, and Anima Magica Abscondita.
SECT. I.
Eugenius taxed of vain glory. Three main ways he atempts to approve himself an extraordinary know∣ing man to the world. His affectation of seeming a Magician discovered in his so highly magnifying Agrippa, in the dress of his Title-page, and his submissive address to the Rosie-brotherhood. His indiscreet exprobration of ignorance to the Aristote∣leans for not knowing the very essence or substance of the Soule. His uncivil calling Aristotle an Ape, and ignorant taxation of his School concerning the frame of the world. The disproportionable Deline∣ation of Eugenius his World-Animal; and his un∣just railing against Aristotles writings, which he uncivilly tearms his Vomit.

ANd now brother Philalethes, that we are so well met, let us begin to act according to the freenesse of our tempers, and play the Tom Tell-troths. And you indeed have done your part already. My course is next. Which must be spent in the Observations I told you of, upon those profound Treatises of yours, Anthroposophia Theomagica, and Anima Magica Abscondita.

And my first and general Observation is this, That the genius of my brother Eugenies magical Discourse is such, that Simon Magus-like, he seems to have a very liquoursome desire to be thought to be 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉,
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some great man in the World. And for the prosecu∣tion of this main end, he layes himself out chiefly in these three subordinate designes. First, to be thought to have found out some new concerning Truths, hitherto undiscovered. Secondly, to be more learned & knowing then Aristotle, that great light of these European parts, for these many hundred years together: and not onely so, but to be so far above him, that he may be his Master, that he may tew him, and lugge him, and lash him more cruelly, then any Orbilius or cholerick Pedagogue, his puny scholars. Thirdly and lastly, that he may strike home for the getting of a fame of profound learning indeed, he do's most affectedly and industriously raise in the Reader a strong surmise and suspicion that he is very deeply seen in Art Magick, and is a very knowing Disciple of Agrippa, and puts in as far for the name of a Magician, as honesty will permit, and safety from that troublesome fellow Hopkins the Witch-finder.

And indeed the very clatter of the Title of his Book, Anthroposophia Theomagica, sounds not much unlike some conjuration, or charm, that would either call up, or scare away the Devil. And Zoroaster for∣sooth, at the bottome of the page, that old reputed Magician, must stand as an Assistent to this preludiall Exorcism; with this Oracle in his mouth, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Audi ignis vocem. That is in plain English, Hear the voice or noise of fire. Me thinks I smell a Gunpowder-plot. What can this voice of fire be? Why! how now Anthroposophus! you intend cer∣tainly to make the Rosy Brotherhood merry with squibs and crackers. For certainly your Mysterious∣nesse does not mean those lesser or greater fire-squirts, Carbines or Cannons. So might the Fratres R. C. be received with like solemnity that those Apostles at
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Rome, the Cardinals. But the word 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, (which implies a subsultation, or skipping this way and that way) which is in the context of this Oracle, seems to allude to, and prognosticate of, Fire-crackers and Squibs rather then Cannons or Carbines. But how ever if this dog-trick fail, Anthroposophus has another as puerile and innocent a Present, to entertain that Reverend Fraternity: And that's a very queint and trim Latine Epistle, which he, like a good Schoolboy, to shew them what a good Proficient he is grown in his Latine Grammar, presents to their assem∣bled Gravities. 'Tis a good child, Anthroposophus! and 'tis well done. Qui nescit obedire, nescit impera∣re. He that knows not how to submit himself in the form of a breeching boy to the Fratres R. C. how can he know so unmercifully to whip and domineer over poor Aristotle?

Surely, Anthroposophus! when the Rosy brethren ride swooping through the Air in their Theomagicall chariots, they will hail down sugar plums, and Ca∣rua's on thy blessed pate, if thou hast but the good hap at that time to walk abroad with thy hat off, to cool thy heated nodle.

But stay a while, I am afraid I am mistaken. It may well be, that Anthroposophus rides along with them, as being the Proloquutour of their Assembly. For he writes himself Oratoris vestri. How can that belong to a short Epistle, unlesse it were some Title of office? But it may be my Gentleman, being not so dextrous and quick in Latine as in English, measured the length of it more by his labour then the lines, and thought that that which took him so much pains, could not prove so little as an Epistle; and therefore would insinuate that it was an Oration made to the Fratres R. C. I suppose at their meeting at Fryer Ba∣con's brasen head in Oxford.

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Well • be it what it will be, my observation here, Anthroposophus, is, that you would also by your ad∣dresse to the Fratres R. C. make the world bel•eve, that you are now mellowing a pace, and are not much unripe for admission into that Society. And then An∣throposophus would be a rare Theomagician indeed. But enough of this vein of mirth and levity.

Now Philalethes! your brother Tel-troth, intends to fall more closely on your bones, and to discover whether you have not a greater minde to seem to be wise then to be so indeed, or to make others so. But yet you may assure your self, I will onely find flaws, not make any in you; but rather candidly passe over what may receive any tolerably good interpretation, nor touch the sore any where, but where I may hope to heal it, either in your self or others. And that this may be done without any tedious taking a pieces of what you have put together, I shall fairly passe from page to page without any Analyticall Artifice.

And truly from the First page to the middle of the Fourth page of your Epistle to the Reader, there be many pretty, smart, elegant, humourous contextures of phrases and things. But there, presently after Fryer Bacons Fool and his fellow, you fall upon our Peripateticks as such superficiall Philosophasters, be∣cause they cannot lay open to you the very essence of the Soul. Why! Anthroposophus! can you tell the very essence of any Substantiall thing? Hereby you show your self very raw & unexercised in meditation, in that you have not yet taken notice what things are knowable, what not. And thus may you have as ill a trick put upon you, for want of this discerning, as the old dim and doting woman had, that with her rotten teeth endeavoured to crack a round pebble stone in stead of a nut, which was a thing impossible.
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Nor will any mans understanding, be it as sharp as it will, enter the bare essence of any thing. But the nearest we can get, is, to know the powers, and opera∣tions, the respects, and fitnesses that things have in themselves, or toward others. Which is so true, that any man in a little search, will presently satisfie him∣self in the evidence thereof.

From the middle of this Fourth page to the mid∣dle of the sixth, is continued a dance of Anticks, or various ridiculous shiftings and postures of phansie• to make Aristotle and his followers contemptible. But such generall railings, as they are mis-beseeming the Writer, so they teach the Reader nothing but that the Authour of them is a Mome, or a Mimick, and more like an Ape by far then him that he compares to one. If this man clap the wings so when he has really got the foil, (for hitherto he has charged Aristotle with no particular piece of ignorance but of what is impossible to be known) what would he do if he h•d the victory?

The second particular taxation (for generals I hold nothing, Dolosus ambulat in universalibus) is that the Peripateticks fancy God to have made the World, as a Carpenter of stone and timber. But this is false, because they give an inward principle of motion to all naturall bodies, and there is one conti∣nuity of all, as much as of the parts of water among themselves. But their grand fault is that they do not say the World is Animate. But is not yours far greater, Anthroposophus! that gives so ridiculous unproportionable account of that Tenet? The whole World is an Animal, say you, whose flesh is the earth, whose bloud is the water, the air the out∣ward refreshing spirit in which it breath•, the inter∣stellar skies his vitall waters, the Stars his sensitive fire. But are not you a meer Animal your self to say
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so? For it is as irrationall and incredible, as if you should tell us a tale of a Beast, whose bloud and flesh put together, bears not so great a proportion to the rest of the more fluid parts of the Animal, sup∣pose his vitall and animal spirits, as a mite in a cheese to the whole globe of the earth. And beside this, how shall this water which you call bloud, be refreshed by the air that is warmer then it? And then those wa∣ters which you place in the outmost parts towards his dappled or spotted skin the coelum stellatum, what over-p•oportionated plenty of them is there there? In so much that this creature you make a diseased Animall from its first birth, and ever labouring with an Anasarca. Lastly, how unproperly is the air said to be the outward refreshing spirit of this Animal, when it is ever in the very midst of it? And how rashly is the Flux and Reflux of the Sea assimilated to the pulse, when the pulse is from the heart, not the brain; but the flux and reflux of the Sea from the Moon not the Sun, which they that be more discreetly phantasticall then your self, do call Cor Mundi. Wherefore, Anthro∣posophus! your phansies to sober men, will seem as vain and puerile, as those of idle children that ima∣gine the fortuitous postures of spaul and snivell on plaster-walls, to bear the form of mens or dogs faces, or of Lyons, and what not?

And yet see the supine stupidity and senslesnesse of this mans judgement, that he triumphs so in this fig∣ment of his as so rare and excellent a truth, that Ari∣stotles Philosophy must be groundlesse superstition and Popery in respect of it, this the primevall truth of the creation; when as it is a thousand times more froth, then His is vomit. My friend Anthroposophus! is this to appear for the truth (as you professe) in a day of necessity? Certainly she'll be well holpe at a
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dead lift, if she find no better champions then your self.

Verily Philalethes, if you be no better in your Book then in your Preface to the Reader, you have abused Moses his Text beyond measure. For your Principles will have neither heaven nor earth in them, head nor foot, reason nor sense. They will be things extra intellectum, and extra sensum, meer vagrant imaginations seated in your own subsultorious & skip-jack phansie onely. But what they are we shall now begin to examine, according to the number of pages.

Anthroposophia Theomagica. SECT. II.
1. Mastix makes himself merry with Eugenius his rash assertion, that all Souls at their entrance into the body have an explicite knowledge of things. 22. And that after a whole Springs experience he had found out those two known principles of Ari∣stotle, Matter, and Privation. His absurd hope of seeing Substances. 3. The vanity of Devotion without purification of the mind. That Aristotle agrees with Moses in acknowledging the World to be framed by a knowing Principle, 4. Life alwayes accompanied with a naturall warmth. 5. Eugenius his fond mistake, as if either the Divine Light or Ideas could be kept out any space of time from shining in the opakest matter. 6. The little fruit of that rarity of Doctour Marci in making the fi∣gure of a Plant suddenly rise up in a glasse. 7. Eu∣genius his naturall Idea (which he affirms to be a subtile invisible fire) no Idea at all. 8. His vain
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boasting of himself as if he were more knowing amd communicative then any that has wrote before him. 9. His tearming the Darknesse or the first Matter the fuliginous spawn of Nature. 10. His inconstancy in creating and uncreating this Mat∣ter. 11. The horrible confused Qualme he fancies in the moist Matter at the creation of the world, Heat and Siceitie the two active qualities in the Principle of Light assisting by their Mid-wifry.

Observation 1. Pag. 2. l. 11.
So have all souls before their entrance, &c. But hear you me Mr. Anthroposophus! are you in good earnest that all Souls before their entrance into the body have an explicite methodicall knowledge? and would you venture to lose your wit so much by im∣prisoning your self in so dark a dungeon, as to be able to write no better sense in your Preface to the Rea∣der? But I'll excuse him, it may be he was riding before his entrance into the body on some Theomagi∣call jade or other, that stumbled and flung him into a mysticall quagmire against his will, where he was so soused and doused and bedaubed and dirtyed, face and eyes and all, that he could never, since the mid∣wife raked him out all wet and dropping like a drown'd mouse, once see clearly what was sense and what non-sense to this very day. Wherefore we will set the saddle on the right Horse; and his Theoma∣gick Nag shall bear the blame of the miscarriage.

Observation 2. Pag. 3.
Lin. 3. I took to task the fruits of one Spring, &c. Here Anthroposophus is turned Herbalist for one
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whole Spring, damned to the grasse, and fields like Nebuchadnezzar when he went on all four among the Beasts. But see how slow this Snail amongst the herbs is, in finding out the truth; when he confesses it was the work of one whole Spring to find out, That the Earth or seeds of flowers are nothing like the flow∣ers. There's not any old Garden-weeder in all London, but without a pair of spectacles will discover that in four minutes, which he has been a full fourth part of a year about. But certainly, he intends a great deal of pomp and ceremony, that will not take up such a Conclusion as this, (viz. That things that are pro∣duced in Nature, are out of something in Nature which is not like the things produced) but upon the full experience and meditation of one entire Spring. And now after this whole Springs meditation and ex∣perience, he is forced to turn about to him whom he so disdainfully flies, and confesse two of the three prin∣ciples of the Aristotelean Physicks. viz. Mat•er and Privation, that homo is ex non homine, arbor ex non arbore, &c. But this Matter, he sayes, (and it is the wisest word he has spoken yet) he knows not what it is. But presently blots his credit again with a new piece of folly, intimating he will finde it out by ex∣perience. Which is as good sense as if he should say, he would see it when his eyes are out. For it is alike easie to see visibles without eyes, as to see invisibles with eyes. But he flies off hence, and is in quest af∣ter a Substance, which he smels out like a nosegay in Natures bosome; which Substance he hopes to see by Art. Why! Eugenius, are you so sharp sighted that you can see Substances? A kind of Philoso∣phick Hog, he can see the wind too I warrant you. But how can you hope to see that Substance, when Nature onely exposes it, as you say, to her own vitall
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celestiall breath? And tell what this Breath is, and do not amaze us with strange words, or else keep your breath to your self to cool your pottage.

Observation 3. Pag. 4.
Here a fit of devotion has taken him, and I am nei∣ther so irreligious nor uncivill as to interrupt him. But now Sir you have done, I hope it will not be any of∣fence to addresse my discourse to you again. And it will not be unseasonable to tell you, that Truth is not to be had of God Almighty for an old song, no nor yet for a new one. And that no man is to measure his wisdome by his devotion, but by his humility and pu∣rity of mind and unprejudicate reason; nor that any man is wiser by making others seem more contem∣ptibly foolish, as your juvenility has thought good to deal with poor Aristotle & his Orthodox Disciples all this time. Nay, and that you may not take Sanctua∣ry at Moses his Text, let me also tell you, that before you prove any thing thence, you ought first to make good, that Scripture is intended for naturall Philo∣sophy as well as a divine life. But we need not arm our selves so well yet; for from the fourth page to the eight page nothing is said, but that God from a know∣ing Principle made the World. Which Aristotle also seems to assert, while he is so frequent in telling the ends of naturall things, which could not be sense, un∣lesse he supposed that Nature was guided by a know∣ing Principle, which is to acknowledge a God after the best manner. And that subtil Philosopher Iulius Scaliger uses no contemptible arguments to prove, that Aristotles Philosophy furnisheth us also with the knowledge of a Trinity in God, so that Anthro∣posophus
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is very unkind and uncivill to so good a Master.

Observation 4. Pages 8. and 9.
What an Aristotelean would dispatch in a word or two, viz. that Life is alwayes accompanied with a naturall warmth, he is mysteriously fumbling out and drayling on to the length of almost two whole pages.

Observation 5. Pag. 9.
Lin. 10. The divine light pierced the bosome of the matter, &c. This compared with what is at the bot∣tome of the fourth page, we see that this rare philo∣sopher tells us, that the Matter is an horrible empty darknesse. And me thinks his description is an hideous empty fancie, and conveys not so much to the under∣standing as Aristotles description of the Matter, which he would describe to be, The first subject out of which every thing is. This latter is more clean and sober, the other more slabby and fantasticall. And to call it Primitive waters is but yet metaphors and poetry: For you do not mean waters such as we wash our hands in. But they must be waters and dark, that you may bring in the conceit of the light shining in them, that like as in rivers and pools the images of trees & birds, and clouds and stars, and what not, may be seen in them. And this must help us to conceive, that upon the breaking through of the light, the di∣vine Idea's shone in the waters, and that the holy Spi∣rit, not being able to see till then, by looking then up∣on
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those images, framed the matter into form. But I pray you tell me, Mr. Anthroposophus! that would be so wise as if you stood by while God made the World, doe not you think that God can now see in the dark, or behold his own Idea's in the depth of the Earth? You'l say you doe not mean this Natural light but a divine light. If so, was ever the matter so st•ff and clammy dark, as to be able to keep it out? So that the divine Idea's shone in the Water so soon as God was, and the Spiritus Opifex could see to begin his work ab omni retro aeternitate. And it could never be dark in your blind sense. Is it not so Anthroposophus?

Observation 6.
Lin. 25. Si plantam quasi momento nas•i, &c. If Anthroposophus had such a device as this in a glasse, what a fine gew-gaw would it be for the lad? What fine sport would he make with his companions? He would make them believe then that he was a Conju∣rer indeed. But what other use there would be of it, Anthroposophus! truly I do not know. For it would not state one controversie in Philosophy more then what may be done without it. For whether there be any such things as rationes seminales, or whether these forms visible arise from heat, which is motion, and the conspiracy of fitted particles, is as well and safely de∣termined from your experiments of one spring, as from this strange whim-wham in a glasse. But weak sto∣machs and weak wits long most after rarities.

Observation 7. Pag. 10.
Lin. 4. Two-fold Idea, divine, natural, &c. Anthro∣posophus!
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Your natural Idea, is but an idea of your own brain. For it is no more an idea then a sheath is a knife, or the spittle that wets the seal is the seal• or the grease the saw, or the water the Grindle-stone. But you must strike betwixt this and the divine Id•a, or else you will misse of your natural one. And so will be forced to do that of penury, which he did of choise and for brevity sake, divide your Text into one part. But your quotation of Moses here neer the bottom of the page, is either nothing to your natural Idea, or if you mean it of the divine, is no new notion, but nim∣med out of Philo the Iew. And yet in the beginning of the following page you magnify your self, as one that concerning this primitive supernatural part of the Creation as you call it, though you have not said so much as you can say by far, (as being a Nip-crust or Niggard of your precious speculations) yet you have produced not a little new.

Observation 8. Pag. 11.
Lin. 5. Some Authors, &c. And the reason why the world is beholding to this Gentleman more then to any for new discoveries of mighty truths, is, that whereas some Authors have not searched so deeply into the Center of Nature, and others not willing to publish such spiritual mysteries, this new Writer is the onely man, that is both deeply seen into the Cen∣ter of Nature, and as willing also to publish these spi∣ritual mysteries. So that he goes beyond them all. O brave Anthroposophus! What a fine man would you fain appear to the World.

In the residue of this page, Anthroposophus his phansie is pudled so and jumbled in the Limbus or
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Huddle of the Matter, that he cannot distinguish be∣twixt God and the Creature; For he knows not whe∣ther the Chaos be created or uncreated. How much wiser are you now then Aristotle, Mr. Eugenius! that made the world Eternal? If you can admit this; by the rule of proportion you might swallow the great∣est Gudgeon in Aristotle without kecking or strain∣ing.

Observation 9. Pag. 12.
Lin. 11. Fuliginous spawn of Nature. A rare ex∣pression! This Magicician has turned Nature into a Fish by his Art. Surely such dreams float in his swim∣mering Brains as in the Prophets, who tells us so Au∣thentick stories of his delicious Albebut.

Observation 10.
Lin. 12. The created Matter. Before the Matter was in an hazard of not being created, but of being of it self eternal. Certainly Eugenius! you abound with leasure that can thus create and uncreate, doe and undoe because the day is long enough.

Observation 11.
Lin. 21. A horrible confused qualm, &c. Here Nature like a child-bearing woman has a qualm comes over her stomach, and Eugenius like a man-midwife stands by very officiously to see what will be∣come of it. Let her alone, Eugenius! it is but a qualm, some cold raw rhewme. Margret will escape wel• e∣nough. Especially if her two Handmaids Heat and
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Siccity, which you mention, do but help with their A∣quavitae bottles. What a rare mode or way of Creati∣on has Eugenius set out? Certainly it cannot but sa∣tisfie any unreasonable man, if there be any men with∣out reason; and I begin to suspect there is, for Eugeni∣us his sake, such as feed as savourly on the pure milk of fansie, as the Philosophers Asse on Sow∣thistles.

SECT. III.
12. He asserts, that there was a vast portion of light in the Extract from the Chaos which surrounded the whole earth. 13. He compares Ptolemees Heavens to a rumbling confused Labyrinth. 14. He calls the Firmament Cribrum Naturae. 15. Affirmes that the light before the fourth day equally possest the whole creation. 16. That the Night peeps out like a baffled Giant when the Sun is down. 17. That the shadow of the Earth is Natures black bagg. 18. He prays to be delivered from the dark Tincture which at last by the Protochymist shall be expeld beyond the Creation. 19. He allows onely two Elements, Earth and Water. •0. He speakes of Water and Fire (which is Apuleius his Psyche and Cupid) of their bedding together. 21. Cites an obscure Aphorisme out of Sendivow. 22. Af∣firmes that the Air is the Magicians ba•k doore. 23. And our animal Oyl the fuell of the vital and sensual fire in us.

Observation 12. Pag. 13.
THis page is spent in extracting from the Chaos•, a thin spiritual celestial substance to make the
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Caelum Empyreum of, and the Body of Angels, and by the by, to be in stead of a Sun for the first day. But then in the second Extraction was extracted the agill air filling all betwixt the Masse and the Coelum Em∣pyreum. But here I have so hedged you in Mr. An∣throposophus, that you will hardly extricate your self in this question. The Empyreal substance encompassing all• how could there be Morning aud Evening till the fourth day? for the mass was alike illuminated round about at once. And for your interstellar water you do but fancy it implyed in Moses text, & can never prove that he drives at any thing higher in the letter there∣of, than those hanging bottles of water, the clouds.

Observation 13. Pag. 14.
Lin. 12. A rumbling confused Labyrinth. 'Tis only Erratum Typographicum. I suppose you mean, a rumbling Wheel-barrow; in allusion to your Wheel-work and Epicycles aforementioned. But why small diminutive Epicycles? Eugenius! you are so profound a Magician, that you are no Astronomer at all. The bignesse of them is as strong a presumption against them as any thing: they are too big to be true.

Observation 14.
Lin. 26. This is Cribrum Naturae.〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, I warrant you. The very sive that Iupiter himself pisses through, as Aristophanes sports it in his Co∣medies.

Observation 15. Pag. 15.
Lin. 20. Equally possest the whole Creature. There∣fore again I ask thee, O Eugenius! how could
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there be Evening and Morning, the light being all o∣ver equally dispersed?

Observation 16.
Lin. 29. Like a baffled Gyant. Poetical Eugenius! Is this to •ay the sober and sound principles of Truth and Philosophy?

Observation 17. Pag. 16.
Lin. 1. A Black Bag. I tell thee Eugenius! Thy phansie is snapt in this female Black-bag, as an unwa∣ry Retiarius in a Net. Do's Madam Nature wear her Black-bag in her middle parts? (for the Earth is the Center of the World) or on her head as other ma∣trons doe? That Philalethes may seem a great and pro∣found Student indeed, he will not take notice whether a black-bag be furniture for Ladies heads or their haunches: Well! let him injoy the glory of his af∣fected rusticity and ignorance.

Observation 18.
Lin. 5. Good Lord deliver us. How the man is frighted into devotion by the smut and griminesse of his own imagination.

Observation 19.
Lin. 15. Earth and water, &c. Concurrunt ele∣ment a ut Materia, ergo duo sufficiunt, says Cardan.•Tis no new-sprung truth, if true, Mr. Eugenius! But seeing that AEthereal vigour and celestial heat with
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the substance thereof, (For coelum pervadit omnia) is in all things, and the air excluded from few or no li∣ving Creatures, if we would severely tug with you, Mr. Anthroposophus! you will endanger the taking of the foil.

Observation 20. Pag. 18.
Lin. 22. Both in the same bed. Why did you ever sneak in Eugenius, and take them, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, in the very act? 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as the Lawyers speak? This is but poeticall pomp in prose. And Ovid Philo∣sophizes better in verse, where speaking of heat and moisture, he expresses himself apertly and signifi∣cantly.

Quippe ubi temperiem sumpsere humor{que} calor{que}
Concipiunt, & ab his generantur cuncta duobus.
Observation 21.
Lin. 27. Spiritus aquae invisibilis congelatus me∣lior est quàm terra Vniversa. Now as you are Phila∣lethes, tell me truly if you understand any determi∣nate and usefull sense of this saying. If you do, why do you not explain it? if you do not, for ought you know, it may be onely a charm to fox fishes. And I pray you, Philalethes! make triall of the expe∣riment.

Observation 22. Pag. 19.
Lin. 29. It is the Magicians Back-doore. Here I cannot but take notice at the great affectation of Phi∣lalethes to appear to be deeply seen in Magick. But I
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suppose if he were well searched, he would be found no Witch, nor all his Back-door of air worth the winde of an ordinary mans back-doore.

Observation 23. Pag. 20.
Lin. 2. The air is our Animal oil, the fuell of the vitall. Now Eugenius! you are so good natured as to give Aristotle one of his two elements again, that you wrested from him. If this be our animall oil, and fuell of the vitall, it is plain our animall and vitall spirits are from the air, and that the air is one ele∣ment amongst the rest. And your moist silent Fire that passes through all things, must be a principle of all things, and may be well attempered heat to your forenamed oil. So that Aristotle and you that be∣fore seemed as disagreeing as fire and water, now in a love-fit again embrace as close as your Apulejus his Psyche and Cupid. But why will you be thus humor∣ous Mr. Eugenius! and be thus off and on to the trouble of others and your self?

SECT. IV.
24. Eugenius having finished his generall exposition of the World, Mastix gives an account of it, shows the contradiction in it, discovers the vanity of draw∣ing the letter of the Scripture to a rigid Philosophi∣call meaning. 25. Eugenius his ill manner of lay∣ing down the Fundamentalls of Sciences, 26. His celestiall Earth, Magnet, or Jacobs Ladder. 27. His little Suns and Moones in every Compound of Na∣ture that are Mimulae majoris animalis, and wan∣tonly
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imitate the two great Luminaries of the World. 28. His aenigmaticall Receit of the Medi∣cine or Philosophers stone. 29. His fixing of the Earth into a pure Diaphanous Substance. 30. His praetension of explaining the Nature of Man. 31. His censure of all that know not the earth Adam was made out of (which is the Philosophicall Medicine) as Quacks and Pis-pot Doctours. 32. His two portions the Soul consists of, Ruach and Nephesh 33. And how the Angels scorning to •t•end Adam according as they were command∣ed, contrived to supplant him.

Observation 24. Pag. 21. l.9.
PErformed an exposition of the World. An excel∣lent performance! Which if a man take• a nar∣row view of he will finde to amount to no more then this, That God made a dark Masse of Matter, out of which he extracted, (Chymist-like) first an Em∣pyreall body, •hen an Aereall, &c. Which is a very lank satisfaction to the noble reason of man. Nay, Anthroposophus! I believe you have spoke such stuff that will amount to little better then a contradiction •o free reason. For you make as if the Masse did con∣tain in a far l•sse compasse above all measure, all that was after extracted. Wherefore there was, (for these are all b•dies) either a penetration of dimensions then, or else a vacuum now: & the ascending particles of the Masse lie some distance one from another. Be∣sides I observe that in you, that I do in all others, that fantastically and superstitiously force Philosophy out of the sacred Writ (which is intended certainly for better purposes). For as Ovid in his Metamorphoses,
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after a long pursuit of a Fabulous story, at last de∣scends to something in Nature and common use, (as that of Daphne turned into a Lawrell, which tree is in Nature and according to the accustomary conceit of the Heathens was holy to Apollo) so these running a Wild-Goose chase of Melancholy imaginations and fancies, think it evidence enough for what they have said, to have the thing but named in some Text of Scripture. Nay even those that are so con∣fident they are inspired, and live of nothing but the free breathings of the Divine Spirit; if you ob∣serve them, it is with them as with the Lark, that is so high in the air, that we may better hear her then see her, as if she were an inhabitant of that Region one∣ly and had no allyance to the Earth, yet at last you shall see her come down and pi•k on the ground as o∣ther birds. So these pretended inspired men though they flie high, and seem to feed of nothing but free truth, as they draw it from Gods own breathing; yet they took their ground first from the Text, though they ran a deal of fancyfull division upon it; and if a man watch them, he shall finde them •all flat upon the Text again, and be but as other Mortals are for all their free praetensions and extraordinary assistances. But let us leave these Theosophists (as they love to be called) to themselves, and trace on the steps of our Anthro posophus!

Observation 25. Pag. 22.
He exhorts us in the foregoing page to be curious & diligent in this subsequent part of his discourse, as be∣ing now about to deliver the Fundamentals of Science. But Anthroposophus! you are so deeply Magicall that
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you have conjured your self down, below the wit of an ordinary man. The Fundamentals of Science should be certain, plain, reall and perspicuous to rea∣son; not muddy and imaginary as all your discourse is from this to your 28 page. For in this present page & the former, setting aside your superstitious affe∣ctation of Trinities & Triplicities, which teach a man nothing but that you are a very fantasticall and bold man, and lift at that which is too heavy for you; you do nothing but scold very cholerickly at the Colliers and Kitchen-maids, and like a dog return again to the Vomit, I mean that vomit you cast a while ago on Aristotle. Is that so elegant an expression that you must use it twice in so little a space? where is your manners Anthroposophus!

Observation 26. Pag. 23.
Lin. 14. and 24. The Magnet, the Mystery of Union, Not one of ten thousand knows the substance or the use of this Nature. Yet you tell it us in this page, that it will attract all things Physicall or Meta∣physicall, at what distance soever. But you are a man of ten thousand, Anthroposophus! and have the Mystery, questionlesse, of this Magnet. Whence I conclude you King or Prince of the Gypsies, as be∣ing able at the farthest distance to attract metall out of mens purses. But take heed that you be not dis∣covered, lest this Iacobs Ladder raise you up with your fellow Pick-pockets to Heaven in a string.

Observation 27. Pag. 24.
This page is filled with like Gypsie gibberish, as
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also the 25th. yet he pretends to lend us a little light from the Sun and Moon. Which he calls the great Luminaries and Conservatours of the great World in generall. How great, Anthroposophus! do you think would the Moon appear if your Magick could re∣move you but as far as Saturn from her? will she not appear as little as nothing? Besides, if Euge∣nius ever tooted through a Galileo's Tube, he might discover four Moons about Iupiter, which will all prove competitours with our Moon for the Conser∣vatour-ship of the Universe. But though Eugenius admits of but one great broad-faced Sun and Moon, yet he acknowledgeth many Mimulae or Monky-faced Suns and Moons, which must be the Conserva∣triculae of the many Microcosmes in the great World. Certainly Anthroposophus! the speculum of your understanding is cracked, and every fragment gives a severall reflexion, and hence is this innumerable mul∣titude of these little diminutive Suns and Moons. But having passed through much canting language, at the bottome of the page we at last stumble on the Philosophers Stone, which he intends I suppose to fling at Aristotle and brain the Stagirite at one throw.

Observation 28.
Lin. ult. A true Receipt of the Medicine, R. Li∣mi coelestis partes, &c. Come out Tom-Fool from behinde the hangings, that peaks out with your De∣vils head and horns, and put off your vizard, and be aper• and intelligible, or else why do you pretend to lay the Fundamentalls of Science, and crave our dili∣gence and attention to a non-significant noise and bu•ze? Unlesse you will be understood; it may as well, for ought any bodie knows, be a plaister for a
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gauld horses back, or a Medicine for a Mad-dog, as a receipt of the Philosophers Stone.

Observation 29. Pag. 27.
In this page Magicus prophesies of a vitrification of the Earth, and turning of it into a pure diapha∣nous substance. To what end? Magicus! That the Saints and Angels at each pole of the Earth may play at Boe-peep with one another through this crystal∣lized Globe? Magicus has rare imaginations in his noddle.

Observation 30. Pag. 28.
At the end of this page Magicus begins to take to task the explication of mans nature. But Magicus you must first learn better to know your self, before you attempt to explain the knowledge of man to others.

Observation 31. Pag. 29.
Lin. 10. The Philosophicall Medicine. This is the Philosophers stone. And they that are ignorant in this point are but Quacks and Pispot Doctours. Ho! Dr. H. Dr. P. Dr. R. Dr. T. and as many Do∣ctours more as will stand betwixt London and Oxen∣ford, if you have not a sleight of Art to Metamorphize your selves into Triorchises, and have one stone more then Nature hath bestowed upon you (which is for∣sooth the Philosophers Stone) have amongst you blind Harpers, Magicus will not stick to teem Uri∣nals
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on your heads, and crown you all, one after ano∣ther, with the Pispot, and honour you with the Title of Quack-salvers. What? Magicus! Is it not suf∣ficient that you have no sense nor wit, but you will have no good manners neither?

Observation 32. Pag. 30.
This thirtieth page teaches that the Soul of man consists of two parts, Ruach and Nephesh, one Ma∣sculine and the other Feminine. And Anthroposophus is so tickled with the Application of the conceit unto Marriage, which he very feelingly and savourly pur∣sues, that he has not the patience to stay to tell us how these two differ, he being taken up so with that powerfull charm and thence accrewing Faculty of Crescite & Multiplicamini.

Observation 33. Pag. 31.
This page has the Legend that the Alcoran has concerning the envy of the Angels. But all goes down alike with him, as if every thing printed were Go∣spel. In so much that I am perswaded that he doubts not but that every syllable of his own Book is true, now it has passed the P•esse.

SECT. V.
34. Eugenius broaches an old truth for a new do∣ctrine. 35. His errour that the sensitive part in man is a portion of Anima Mundi. 36. His rash
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rejection of Peripateticall forms. 37. His odde conceit of blind mens seeing in their sleep. 38. And of the flowers of Hearbs, framed like eyes, having a more subtile perception of heat and cold then o∣ther parts of them have. 39. His distinguishing the Rationall or Angelicall spirit in man from the Sensitive. 40. Mastix commends Eugenius for his generous discourse of the excellency of the Soul. 41. Rebukes him for his enmity with the Peripate∣ticks and School-Divines, and for his rash swear∣ing and protesting solemnly before God that he wrote onely out of Zeal to the truth of his Cre∣atour. 42. Check• his bold entitling of his own writings to the Sacrosanctity of Mysteries. 43. Taxes his vain idolizing of Ag•ippa. 44. Shows him the fruitlesse effects of Enthusiast∣ick Poetry without the true knowledge of things. 45. Approves of severall collections of his concern∣ing God and the Soul, but disallows of his rash cen∣sure of Aristotles Philosophy, challenging him to show any solution of Philosophick controversies by his Chymicall experiments. 46. Sports himself with his solicitude of what acceptance his writings will have in the world. 47. As also with his modest pride in disclaiming all affectation of Rhetorick. 48. And his lanck excuse in that he wrote in the dayes of his mourning for the death of his brother. 49. His ri∣diculous Tergiversation in not submitting his wri∣tings to the censure of any but God alone.

Observation 34. Pag. 32.
THis page ridiculously places Peter Ramus a∣mongst the Schoolmen against all Logick and Method. And at the last line thereof bids us arrigere
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aures, and tells he will convey some truth never here∣tofore discovered, viz. That the Sensitive gust in a man is the forbidden fruit; with the rest of the cir∣cumstances thereof. Which Theory is so farre from being new, that it is above a thousand years old. It is in Origen and every where in the Christian Pla∣tonists.

Observation 35. Pag. 38.
Lin. 27. It is part of Anima Mundi. Why! is Anima Mundi (which, you say, in men and beasts can see, feel, tast and smell) a thing divisible into parts and parcells? Take heed of that Anthroposophus! lest you crumble your own soul into Atoms; indeed make no soul, but all body.

Observation 36. Pag. 39.
Lin. 22. Blind Peripateticall forms. What im∣pudence is this O Magicus! to call them so unlesse you make your Anima Mundi more intelligible? This is but to rail at pleasure, not to teach or con∣fute.

Observation 37. Pag. 40.
Lin. 2. As it is plain in dreams. Blind men then see in their sleep it seems, which is more then they can do when they are awake. Are you in jest Eugenius! or in good earnest? If you be, I shall suspect you having a faculty to see when you are asleep, that you
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have another trick too, that is, to dream when you are awake. Which you practised I conceive very much in the comp•lement of this book, there being more dreams then truth by farre in it.

Observation 38.
Lin. 11. Represent the eyes. How fanciful and poeticall are you Mr. Magicus! I suppose you allude to the herb Euphrasia or Eyebright: Which yet sees or feels as little light or heat of the Sun, as your soul do's of reason or humanity.

Observation 39.
Lin. 27. Angelicall or rationall spirit. Do's not this see and hear too in man? If it do not, how can it judge of what is said or done? If it do's; then there are two hearing and seeing souls in a man. Which I will leave to Anthroposophus his own thoughts, to find out how likely that is to be true.

Observation 40. 46, 47, 48, 49. Pages.
Truly, Anthroposophus! these pages are of that na∣ture, that though you are so unkind to Aristotle, as to acknowlege nothing good in him; yet I am not so in∣veterate a revengefull assertor of him, but I will allow you your lucida intervalla. What you have deli∣vered in these pages concerning the Soul of man, ba∣ting a few Hyperboles, might become a man of a more settled brain than Anthroposophus. But while you oppose so impetuously what may with reason be admitted, and propound so magisterially what is not
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sense, I must tell you Anthroposophus! that you be∣tray to scorn and derision even those things that are so∣ber in the way that you affect, and hazard the soil∣ing of the highest and most delicate truths, by your rude and unskilfull handling of them: And now the good breath, that guided you for these four pages to∣gether, is spent, you begin to rave again after the old manner, and call Galen Antichrist in the fiftieth page;

Observation 41. Pag. 50.
And quarrel again with the Peripateticks, and provoke the School-divines. And then you fancie that you have so swinged them, that in revenge they'l all fall upon you at once, and so twerilug you: when as they good men feel not your strokes, and find themselves something else to do, then to refute such crazy Discourses as this. It is I onely, it is I, your brother Philalethes, that am moved with pi•ie to∣wards you• and would, if I could, by carefully cor∣recting you in your distempers, bring you to a sober mind, and set you in your right senses again. And I beseech you brother Philalethes• forbear this swearing: An honest mans word is as good as his Oath. No bo∣dy will believe you more for swearing, then he would without it, but think you more melancholick and di∣stracted.

Observation 42.
Lin. 21. Whiles they contemn mysteries, &c. In this heat all that Philalethes writes must be termed Holy mysteries. His project certainly is, now neither
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Episcopacie nor Presbyterie can be setled, to get his book established jure divino. A crafty colt! Ha, ha, he! Philalethes, Are you there with your Bears?

Observation 43.
Lin. 29. Next to God I owe all I have to Agrippa. What? more then to the Prophets, and Apostles, Anthroposophus? The businesse is, for your fame-sake, you have more desire to be thought a Conjurer then a Christian.

Observation 44. Pag. 53, 54.
Great glorious penman! A piping hot paper of verse••ndeed, Anthroposophus! But say truly! What can you do in or out of this heat more then other men? Can you cure the sick? Rule and counsell States and Kingdomes more prudently for the com∣mon good? Can you find bread for the Poor? Give a rationall account of the Phoenomena of Nature, more now then at another time? or more then other men can do? Can you tell me the nature of Light? the causes of the Rainbow? what makes the flux and reflux of the Sea? the operations of the Loadstone, and such like? Can you tell us in a rationall, depen∣dent, and coherent way the nature of such things as these, or foretell to us what will be hereafter, as cer∣tainly and evidently as the Prophets of old? But if there be neither the evidence of Reason, nor the testi∣mony of notable effect, you can give us; you must give me leave Anthroposophus! to conjecture; That all this is but a frisk and dance of your agitated spi∣rits, and firinesse of your fancie, of which you will
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find no fruit, but a palsied, unsteddy apprehension, and unsound judgement.

Observation 45. Pag. 55.
From this page to the 62. your Theomagicall Nag has been prettie sure-footed, Philalethes! And it is a good long lucidum intervallum you have ambled out. Nay and you have done very well and soberly in not plainly pretending any new thing there. For they are both old and well seasoned, if the Church be so pleased to esteem of them. But what you have to∣ward the latter end of the 62 page, that is, a word of your self, and another o• the common Philosophie, has in it a spice of the old maladie, pride and con∣••it•dnesse: as if you had now finished so famous a piece of work, as that all the world would stand a∣mazed, and be inquisitive after you, asking who is this Philalethes, and what is he? Presbyterian or In∣dependent? Sir, may it please you, He is neither Pa∣pist, though he bid fair enough for Purgatorie in his Exposition of St. Peter in the foregoing page; nor Sectarie, though he had rather style himself a Pro∣testant then a Christian: but be he what he will be, he is so great in his own conceit, that though you have not the opportunitie to ask his judgment, yet he thinks it fit unasked to set himself on the seat of Judicature, and disgorge his sentence on our ordinary Philoso∣phie. He means you may be sure the Aristotelean in use for so many hundred years in all the Universities of Europe. And he pronounces of it, that it is An inconsistent Hotch-potch of rash conclusions, built on meer imagination without the light of Experience. You must suppose he means Chymicall experiments,
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for you see no small pretensions to that in all his Treatise. And this very Title page, the first of the book, has the priviledge to be first adorned with this magnificent term of Art, Protochymistry. But tell me, Mr. Alchymist! in all your skill and observation in your Experiments, if you have hit on any thing that will settle any considerable point controverted a∣mongst Philosophers, which may not be done as ef∣fectually at lesse charges. Nay, whether you may not lose Nature sooner then find her by your industri∣ous vexing of her, and make her appear something else then what she really is; Like men on the rack or overwatched witches, that are forced many times to confesse that which they were never guiltie of. But it being so unsatisfactorie to talk in generall, and of so tedious purpose to descend to particulars, I will break off this discourse. Onely let me tell you thus much Mr. Philalethes! that you are a very unna∣turall son to your mother Oxenford, and to her sister Universitie; for if they were no wiser then you would make them, you would hazard them and all their children to be begg'd for fools: And there would be a sad consequent of that. But your zeal and heated melancholie considers no such things, Anthro∣posophus!

Observation 46. Pag. 65.
Lin. 3. I have now done, Reader! but how much to my own prejudice I cannot tell. Verily nothing at all Phi∣lalethes! For you have met with a friend that hath impartially set out to you your own follies and faults. And has distorted himself often into the deformities of your postures, that you may the better see your •elf in another, and so for •hame amend.

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Observation 47.
Lin. 8. Paint and trim of Rhetorick. How mo∣dest are you grown Philalethes! Why? this affe∣ctation of humour and Rhetorick is the most conspi∣cuous thing in your book. And shines as oriently, as false gold and silver lace on a linsie-woolsie coat.

Observation 48.
Lin. 22. Of a brothers death. Some young man certainly that killed himself by unmercifull studying of Aristotle. And Philalethes writ this book to re∣venge his Death.

Observation 49.
Lin. 18. I •xpose it not to the mercy of man, but to God. See, the man affects an absolute Tyranny in Philosophie. He'll be accountable to none but God. You no Papist Philalethes? Why! you would be a very Pope in Philosophie, if you would not have your Dictates subject to the canvase of mans reason.

Page 102
Observations upon his Adver∣tisement to the Reader.
THe first thing you require is, that he that attempts your Book, should make a plain and positive Exposition of all the passages. Why man? that is more as∣suredly then your self can do. For you are so weak and supine in many things that are intel∣ligible, that I am confident you are worse in that which you have made lesse intelligible. For as So∣crates reading an obscure Authour, when he found all things he understood very good, did charitably conclude, what he understood not was much better: so I finding in this obscure Treatise of yours, many things very ill, I also in charity will think you had the wit to conceal those things which are the worst; or, which will serve the turn, that you understand them not your self. But have an itching desire that some Reader skilfuller then your self, should tell you whe∣ther you have wrote sense or non-sense: Like the Countrey Clown, that desired his young Master to teach him to write, and being asked how he would be able to read his own writing, being as yet never ac∣quainted so much as with the christ-crosse-row, made answer he would get some body else to read it for him. And so you Philalethes! though you can read your own writing, yet you desire to get some body else to understand it for you, or to interpret to you what you have writ.

Your second request is not much unlike the former, and too big a business for your self to doe, and there∣fore you beg it of another.

Page 103
Your third request is to have your book handled af∣ter your own maner and method. Which is as ridicu∣lous, as if you should request your enemy to smite soft∣ly, or to strike after such a fashion; & at such a part as you will appoint him. Can it be reasonable for you to expect from an Aristotelean (for you must think it would be they of all men that would flie about your ears first) when you have used their Master Aristotle, as they would not, to be used of them as you would• But notwithstanding Philalethes! you see I have bin fair with you, and, though provoked, I shall continue the same candour in my Observations on your follow∣ing peece. But before I pass, I must take notice of your two admonitions to the ingenuous Reader, for I suppose you mean me, Philalethes! The first is, that I would not despise your endevours, because of your yeers, for they are but few. Why man! who knew that but your selfe, if you could have kept your own counsell? Your name is not at your book, much less your age. But indeed many things are so well mana∣ged of you, that if you had not told us so, we might have shrewdly suspected, you have scarcely reached the yeers of discretion. But you are so mightily taken with your own performance, that to increase admira∣tion, and for the bringing in a phrase or sentence out of Proclus, you could not with-hold from telling us that you are but a young man, and so we easily be∣lieve it. But the more saucy Boy you to be so bold with Reverend Master Aristotle, that grandeval Pa∣triarch in points of Philosophy. For the second ad∣monition, it is little more then a noise or clatter of words, or if you will, a meer rattle for a boy to play with. And so I leave it in your hand to passe away the time, till I meet you againe in your Anima Magica Abscondita.

Page 104
Upon the Preface to the READER.
NOw God defend! what will become of me! In good faith, Philalethes! I doe not know what may become of you in time, But for the present, me thinks, you are become a fool in a play, or a Jack-pud∣ding at the dancing on the Ropes, a thing wholly set in a posture to make the people laugh. Phy! Phy! Philalethes! Doe these humorous and Mimical schemes of speech become so profound a Theomagi∣cian, as your self would seem to be? Do's this ridi∣culous levity become a man of your profession? You doe not a little disparage your self by these boyish hu∣mors, my good Philalethes!

For mine own part, I am neither so light-headed no• light-footed, as to dance the Morisco with you measure to measure, through this whole toy of yours to the Reader. I shall dispatch what I have to say at once. Your main drift here is to prove Agrippa's Dogs no Divels, and their Master no Papist, and consequently your selfe no unlawful Magician or Conjurer.

And truly if the assembly of Divines be no more suspicious of you then my self, I am abundantly satis∣fied, that you are rather a giddy fantastick then an able Conjurer, so that without any offence to me, you may take Wierus his office if you will, and for want of imployment, lead about Agrippa's beagles in a
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string. In the mean time I shall busie my selfe almost to as little purpose in the perusal of your Anima Ma∣gica Abscondita.

Upon Anima Magica Abscondita. SECT. I.
1. Eugenius his maimed citation of Aristotles definiti∣on of Nature. 2. His illogical exception against him for using of a general Notion in this defini∣tion, and a difference expressing onely what Na∣ture does, not what she is. 3. His ridiculous ex∣ception against Magirus his definition of 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 or forma, Quae absolvit, expolit, informat rem natu∣ralem, ut per eam una ab altera distinguatur. 4. His barbarous translation of 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉Consumma∣tio or Finitatio, and a repetition of his former cavil. 5. He exhorts the Peripateticks to change their Abstractions into Extractions, that they may dis∣cerne the substantial formes themselves in the in∣ward closet of Matter. 6. Tells us that the moti∣ons of the heavens are from an internal Principle, and that Intelligences are fabulous. 7. Reproaches the Scriblers concerning Mat•er and Forme, as wri∣ting nothing to their own credit, or profit of the Rea∣der. 8. Informes us that the Anima mundi retain∣ed in the Matter and missing a vent organizeth bodies. 9. His misapplication of that Hemistichium of Virgil — Auraï simplicis ignem. The passive spirit the inmost vestment of the soul applying to Generation, and that the vital liquour or aethereal water attracts the passive spirit. 10. His chain of
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Descent whereby the soule is caught in the Matter. 11. His declaring of the foregoing mystery makes him suspect that he has too publikely prostituted the secrets of Nature.

Observation 1.
ANd here Philalethes! in the very threshold you begin to worrey the poor Perepateticks more fiercely then any English mastive, and bark and scold into the air (that is, in general) more cursedly and bitterly then any Butter-quean; but at last in the first line of the second page, you begin to take to task some particular Documents of Aristotles. viz. The descrip∣tion of Nature, of Form, and of the Soul. Where∣by we shall understand of what great judgement and perspicacity you are in other points of Philosophy. And first of the Definition of Nature, which you say is defined, Principium motus & quietis. A little thing serves your turn, Anthroposophus! is this the entire Definition of Nature, in Aristotle? But what you unskilfully take no notice of, I willingly wink at, and will deal with you onely about those things that you produce and oppose.

Observation 2. Pag. 3.
Lin. 19. Nature is a Principle. Here you cavil that Nature is said to be a Principle, because you can∣not find out the thing defined by this general intima∣tion. But here, Philalethes! you are a pitiful Logician, and know not so much in Logick as every Freshman in our University doth, viz. that that part of the Defi∣nition which is general do's not lead us directly home
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unto the thing defined, and lay our hand upon it; but it is the difference added that do's that. As if so be we should say onely that, Homo est animal, that as∣sertion is so floating and hovering, that our mind can settle on nothing, which it may safely take for a man; for that general notion belongs to a slea, or a mite in a chees as well as to a man; but adding rationale, then it is determined and restrained to the nature of man. And your allegation against the difference here anne∣xed in the definition of Nature, is as childish. For you only alleadge that it tels us what nature do's, not what it is. My dear Philalethes! Certainly thou hast got the knack of seeing further into a millstone then any mor∣tal else. Thou hast discovered, as thou thinkest, Dame Nature stark naked, as Actaeon did Diana; but for thy rash fancy deservest a pair of Asses ears, as well as he did his Bucks-horns for his rash sight. Can any substantial form be known, otherwise then by what it can do or operate. Tell me any one substan∣tial form that thou knowest any better way then this, & Phillida solus habeto, take Phillis to thy self, and her black-bag to boot. Thou art, good Anthroposo∣phus! I perceive, a very unexperienced novice in the more narrow and serious search and contemplation of things.

Observation 3. Pag. 4.
Lin. 23. This is an expresse of the office and effect of formes, but not of their substance or essence. Why! Philalethes! as I said before, have you ever discover∣ed the naked substance or Essence of any thing! Is colour, light, hardnesse, softnesse, &c. is any of these or of such like, essence & substance it selfe? if you be so
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great a Wizard, show some one substantial form in your Theomagical glasse. Poor Kitling! how dost thou dance and play with thine own shadow, and understandest nothing of the mystery of substance and truth!

Observation 4. Pag. 5.
Here in the third place you cavil at Aristotles De∣finition of the Soul, and by your slubbering and bar∣barous translating of the term 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 smother the fitnesse of the sense. What more significant of the na∣ture of a Soul, then what this term 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 is com∣pounded of? viz.〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

—Totamque inf•sa per artus
Mens agitat molem.
Or if we read the word as Cicero,〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, it wil be more significant, as being made up of 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. And that which do's inwardly pervade and pe∣netrate, that which do's hold together, and yet move this way and that way, and lastly still moving possess and command an organical body, &c. what is this but a Soul, or what better Definition can be given of it then this? But here this peremptory opposer do's still inculcate the same cavil, that the naked substance or essence of the soul, is not set out by this, but its operations. But still out of the same ignorance, suppo∣sing that a substantial Form can be better known then by its proper operations. And this ignorance of his makes him so proud, that he does Fellow at every word, if not Sirrah, Prince Aristotle; because he has not done that which is impossible to doe, unbare to us the very substance of the Form. What an imperious boy is this! a wrangling child in Philosophy, that
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screams and cries after what is impossible, as much as peevish babes, after what is hurtful. Aud in this hu∣morous straining and wrigling bemarres both his Mo∣ther and his Aunt, both the Universities at once, cast∣ing dirt and filth upon their education of youth, as if they taught nothing, because they cannot teach what is impossible to be learned.
Observation 5. Pag. 8.
Here Anthroposophus begins to be something earn∣est and rude with Nature, not content any longer to use his adulterous phansie, but to break open with his immodest hands her private closet, search her Cabi∣net, and pierce into her very Center. What rare ex∣tractions he will make thence, I leave to himselfe to enjoy. Sure I am, that if any skilful Cook, or Chy∣mist, should take out Philalethes brains, and shred them as small as mincemeat, and tumble them never so much up and down with a trencher-fork, he would not discover by this diligent discussion any substantial Form of his brains, whereby they may be discovered from what lies in a Calfs head. Nay, if they were stew∣ed betwixt two dishes, or distilled in an Alembek, nei∣ther would that extraction be any crystalline mirror to see the substantial form stark naked in, and disco∣ver the very substance of that spirit, that has hit upon so many unhappy hallucinations. But you are a youth of rare hopes, Anthroposophus!

Observation 6. Pag. 9.
Lin. 20. Where by the way I must tell you, &c. viz.
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That the Heavens are not moved by Intelligences. Who cannot tell us that? But indeed you are for∣ward to tell us any thing, that do's but seem to sound high, or make any show. There's no body now but would laugh to hear, that a particular Angell turns about every Orb, as so many dogs in wheels turn the spit at the fire. So that it seems far below such a grand Theomagician as you are, to tell us such incredible fopperies as these to be false.

Observation 17.
Lin. 10. For the Authours credit and benefit of the Reader. Good Philalethes! What credit do you ex∣pect from your scribling, though it be the onely thing you aim at in all your Book? when yet nothing of truth but this aim of yours is to be understood throughout all this writing.

Observation 8.
Lin. 15. This Anima retain'd in the Matter and missing a vent, &c. A similitude, I suppose, taken from the bung-hole of a barrell; or more compendi∣ously from bottled bear; or it may be from the cork∣ing up close the urine of a bewitched party, and set∣ting it to the fire. For Anthroposophus will not be lesse then a Magician in all things, nor seem lesse wise then or witch or devil. But me thinks, Anthroposo∣phus! your expression of the nature of this Anima, that must do such fine feats in the world, by the ef∣formation of things and organizing the matter into such usefull figuration and proportion in living crea∣tures, had been as fitly and as much to your purpose expressed; if you had fancied her tied up like a pig in
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poke, that grunting and nudling to get out, drove the yielding bag out at this corner and that corner, and so gave it due order and disposition of parts. But, O thou man of mysteries! tell me I pray thee, how so so subtil a thing as this Anima is, can be either bar∣rel'd up, or bottled up, or tied up in a bag, as a pig in a poke! when as the first materiall rudiments of life be so lax and so fluid, how can they possibly hopple or incarcerate so thin and agil a substance as a Soul? so that the union betwixt them is of some other nature, then what such grosse expressions can represent, and more Theomagicall then our Theomagician himself is aware of.

Observation 9. Pag. 11.
Here Anthroposophus tells us rare mysteries con∣cerning the Soul, that it is a thing stitched and cobled up of two parts. viz. of aura tenuissima, and lux simplicissima. And for the gaining of credence to this patched conceit, he abuses the authority of that excellent Platonist and Poet Virgilius Maro, taking the fag end of three verses which all tend to one drift, but nothing at all to his purpose. AEneid. 6.

Donec longa dies perfecto temporis orbe
Concretam exemit labem, purumque reliquit
AEthereum sensum, atquo aurai simplicis ignem.
This is not spoken of the Soul it self, but of the AEthereall Vehicle of the Soul, and so is nothing to your purpose Mr. Philalethes! You tell us also in this page in what shirts or sheets the Souls wrap them∣selves when they apply to generation, (as your phrase is) as if you were Groom of their bed-chamber, if not their Pa•der. You tell us also of a radicall vitall
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liquor that is of like proportion and complexion with the superiour interstellar waters, which is as learnedly spoken, as if you should compare the Sack at the Globe-Tavern, with certain supernall Wine-bottles hung round Orions girdle: Which no man were able to smell out, unlesse his nose were as Atlantick as your rauming and reaching fancy. And yet no man that has not lost his reason, but will think this as grave a truth in Philosophie as your interstellar waters. But Interstellar, indeed, is a prettie word and sounds well, and it is pitie but there were some fine Philosophick notion or other dld belong to it. But now, Philale∣thes! if I would tyrannize over you as you do over Aristotle, for the manner of your declaring the na∣ture of the Soul, where you pretend to shew us the very naked essence of it, and first principles whereof it doth consist, you have laid your self more bare to my lash, then you endeavoured to lay bare the Soul to our view: for you do plainly insinuate to us, That either the Soul is Light, or else a thin Air, or that it is like to them. If onely like these bodies of Light and Air, how pitifully do you set out the nature of the Soul, when you tell us the principles of it onely in a dry metaphor? Is not the nature of the Soul far better known from the proper operations thereof (as Aristotle has defined it) then from this fantasticall metaphoricall way? But if you will say that the Soul is properly Light or Air, then be they never so thin, or never so simple (unlesse you will again use a meta∣phor) the Soul must be a Body. And how any cor∣poreall Substance thick or thin, fluid or dry, can be able to think, to reason, to fancy, &c. nay to form matter into such cunning and wise frames and contri∣vancies as are seen in the bodies of living Creatures, no man of lesse ignorance and confidence then your
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self will dare to endeavour to explain, or hold any way probable.

Observation 10. Pag. 12.
In this page you are curiously imployed in making of a Chain of Light and Matter, surely more subtill and more uselesse then that that held the Flea prisoner in the Mechanicks hand. But this is to hold the Ani∣ma, the passive Spirit and celestiall Water together. Our Theomagician here grows as imperious as wrath∣full Xerxes. Will you also fetter the Hellespont Phi∣lalethes? and binde the winde and waters in chains? Buc let's consider now the link of this miraculous chain of his.

Light. Matter.
Anima of 3 of 1 portions
Passive spirit of 2 of 2 portions
Celestiall waters of 1 of 3 portions
This is your chain, Philalethes! Now let's see what Apish tricks you'll play with this your chain. The three portions of light must be brought down by the two, the two (if not indeed five, the two and three being now joyn'd) brought down by one, and so the whole chain drops into the water. But would any Ape in a chain if he could speak, utter so much incre∣dible and improbable stuff, with so much munky and mysterious ceremony? His very chain would check his both thoughts and tongue. For is it not farre more reasonable that three links of a chain should sway down two, and two or five one, then that one should sway two or five, or two three? Or do we find when
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we fling up a clod of earth, that the whole ball of the Earth leaps up after that clod, or the clod rather re∣turns back to the Earth, the greater ever attracting the lesse, if you will stand to magneticall Attraction. But truly Philalethes! I think you do not know what to stand to, or how to stand at all; you are so giddy and intoxicated with the steam and heat of your di∣sturbed fancie and vain minde.

Observation 11. Pag. 13.
Lin. 8. But me thinks Nature complains of a pro∣stitution, &c. Did not I tell you so before, that Phi∣lalethes was a pander? and now he is convinced in his own conscience and confesses the crime, and his eares ring with the clamours and complaints of Madam Na∣ture, whom he has so lewdly prostituted. Sad Melan∣cholist! thou art affrighted into the confession of crimes that thou art not onely not guilty of, but canst not be guilty of if thou wouldst. Is there never a one of our Citie Divines at leasure to comfort him and compose him? I tell thee, Madam Nature is a far more chast and discreet Lady, then to lie obnoxious to thy prostitutions. These are nothing but some unchast dreams of thy prurient and polluted fancie. I dare quit thee of this fact, Philalethes! I warrant thee, Thou hast not laid Madam Nature so naked as thou supposest, onely thou hast, I am afraid, dream'd un∣cleanly, and so hast polluted so many sheets of paper with thy Nocturnall Conundrums, which have nei∣ther life, sense, nor shape, head nor foot, that I can find in them.

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SECT. II.
12. That Spiders and other brute creatures have knowledge in them from the first Intellect. 13. That the Seminall Forms of things are knowing and dis∣cerning Spirits. 14. That the World is from God, and all true wisdome: which is to be found by expe∣riments, not in Aristotles writings. 15. Because of the abuse of Logick he takes up the Letan•e of St. Augustine. 16. His three Magicall Princi∣ples; viz. The first created Unity; the Binarius or this Unity defiled with Matter; the Ternarius or this Binarius refined by Art. 17. That this Ter∣narius (which he calls the Magicians Fire, Mer∣curius Philosophorum, Microcosmos, and Adam) is the Magicall maze where Students lose them∣selves; And that this Magicall fire moves in shades and Tyffanies here below, above in white e∣theriall vestures. 18. His Periphrasis of Agrip∣pa (after a long citation out of him) This is he with the black Spaniel, &c. 19. His self-condemnation for going counter to all the World in making use of Scripture for Physiologie. 20 The Mosaicall Hea∣ven and Earth are Mercury and Sulphur. Uxor Solis a certain principle in every Starre and in the whole world. The coition of these two, their Eje∣ction of seed, with many such lascivious M•ta∣phors. 21. Light a certain Principle that applied to any body whatsoever perfects it in suo genere, and that this light is onely multipliable.

Observation 12. Pag. 14.
HEre Philalethes is taken like a Fly in a Spiders Web. He is altogether for subtilties. But spins
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but a thick thred from them, such as any Rusticks hand would draw out as well as his own, viz. That Spiders have some light of knowledge in them. Who knows not that Philalethes? But in the fifteenth page

Observation 13. Pag. 15.
He is so lavish of what he has so little of himself, that he bestows it on every plastick materiall Form; and not a Rose can grow in Nature but some seeing and knowing Hyliard with his invisible pencill must draw it, and thus by his meer rash dictate do's he think he has dash'd out that long and rationall dogma in Philosophy of the particular 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 or rationes seminales. Whose fondnesse in this ground∣lesse assertion it were easie to confute; but he that will not bring any reasons for what he sayes, is not worthy to have any reasons brought against him. For as for that onely slight reason which he intimates, that the Matter being contrived into such a rational or artifi∣cial disposure of parts, the immediate Artificer thereof must have animadversion and reason in it, it is onely said, not proved, and will reach no further, but that the ratio seminalis must at least proceed from some∣thing that is knowing, and be in some sense ratio∣nal, but not have Reason and Animadversion in it self. The like confidence and ignorance is repeated and insisted upon in the 16 and 17 pages: but I let them passe.

Observation 14. Pag. 18,19.
These pages contain a certain preachment, which
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would have done well if it had been from some one that had more wit in knowing when to preach and when to hold his peace, and more charity to abstain from such undeserved chidings of Aristotle. But your unmeasureable and unmercifull chastisings of him, and so highly advancing and soothing up your self in your own windy conceits and fluttering follies make all your serious applications ridiculous and ineffectual.

Observation 15. Pag. 20.
Petition of St. Augustine, A Logica libera nos Domine, lin. 7. Assuredly, Philalethes, ever since the Church Litanie was put down, has used this of St. Augustine, and that with such earnestnesse and devotion that he has even extorted from Heaven the full grant of his Petition, and has become as free and clean from all sense and reason, as he is luxuriant and encumbred with disturbed and unsetled fancies and undigested imaginations.

Observation 16. Pages 21.
Lin. 3. These three Principles are the Clav•s of all Magick, &c. Here Philalethes like the Angel of the bottomless Pit, comes jingling with the Keyes of Magick in his hands. But he opens as Hokus Pokus do's his fists, where we see that here is nothing and there is nothing. But something he will seem to say, viz. That the first Principle is one in one, and one from one. He that has so many years so devoutly pray'd against Logick, do you expect when he speaks to hear reason? This is as much as to say nothing.
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One in one, and one from one? Suppose a ripe Apple should drop into the rotten hollow of the tree that bore it. Is this Apple your mysterious Magical prin∣ciple? It may be that, as well as any thing else, by this description. For it is one Apple, in one hollow, from one tree. O but he addes. It is a pure white Virgin. Some religious Nun I warrant you. No she may not be a Nun neither. For she is uxor Dei & stellarum. It seems then, there is a kinde of Plato's Common-wealth betwixt God and the Stars, and they have community of wives amongst them. But if she be so pure a Virgin-wife as you make her, how come some of her Husbands to wear horns as they doe, viz. Aries, Capricorn and others? But is this to Philosophize, or to play the Theomagician, Phila∣lethes! thus to tell us of virgins, or wives with white peticoats, or to tell us that from this one there is a de∣scent into four, &c? This is but idle treading of the air, and onely a symptome of a light swimmering fancy, that can have patience to write such hovering unde∣terminate stuffe as this, that belongs either almost to any thing or nothing. You even weary your Reader out, Philalethes! with such Metaphysicall dancings and airy fables.

Observation 17. Pag. 22.
Lin. 5. This is a Labyrinth and wilde of Magick where a world of Students have lost themselves. And you Philalethes! have not scaped scot-free. For you have lost your reason before as I told you, and your so much and so confidently conversing with mere U∣nities and Numbers, which in themselves design no∣thing, will teach you in time, to speak words without
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any inward phantasm of what you say. So that you shall bid fair for the losing of your fancy too, and then you will be as you are near it already, Vox, praeterea nihil, a mere noise and clatter of words.

Lin. 13. It moves here below in shades and tiffa∣nies, &c. What a description is this of the Magici∣ans fire? I suppose you mean the Magicians Thais. It moves in shades, that is, (for the text is very dark and wants a Commentary) in the Evening or Twilight. Tiffanies, is plain English, but white etheriall ve∣stures, must be white Peticoats and white Aprons, or else white Aprons upon Blew Peticoats, and that she is exposed to such a publick prostitution passing through all hands, every one having the use of her bo∣dy; this Theomagicians fire seems to me to be no o∣ther then some very common strumpet. But if you mean any thing but a Strumpet, you have a won∣drous infected fancy, that dresses up your Theomagi∣call notions in such whorish attire. But of a sudden my Theomagician has left those more grosse and pal∣pable expressions, and now dances very high in the air quite out of the Ken of our eye, like some Chymicall Spirit that has broke its Hermeticall prison, and flown away out of the Artist's sight and reach; being farre more invisible and thin now, then the finest Tiffany that ever took his sight, and more arid and slight then the faintest shade. I tell you once more, An∣throposophus! that Ternaries, and Qu•ternaries, and Decads and Monads, and such like words of number have no usefull sense nor signification, nor virtue, if unapplied to some determinate substance or thing. But our great Theomagician having no project in this writing that I see, but to amaze the world, contents himself onely to rattle his chain, and to astonish the rude and simple as if some Spirit or Conjurer was at
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hand, and so those words that are most sonorous and consist of the greatest number of syllables, please him better, then what have more solid signification, and a more setled and sober sense.

Observation 18. Pag. 24.
Lin. 17. He with the black Spaniell. As for your ador'd Magus with the black Spaniell, and that dark Disciple of Libanius Gallus, what I have said to you already, will serve here too. But my controversie is with you onely, Philalethes! a sworn enemy of Reason and Aristotle, and me thinks you are very like your self still in the twenty seventh page.

Observation 19. Pag. 27.
Lin. 22. I am certain the world will wonder I should make use of Scripture to establish Philosophy, &c. Here, Philalethes, you seem self-condemned e∣ven from your own speech, being conscious to your self, that all the world will be against you in this su∣perstitious abuse of the Scripture. For are you wiser then all the world beside in this matter, because you have pray'd away all your Logick in St. Augustines Letanie? What profane boldnesse is this to distort that high Majesty of the holy Scripture to such poor and pitiful services, as to decide the controversies of the World and of Nature? As well becoming it is, as to set pies and pasties into the oven with the sacred leaves of the Bible? This is but a fetch of imperious Melancholy and Hypocriticall superstition, that un∣der pretense of being more holy would prove more
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Tyrannicall, and leave the understanding of man free in nothing at all, but bring in a philosophy too, Iure Divine! And I can further demonstrate to you (be∣side what I have intimated from the transcendency of the Scripture, and high scope and aim thereof) that the Scripture teacheth no secret or principle of Philo∣sophy, of which there is any doubt amongst men in their wits. For either (as where it seems to speak ex professo of any such things) it do's it so obscurely that men rather father their own notions fetch'd from else∣where, upon the Scripture; or else if it speak more plainly and litterally, yet it being allow'd by all sober men as well Jews as Christians, (as it is indeed undeni∣ably evident from the passages themselves in Scripture) that it speaks so ordinarily according to the rude and vulgar use & apprehension of men, there can be no de∣ciding collections in matters of Philosophy safely ga∣thered out of it. Though I will not deny but that some Philosophick truths may have an happy and use∣ful illustration and countenance from passages in Scri∣pture; and their industry is not to be vilified that take any pains therein. But I do not believe that any man that has drove the proper use of the Scripture home to the most full and most genuine effect of it in himself, but will be so wise and so discreet, that he will be ashamed in good earnest to allow any such Philosophick abuse of it. But questionless the Scripture is the beginner, nourisher and emprover of that life and light which is better then all the Philosophy in the world. And he that stands in this light, the firmer and fuller he is possessed of it, he is the more able to judge both of Nature, Reason, and Scripture it self. But he that will speak out of his own rash heat, must needs run the hazard of talking at randum. And this I make the bolder in charity to pronounce, because I
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observe that the reverentiall abuse, and religious mis∣application of the holy Writ to matters of Philoso∣phy, for which it was not intended, do's in many well-meaning men eat out the use of their Reason, for the exercise whereof Philosophy was intended. And hence so much spurious and fantastick knowledge mul∣tiplies now adayes, to the prejudice of mans under∣standing, and to the intangling him in vain and groundlesse imaginations, fortuitously sprung up from uncircumspect Melancholy, dazled and stounded with the streamings and flashes of Its own pertinacious fancy: Which sometime is so powerful as to over-master the Melancholist into a credulity, that these flarings of false light in his dark Spirit are not from himself, but from a Divine Principle, the Holy Ghost. And then bidding a due to Reason, as having got some Principle above it, measures all truth merely by the greatnesse and powerfulnesse of the Stroke of the Phantasme. What ever fills the imagination fullest, must be the •ruest. And thus a rable of tumultuary and crasse representations must go for so many Reve∣lations, and every heaving up by an Hypochondria∣call flatulency must be conceited a rapture of the Spi∣rit; they professing themselves to receive things im∣mediately from God, when they are but the casuall figurations of their anxious fancy, busily fluttering a∣bout the Text; which they alwayes eye (though they dissemble it) as Hauks and Buzzards, flie they never so high, have their sight bent upon the Earth. And indeed if they should not forge their fancies into some tolerable suteablenesse with the letter of the Scri∣pture, they would never be able to believe themselves, or at least to beget belief in others, that they are inspi∣red: And so that high conceit insinuated into them by that wonderfull yet ordinary imposterous power of
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Melancholy would fall to nothing, and they appear not so much as to themselves either Prophe•s or in∣spired. But this I have touched elsewhere. I will let it go. Onely let me cast in thus much: That he that mis-believes and layes aside clear and cautious reason in things that fall under the discussion of Reason, up∣on the praetence of hankering after some higher prin∣ple, (which a thousand to one proves but the infatu∣ation of Melancholy and a superstitious hallucinati∣on) is as ridiculous as if he would not use his natu∣rall eyes about their proper object till the presence of some supernaturall light, or till he had got a pair of Spectacles made of the Crystalline Heaven, or of the Coelum Empyreum, to hang upon his Nose for him to look through. The truth is, He that layes aside Rea∣son, casts away one of the most Soveraign Remedies against all melancholick impostures. For I conceive it would be very hard for men either to be deluded themselves, or to delude others by their conceited in∣spirations, if they would expect that every Revelation should be made good either by sound Reason, or a pal∣pable and conspicuous Miracle. Which things if they were demanded of the inspired people when they come to seduce, surely they would sneak a way like the com∣mon Fidlers, being asked to play a Lesson on the Or∣gans, or on the Theorbo.

Observation 20. Pag. 28, 29.
In the former page you could not part till you had made God and Nature mysteriously kisse. In this, you metamorphize Mercury and Sulphur into two Virgins, and make the Sun to have more Wives then ever Solomon had Concubines. Every Star must have in it, Vxor Solis. But what will become of this rare
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conceit of yours, if the Stars themselves prove Suns? And men far more learned then your self are very inclinable to think so. But now he has fancied so ma∣ny Wives, he falls presently upon copulation helter skelter, and things done in private betwixt Males and Females, &c.

Verily, Anthroposophus! if you had but the pati∣ence to consider your own Book seriously, and exa∣mine what Philosophick truth you have all this while delivered since your contemning of Aristotle's defini∣tion of Nature, Form, and Soul; you shall find in stead of his sober description from the proper opera∣tions and effects of things, nothing but a dance of foolish and lascivious words: almost every page be∣ing hung with Lawns and Tiffanies, and such like Ta∣pestry, with black Shadowing hoods, white Aprons and Peticoats, and I know not what. And this must be a sober and severe Tractate of Anima Abscondi∣ta. As if the Soul were dressed in womans apparell, the better to be concealed, and to make an escape. And to as much purpose is your heaps of liquorsome Metaphors, of Kissing, of Coition, of ejection of Seed, of Virgins, of Wives, of Love-whispers, and of silent Embraces, and your Magicians Sun and Moon, those two Universall Peers, Male and Female, King and Queen Regents, alwayes young and never old; what is all this but a mere Morris-dance and May-game of words, that signifie nothing, but that you are young, Anthroposophus! and very sportfull, and yet not so young but that you are marriageable, and want a good wife, that your sense may be as bu∣sie as your fancy about such things as those, and so peradventure in due time, the extravagancy of your heat being spent, you may become more sober.

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Observation 21. Pag. 30.
Lin. 8. It is light onely that can be truly multiply∣ed. But if you tell us not what this light is, we are stil but in the dark. I doe not mean whether Light be a Virgin or a Wife, or whose Wife, or what clothes she wears, Tiffanies or Cobweblawns, but in proper words what the virtue and nature of it is. Whether Corpus or Spiritus, Substance or Accident, &c. But, Anthroposophus! you doe not desire at all to be under∣stood, but please your self onely to rant it in words, which can procure you nothing but the admiration of fools. If you can indeed doe any thing more then ano∣ther man, or can by sound reason make good any more truth to the World then another man can, then it is something; if not, it is a meer noise and buzze for chil∣dren to listen after.

SECT. III.
22. Certain notable Quotations of Eugenius his out of Scripture and other writers. 23, He presages what ill acceptance his high mysteries will have with the School-Divines. 24. He acknowledges the Scriptures obscure and mystical. 25. Some Philosophers that have attain'd to the Ternarius, could not for all that obtain the perfect Medicine; there being but six Atuhors he ever met with that understood that mystery fully. 26. That this Me∣dicine transformes the body into a glorified state, and that the material parts are never seen more.
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The divine Spirit swallowing them into Invisibi∣lity. 27. He complains how ready the world will be to boy him out of countenance for his presumption in so high mysteries, especialy the reverend Doctors, who, he says, sustain their gravity on these two crutches, pretended Sanctity and a Beard. 28. He advises us not to tamper with this Theomagical Medicine rashly. 29. Adding a monition out of the Poet. 30. That the Spirit whereby a man becomes magically wise & a lawful worker of miracles, is the Christi∣an Philosophers stone and the white stone. 31. He en∣treats the Reader not to mistake him as if he had as yet attain'd to this stone, because God is no debtor of his. 32. He only affirmes himself to be an Indicatour of it to others, as a Mercury to a traveller on the way. 33. And that if you could show him one good Christian capable of the secret, he would show him an infallible way to come by it.

Observation 22. Pag. 31.
FRom this 31 page to the 41, you have indeed set down the most couragious and triumphant testi∣monies, and of the highest, and most concerning truth that belongs to the soul of man, the attainment where∣of is as much beyond the Philosophers stone, as a Dia∣mond is beyond a peble stone. But the way to this my∣stery lies in a very few words, which is, a peremptory & persistent unraveling & releasing of the Soul by the power of God, from all touch and sense of sin and cor∣ruption. Which every man by how much the more he makes it his sincere aim, by so much the more wise and discreet he will appear, and will be most able to judge what is sound and what is flatuous. But to deal plain∣ly
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with you, my Philalethes! I have just cause to suspect that there is more wind then truth as yet in your writings. And that it is neither from reason nor from experience, that yon seem to turn your face this way; but high things and fiery and sonorous expressi∣ons of them in Authors, being sutable to your Youth∣fulnesse and Poetical phansie, you swagger and take on presently, as if, because you have the same measure of heat, you were of the same fraternity with the highest Theomagicians in the World. Like as in the story, where the Apples & Horsdung were caryed down to∣gether in the same stream, the Fragments of Horsdung cryed out, Nos poma natamus. Pardon the homely∣ness of the comparison. But you that have flung so much dirt upon Aristotle, and the two famous Uni∣versities, it is not so unjust if you be a little pelted with dung your self.

Observation 23. Pag. 42.
Lin. 12. I know some illiterate School-Divines, &c. He cannot be content to say any thing that he thinks is magnificently spoken, but he must needs trample upon some or other by way of triumph and ostentation, one while clubbing of Aristotle, another while so pricking the Schoolmen, and provoking the Orthodoxe Divines, that he conceits they will all run upon him at once, as the Iews upon the young Martyr St. Steven, and stone him for his strange mysteries of his Theomagick stone. Truly, Anthroposophus! there are some good things fall from you in your own style, and many cited out of considerable Authors, but you do so soil and bemar all with your juvenile immora∣lities and Phantastries, that you lose as much in the one a you get in the other.

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Observation 24. Pag. 44.
Lin. 4. The Scripture is obscure and mystical, &c. And therefore say I, Philalethes! a very uncertain foundation to build a Philosophy on; but indeed such a mystical Philosophy as you would build, may be e∣rected upon any ground, or no ground, may hang as a castle in the air.

Observation 25. Pag. 45.
Lin. 3. I never met in all my reading but with six Authors, &c. But how do you know that these six did perfectly understand the Medicine, and this stu∣pendious mystery, unlesse you understood it perfectly your selfe? So that you would intimate to the world that you doe perfectly understand it.

Observation 26.
Lin. 25. After this the material parts are never more to be seen. This is the nature of the Medicine then, not to rectifie a visible body but to destroy it. Like the cure of the head-ake, by cutting off the neck. Death indeed will cure all Diseases. But you will say this is not death, but a change or translation. Nor the other a medicine, but Spiritus medicus. So that in multitude of words you doe but obscure knowledge.

Observation 27. Pag. 46.
Lin. 5. Boy me out of countenance, &c. Here Phi∣lalethes
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is mightily well pleased to think that one of his greenness of yeers should arrive to this miraculous ripenesse and maturity of knowledge in the most hid∣den mysteries of Theosophy. And comparing him∣selfe with the Reverend Doctors, finds the greatest dif∣ference to be this, that they indeed have more beard, but he more wit. And I suppose he would intimate unto us, that they have so little wit that they know not the use of their own limbs. For if he make their beards their crutches, they cannot scape going on their heads, as if they were not inverted but rightly postu∣red plants, or walking Stipites. In good truth you are a notable Wagg, Philalethes!

Observation 28.
Lin. 10. Let me advise thee, I say, not to attempt any thing rashly. And I commend your wit, Anthro∣posophus! in this point. For you are so wary of putting your finger into the fire, that like the Monkey you will rather use the Cats foot then your own, as you will evidently show anon.

Observation 29.
Lin. 22. Orandum est ut sit mens sana in corpore sa∣no. Keep your self there Philalethes! 'Tis a great deal better peece of devotion then that of Augustine, A Logic â libera nos Domine.

Observation 30. Pag. 48. 49.
Lin. 22. This is the Christian Philosophers Stone, And, this is the white Stone. Which you, Philalethes!
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have covered over with so much green mosse, that you have made it more hidden then ever before. Ha∣ving little will, and lesse power to show it, but in all likelyhood a great purpose of ostentating your self.

Observation 31. Pag. 49.
Lin. 10. But Reader! be not deceived in me, I am not a man of any such faculties, &c. I warrant you, Anthroposophus! I am not so easily deceived in you. You have walked before me in very thin transparent Tiffanies all this while; or, if you will, danced in a net. I suspected you from the very first that you would prove so good and so wise as you now plainly professe your self. But that you are no better then you are, you say is because God is no debtor of yours. Why! do's God Almighty run so much in some mens Ar∣rears that he is constrain'd to pawn to them that pre∣cious Jewell, or to give them the White stone, to quit scores with them? How far is this from Popery, Phi∣lalethes! that you seem elsewhere so much to dis∣claim?

Observation 32.
Lin. 13. I can affirme no more of my self, &c. Right! Philalethes! Right! Your fancy was never so happy as in transfiguring your self into a Wooden Mercury, that points others the way which it self knows not, nor can ever goe, but stands stock still.

Observation 33.
Lin. 18. Shew me but one good Christian, &c. Why!
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then it seems Philalethes! that you are no good Chri∣stian your selfe, and uncapable of the secret you are so free to impart to others. Or it is your discretion to attempt nothing your selfe rashly, but as I said before to doe as the Ape or Monkey, take the Cats foot to rake the Chesnut out of the fire.

SECT. IV.
34, He speaks here of the natural coelestial Medicine more ordinary then the former, which after the mid∣dle Nature-fire is sublimed per Trigonum & Cir∣culum and the Terra media, which is betwixt the Unarius and Binarius, is separated from the Magi∣cal compounded Earth, becomes the true Petra Cry∣stallina, a bright Virgin Earth, Terra Maga in aethe∣re clarificata, carying in its belly Wind and Fire; to which if you unite the Heaven in a triple proporti∣on, applying a generative heat to both, they will at∣tract from above the Star-fire of Nature, and thus you shall have gloriam totius mundi, & fugiet à te omnis obscuritas. 35. Though the law of Nature be infallible in it self, yet God can repeal in particular what he has enacted in the general. 36. Eugenius his slight ground of Faith, which is the hope or de∣sire that what we believe might be true. 37 Certain moral instructions of his to his student of Magick. 38. His salutation of the river Yska from whom he pretends to have learned many virtues. 39. He walks all night long by this river side a stargazing. 40. He endeavours to make his mind as cleer as Yska's Crystalline streams. 41. Admires the lownesse of his banks. 42. As also their homely cloathing, one and the same all the yeer long. 43. He
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learns a lesson of Simplicity from hence. 44. Is transported in beholding the pure type of piety in the River. 45. Is astonished at the benignity of his streams, they inriching those shoars that infringe their liberty by keeping them in their channel. 46. He takes instruction from the River to swim up to Heaven in his tears, as the River runs down to the Sea, but expresses himselfe so obscurely, that he seems to suppose the River to run to Heaven to show him the way thither.

Observation 34. Pag. 50.
HE tells us here an obscure AEnigmatical story of attaining the Natural coelestial Medicine, and that without any retractation, as if he himself had been a potent and successeful Operatour in the Mysterie. But let me once more take notice of the fondness of this affected obscurity in words, that no man be any whit taken with that sleight of imposture, and be∣come guilty of that passion of fools, causeless admirati∣on. For the most contemptible Notion in the World, may be so uncertainly and obscurely set out by univer∣sal and hovering tearms taken from Arithmetick and Geometry which of themselves signifie no real thing, or else from the Catachrestical use of the terms of some more particular and substantial Science, that the dark dresse thereof may bring it into the creditable suspici∣on o• proving some venerable mystery; when as, (if it were but with faithfulness and perspicuity discovered and exposed to the judgement & free censure of sober men) it would be found but either some sorry incon∣•iderable vulgar truth, or light conjectural imagina∣tion, or else a ghastly prodigious lie. But say in good
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sadnesse, Philalethes! is not all this that you tattle in this page, a mere vapour and tempestuous buzz• of yours, made out of words you meet in Books you understand not? and casuall fancies sprung from an heedlesse Brain? Is it any thing but the activitie of your desire to seem some strange mysterious Sophist to the World; and so to draw the eyes of men after you? Which is all the Attraction of the Star-fire of Nature you aim at, or can hope to be able to effect. Did your Sculler, or shittle Skull ever arrive at that Rock of Crystall you boast of? Or did you ever, sa∣ving in your fancie, soil that bright Virgin Earth? did your eyes, hands, or Experience ever reach her? Tell me what Gyant could ever so lustily show you Lin∣coln-Calves, or hold you up so high by the eares, as to discover that Terra Maga in AEthere Clarifica∣ta. Till you show your self wise and knowing in effect, give me leave to suspect you a mere ignorant boaster from your Airy unsettled words. And that you have nothing but fire and winde in your Brains, what ever your Magicall Earth has in its belly.

Observation 35. Pag. 51.
Lin. 6. He can repeal in particular. Now, An∣throposophus! you make good what I suspected, that is, that you do not tell us any thing of this coelestiall naturall Medicine, of your own Experience. For you being conscious to your self of being no good Chri∣stian, as you confessed before, and God having not given so full a charter to the Creature but he may in∣terpose and stop proceedings, surely at least you had so much wit, as not to try where there was so just cause of fear of frustration and miscarriage. So that
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you go about to teach the World what you have not to any purpose learned your self.

Observation 36.
Lin. 27. And who is he that will not gladly be∣lieve, &c. A most rare and highly rais'd notion. You resolve then that holy expectancy of the Saints of God concerning the life to come, into that fond kind of credulity and pleasant self-flattery, Facilè credi∣mus quod fieri volumus, and yet you seem to unsay it again toward the end of this Period. And we will permit you, Anthroposophus! to say and unsay, to do and undo; for the day is long enough to you, who by your Magick and celestiall Medicine are able to live till all your friends be weary of you.

Observation 37. Pag. 52.
In this whole page Anthroposophus is very Gno∣micall and speaks Aphorisms very gracefully. But as morall as he would seem to be, this is but a prelude to a piece of Poetick ostentation, and he winds him∣self into an occasion of shewing you a Paper of ver∣ses of his. If you do but trace his steps, you shall see him waddle on like some Otter or Water-Rat and at last flounce into the River Vsk. Where notwith∣standing afterward he would seem to dresse himself like a Water-Nymph at those Crystall streams, and will sing as sweet as any Siren or Mermaid. And truly, Master Anthroposophus, if that heat that en∣forces you to be a Poet, would but permit you in any measure to be prudent, cautiously rationall, and wise, you would in due time prove a very considerable
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Gentleman. But if you will measure the truth of thing• by the violence and overbearing of fancy and windy Representations, this Amabilis insania will so intoxicate you, that to sober men you will seem little better then a refined Bedlam. But now to the Poetry it self.

Observation 38. Pag. 53.
'Tis day my Crystall Vsk, &c. Here the Poet begins to sing, which being a sign of joy is intimation enough to us also to be a little merry. The four first verses are nothing else but one long-winded good-morrow to his dear Yska. Where you may observe the discretion and charity of the Poet, who being not resaluted again by this Master of so many virtues, the River Vsk; yet learns not this ill Lesson of clownish∣nesse, nor upbraids his Tutor for his Rustici•y. Was there never an Eccho hard by to make the River seem affable and civil, as well as pure, patient, humble, and thankfull?

Observation 39.
Lin. 17. And weary all the Planets with mine eyes. A description of the most impudent Star-gazer that ever I heard of, that can outface all the Planets in one Night. I perceive then, Anthroposophus! that you have a minde to be thought an Astrologian as well as a Magician. But me thinks, an Hill had been better for this purpose then a River. I rather think that your head is so hot and your minde so ill at ease, that you cannot lie quiet in your bed as other Mortals do, but you sleeping waking are carryed
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out, like the Noctambuli in their dreams, and make up a third with Will with, the Wisp, and Meg with the Lanthorn, whose naturall wandrings are in marish places, and near Rivers sides.

Observation 40.
Lin. ultima. Sure I will strive to gain as clear a minde. Which I dare swear you may do at one stroke, would you but wipe at once all your fluttering and fortuitous fancies out of it. For you would be then as clearly devoid of all shew of knowledge, as Ari∣stotle's Abrasa Tabula, or the wind, or the flowing, water of written characters.

Observation 41. Pag. 54.
Lin. 3. How I admire thy humble banks! Why! be they lower then the River it self? that had been ad∣mirable indeed. Otherwise I see nothing worthy ad∣miration in it.

Observation 42.
Lin. 4. But the same simple vesture all the year. This River Yska then I conceive, according to your Geography, is to be thought to crawl under the AE∣quatour, or somewhere betwixt the Tropicks. For were it in Great Britain or Ireland, certainly the pal∣pable difference of seasons there, would not permit his banks to be alike clad all the year long. The fringe of reed and flagges, besides those gayer Ornaments of herbs and flowers, cannot grow alike on your Yskaes banks all Summer and Winter. So that you
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fancy him more beggerly then he is, that you may afterward conceit him more humble then he ought to be.

Observation 43.
Lin. 5. I'le learn simplicity of thee, &c. That's your modesty, Anthroposophus! to say so: For you are so learned that you may be a Doctour of Simpli∣city your self, and teach others.

Observation 44.
Lin. 9. Let me not live, but I'm amaz'd to see what a clear type thou art of pietie. How mightily the man is ravished with the contemplation of an ordi∣nary Water-course! A little thing will please you I perceive, as it do's children, nay amaze you. But if you be so much inamoured on your Yska, do that out of love that Aristotle did out of indignation, embrace his streams, nay drown your self, and then you will not live. You are very hot Antroposophus! that all the cool air from the River Yska will not keep you from cursing your self, with such mortall impreca∣tions.

Observation 45.
Lin. 11. Why should thy flouds enrich those shores, &c. Why! how now! what's the matter, Philale∣ehes• that you and the banks no better agree? If you could so soon fall into the River as you fall out with the shore, you would to your great honour like Ari∣stotle, be drown'd indeed. In good truth you are a very sickle-headed Gentleman, Philalethes! thus in a mo∣ment
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to reproach what you did so highly admire even now, viz. the banks of Yska, which you then made so simple, so humble, and so innocent, that you fancied them an eximious pattern of those virtues for your self to imitate. But now all of a sudden, your Poeticall rapture I suppose spoiling your memory, you sling durt on those banks that before you looked on as holy ground; and accuse them of injury, ty∣ranny, and cruelty against the streams of your belo∣ved Yska. But any ordinary Advocate may easily make good the Banks part against the River. For I say unto thee, O thou man of light imaginations! that the banks of Yska are just, in keeping but the ground that ever was allotted them; but where ever they have lost ground, it is the violence and the usur∣pation of the injurious River, that has worn them a∣way and overrunne them in an hostile manner. Be∣sides I say, that the Banks aforesaid are very charita∣ble and pious as well as just, and do not return re∣venge for injury. For whereas the aforesaid River, both by open force and secret undermining, doth day∣ly endeavour to wear away and destroy the Banks, and encroach upon the neighbouring ground, (which attempt is as sottish and foolish as unjust, for so the River would be lost and drunk up by the Earth; Nor can there be any River without banks, more then an Hill without a valley;) yet notwithstanding all this provocation of the River aforesaid, the Banks are so patient, charitable, and of so Christian-like nature, that they preserve in being and good plight their in∣veterate enemy, and keep up that carefully and stout∣ly in its right form and perfection, that daily practises and plots their expected destruction. What do you answer to this, Philalethes! All that virtue and pie∣ty which you fancie in the River, you see now plain∣ly
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growing upon the Banks. So that you may gather it, if you have a minde to it, without wetting your finger.

Observation 46.
Lin. ultima. Help me to runne to Heavon, as thou dost there. Ha, ha, he! Why! I pray thee, do's Yska run to Heaven there? No it runs down into the Sea, as the Devils and the Heard of Swine did; whi∣ther I hope you do not desire to go for company, Phi∣lalethes! But I wonder you being a whole day and a night on the banks of Yska, that no fish not so much as a small Stittlebag has leapt up into your fan∣cie all this time. You might have learned many rare lectures of Moralitie from them too. As for example; in stead of due vigilancie you might learn from the fishes eyes never closing, to sleep and dream waking; or in stead of being mute as a fish when you have no∣thing to say, to say nothing to the purpose, or to ex∣presse your self as unintelligibly as if you had said nothing. But these and the like accomplishments na∣turally growing in you, you wanted no outward em∣blems to reminde you of them, so that I hold you here excusable. But before I leave this rare Poem of yours, let me onely take notice thus far: that your Leyitie and Fantastrie do's much eclipse the glorious suspicion of your Theomagicall Facultie. For it will seem very incredible that so light and fancifull a Poet should ever prove a grave and wonder working Magician.

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SECT. V.
47. He recommends the walking and meditating by River sides and in Groves. 48. He discredits all modern writers saving Michael Sendivow and the Authour of Physica Restituta. 49. He taxes that incomparable Philosopher Des-Cartes, as if he wrote nothing but whimzies. 50. He conceits him∣self to have been strutting on the stage all this while in the view of the World, but at last gives place to the next Actor. 51. He suspects some Pe∣ripatetick will take the next turn, whom he pro∣fesses he shall at all adventures receive with scorn and laughter. 52. He takes it for granted that whosoever shall presume to write against him, will but prove himself a fool, and professes that the best way to convince such is to neglect them.

Observation 47. Pag. 55. l. 1.
THis is the way I would have thee walk in &c. viz. In Majestick Groves, and Woods, and by River sides. You are not then I perceive, an Anti-Peripatetick, Philalethes! though you be so violent an Anti-Aristotelean. But with such pompous gra∣vitie to give such slight Precepts as of walking by Ri∣vers sides and in Groves, &c. argues more then enough of moping distempered Melancholie in you, and that it may, if you take not heed, make you indulge so much to delusive fancie, that you will be never able to set your eye again upon solid Reason, but range and ramble like one lost in a Wood.

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Observation 48.
Lin. 9. To trust no Modern but Mich. Sendivow, and Physica Restituta. How mightily are these two heholden to you, Philalethes, if you had but so ma∣ny grains of judgement and discretion as to make you able to passe sentence upon any considerable Authour? But what do you mean by trusting? To give faith and credence to them as to Holy Writ? If so, I perceive you have also a Triplicity of Bibles, viz. the usuall one, Mich. Sendivow, and Physica Restituta. But we ordinary Mortalls hope to be as wise and as happy with our single one, as you with your advantage of three.

Observation 49.
Lin. 13. With the Whymzies of Des-Cartes. This young man has as little manners as wit, to speak thus reproachfully of the most admirable Philosophie, that ever yet appeared in these European parts since Noahs floud. Certainly, Anthroposophus! you are set upon it to demonstrate your self a pure pitifull No∣vice in Knowledge, whom onely Ignorance makes so magisterially confident. But for thy want of due sa∣gacitie, I will take thee by the Nose, O Philalethes, with this one Dilemma, which shall pinch thee as hard, as St. Dunstan did the roring Fiend with a red-hot pair of tongs. Thus; Either thou hast read Des Cartes his naturall Philosophie, or thou hast not. If thou hast read it, thus to contemn it and term it a Whymzie, (whereas there was never any thing pro∣posed to the World in which there is more wary, sub∣til, and close contexture of reason, more coherent uni∣formitie
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of all parts with themselves, or more happy conformitie of the whole with the Phaenomena of Nature) is to proclaim to all that understand Des-Carte's Philosophie, that thou hast a very broken, im∣patient, and unsteddie Apprehension, or a very dull and slow wit, and such as cannot discern when it light∣eth upon what is most exactly rationall, and when not. But what is most exactly rationall, as his Philo∣sophie indeed is to any competent Judge of Reason, is least of all whymzicall; but whymzies more natu∣rally lodge in their brains that are loosly fancifull, not in theirs that are Mathematically and severely wise. So that this reproach returns upon thine own addle pate, O inconsiderate Philalethes! But if thou didst never read his Philosophie, and yet pronouncest thus boldly of it; that is not onely impudently uncivil, but extremely and insufferably unjust.

Observation 50. Pag. 56.
Lin. 6. I will now withdraw, and leave the Stage to the next Actour. Exit Tom Fool in the play.

Observation 51.
Lin. 8. Some Peripatetick perhaps whose Sic pro∣bo shall serve me for a Comedie. So it seems if a man had seriously argued with you all this time, you would onely have returned him laughter in stead of a solid answer, and so from Tom Fool in the Play, you would have become a naturall Fool. But we have had the good hap to prevent you, & in stead of Sic probo's, to play the Fool for company, that is, to answer a fool according to his foolishnesse, that is, to rail and
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call names, and make ridiculous. Into which foolish postures as often as I have distorted my self, so often have I made my self a fool that you may become wise, and amend that in your self, that you cannot but dislike in me. Nor would I ever meddle with you, as merry as I seem, but upon this and the like serious in∣tentions. And must needs reckon it amongst the rest of your follies, that you expected that some severe Peripatetick would have laid batterie against you, with syllogisme upon syllogisme, and so all confuted your Book, that there had not been left one line en∣tire. But assure your self Philalethes! the Peripate∣ticks are not altogether given so much to scolding, that they will contest with a shadow, or fight with the winde. Nor so good marks-men, as to level at a Wilde-goose flying. You are so fluttering and unset∣tled in your notions, and obscure in your terms, that unlesse you will be more fixt, and sit fair, and draw your Wood-cocks head out of the bush or thicket, they will not be able to hit your meaning. Which I suspect you will never be perswaded to do, that you may keep your self more secure from Gunshot.

Observation 52.
Lin. 13. And the best way to convince fools, &c. How wise Anthroposophus is to what is evil! Here he makes sure of calling him Fool first who ever shall attempt to write any thing against his Book. But it is no such mischief, Anthroposophus! to be called fool. The worst jest is when a man is so indeed. And if you had but the skill to winnow away all the chaffe of humorous words and uncouth freaks and fetches of fancie, and affected phrases, which are neither the signes nor causes of any wisdome in a man; all
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that will be left of this learned discourse of yours, will prove such a small mo•tie of that knowledge your presumptuous mind conceited to be in her self, that you would then very sadly of your own accord (which would be your first step to become wise in∣deed) confesse your self a Fool. And this I under∣stand of your knowledge in Nature. Now for that in Moralitie; It is true, you often take upon you the gravitie to give precepts of life, as especially in the 52 and 55 pages of this Tractate. But you do it so conceitedly, with such chiming and clinching of words, Antithetal Librations, and Symphonical rap∣pings, that to sober men you cannot but seem rather like some idle boy playing on a pair of Knick-knacks to please his own ear and fancie, then a grave Mora∣list speaking wholesome words and giving weightie counsel of life and manners. So that the best that you do, is but to make the most solemn things ridi∣culous, by your Apish handling of them. I suppose because a Religious Humour has been held on in some Treatises, with that skill and judgement, or at least good successe, that it has won the approbation and applause of most men; an eager desire after fame has hurried you out upon the like attempt. And though you would not call your Book Religio Magi∣ci, as that other was Religio Medici; yet the favour∣able conceit you had of your own Worth, made you bold to vie with him, and in imitation of that, you have stuffed your Book here and there with a tuft of Poetrie, as a Gammon of Bacon with green hearbs, to make it tast more savourly. But all will not do, poor Magicus! For now your designe is discovered, you are as contemptible as any Juggler is before him that knows all his tricks aforehand. And you run the same fortune that AEsop's Asse, who ineptly endea∣vouring
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to imitate the Courtship and winning carri∣age of his Masters fawning and leaping Spaniel, in stead of favour found a club for his rude perform∣ance. But you, Magicus! do not onely paw ill-favouredly with your fore-feet, but kick like mad with your hinder feet, as if you would dash out al the Aristoteleans brains. And do you think that they are all either so faint-hearted, that they dare not, or so singularly moralized, that Socrates-like, if an Asse kick they will not kick again? Yes certainly next to your self they are as like as any to play the Asses, and to answer you kick for kick, if you will but stand fair for them. But you h•ve got such a Magicall sleight of hiding your head, and nipping in your buttocks, like the Hob-gobling that in the shape of an Horse dropt the children off one by one off his tail into the water, that they cannot finde you out nor feel whereabout you would be, else certainly they would set a mark upon your hinder parts. For if I, my dear Eugenius! who am your brother Philale∣thes, am forced out of care and judgement to handle you so seeming harshly and rigidly as I do, what do you think would become of you, si incideres in ipsas Belluas, if you should fall amongst the irefull Ari∣stoteleans themselves? would you be able to escape a∣live out of their hands? Wherefore good brother Philalethes! hereafter be more discreet, and endea∣vour rather to be wise then to seem so, and to quit your self from being a fool, then to fancy the Aristo∣teleans to be such.

FINIS.

Upon the Authors generous designe, in his Observations, of discovering and discounte∣nancing all mysteriously masked non-sense, and imposturous fancy; the sworn Enemies of Sound-Reason and Truth.
NObly design'd! let not a Sunday sute
Make us my Gaffer for my Lord salute:
Nor his Saints cloathes deceive, O comely dresse!
Like to a Long-lane Doublets wide excesse.
How like a Sack it sits? Less far would fit,
Did he proportion but his garb and Wit.
The Wight mistakes his size, each wiseman sees
His mens Fourteens shrink to a childrens Threes.
Fill out thy Title, man! think'st thou canst daunt
By pointing to the sword of Iohn of Gaun•?
Thou canst not wield it yet; an emptie name
Do's no more feats then a meer painted flame.
Rare Soul! whose words refin'd from flesh and blood
Are neither to be felt nor understood:
But if they sacred be, because not sense;
To Bedlam, Sirs! the best Divines come thence.
Your new-found Lights may like a falling Starre,
Seem heavenly Lamps, when they but Gellies are.
An high swoln Wombs bid fair, but time grown nigh
The promis•d birth proves but a Tympanie.

Should Superstition, what it most doth fly,
Seek to take shelter in Philosophy?
And Sacred Writ, sole image of sure Truth,
Be pull'd by th'nose by every idle youth?
And made to bend as seeming to incline
To all the fooleries hee'l call Divine?
Find out the Word in Scripture, all is found
Swarms of Conceits buzze up from this one ground.
As if the Cobler all his trade would show
From mention made of Gibeon's clouted shooe:
Or Bakers their whole Art at large would read
From the short record of the mouldy Bread.
Is this the spirit? thus confus'dly mad?
Antipodal to him the Chaos had?
Fell boistrous blast • that with one Magick puff
Turns the Schools Glory to a Farthing snuff•
And 'gainst that ancient Sage the World adores,
Like to a Lapland whirlewind loudly roares.
Yet from thy travels in the search of things,
Ridiculous Swain! what shallow stuff thou bring'st!
What cloaths they wear, Vails, Tiff'nies, dost relate,
Thou art Philosophies Tom Coriat.
Else brave Des Cartes, whom fools cannot admire,
Had nere been sindg'd by thy wild Whimzie fire.
Poor Galen's Antichrist• though one Purge of his
Might so unmagick thee as make thee wise.
Physick cures phrenzie, knows inspired wit
O•t proves a meer Hypochondriack fit.
Agrippa's Cur sure kennels in thy weamb,
Thou yelpest so and barkest in a dream;
Or if awake, thou dost on him so fawn,
And bite all else that hence his Dog th'art known.
But I will spare the lash, t'was my friends task
Who rescuing Truth engag'd put on this mask.
Thus do's some careful Prince disguised goe,

To keep his Subjects from the intended blow;
Nor could his lofty soul so low descend,
But to uncheat the World; a noble end!
And now the night is gone, we plainly find
'Twas not a Light but rotten Wood that shin'd.
We owe this day (my dearest friend) to thee,
All eyes but Night-birds now th' Imposture see.
I. F.

FINIS.

THE SECOND LASH OF Alazonomastix; Conteining a Solid and Serious REPLY to a very uncivill Answer to certain OBSERVATIONSUpon Anthroposophia Theomagica, And Anima Magica Abscondita.

Proverb. He that reproves a scorner, gets to himself a blot.

Ecclesiastic. Be not proud in the device of thine own mind, lest thy soul rend thee as a Bull.

LONDON, Printed by I. Flesher. 1655.



To his singularly accomplish'd friend Mr. Iohn Finch.
SIR,
I Know that your modesty can∣not but be much amazed at this unexpected Dedication. But the causes once discovered admira∣tion will cease. Eugenius, as children use to do (who fallen into the dirt by their own folly, commonly make a lament∣able complaint to their Father or Mo∣ther against them that help them up, as if they had flung them down) has told a hideous story to his Tutour, as if I had soyl'd him and dirtied him, when as I onely reminded him that he lay in the dirt, which in this case is all one as to help him out of it. Wherefore, that I might hold up the humour every way of opposing my Adversary (as I


must for fashion-sake call him) he making his false and grievous Accusa∣tion to his Tutour, I thought fit to di∣rect this my true and pleasant Reply to you my Pupil.

But if I should say, that this is so much as the least part of what moved me to this act, I confesse I should dissemble. For to say nothing of the Noblenesse of your Descent, which is held ordi∣narily a sufficient ground for such a re∣spect as this: it is indeed the Sweetness and Candour of your nature, your great Civility and Pleasantnesse of Conversation, your miraculous Profi∣ciencie in the choicest parts of Philo∣sophy, your egregious Perspicacity and kindly Wit, your generous Free∣dome of spirit, and true Noblenesse of mind (whom the surly countenance of sad Superstition cannot aw, but the lovely face of Virtue, and radiant Beauty of Divine Knowlodge do


most potently command to approve and prosecute what is really best) that has extorted this Testimony of love and respect from

Your affectionate friend to serve you,

ALAZ. PHILALETHES.


To his learned Friend Alazonomastix Philalethes, Upon his Reply.
DEar friend! as oft as I with care peruse
This strange Reply of thine, I cannot chuse
But wonder at thy rare Complexion,
Where Wit, Mirth, Iudgement thus conspire in one.
Where Inspirations which make others mad,
Unto thy Reason, grace and credit add;
And Passion, that like dungeon dark, do's blind,
Proves the free fiery chariot of thy mind.
Go surly Stoick, with deep furrowed brow,
Natures rude Pruner, that wilt not allow
What's right and good. Here nought too much appears,
Unlesse on thy shorn head thine own large ears.
Since Mastix merry rage, all now believe
Passion's an arm of man, no hanging sleeve.
Brave generous Choler! whose quick motions pierce
Swift like the lightning through the Universe;
And in their hasty course as on they fare,
Do clense mens souls of vice, as that, the Air.
Noble Contention! which like brushing winds
That sweep both Land and Sea, doth purge our minds.

It is thy free and ever-active fire
That rooseth men from snorting in the mire:
And roos'd, thy aw makes them to tread the stage
In a due Order and right Equipage.
Thy hiss more dreadfull is then wounding sting
Of serpents teeth, that certain death do bring:
And conscious souls start at thy laughter loud
As at a Thunder-clap broke from a cloud,
When Jove some flash of world rebuking wit
Lets flie, and faultlesse Gods all laugh at it:
For so ridiculous vice in ugly guize
Is made the sport and pastime of the wise.
But when fond men themselves to their own face
Have their foul shapes reflected, the disgrace
And conscience of deformity so stings
Their gauled minds, and fretted entrayls wrings,
That even grown wild with pain in vain they tire
Themselves to shake off this close searching fire;
That sticks like burning pitch, and makes them wood
As Hercules wrapt in the Centaurs blood.
This is thy fate, Eugenius! Thy odde look
Reflected to thy self from Mastix book
Has so amaz'd thee with the sudden glance,
That all thy wits be struck into a trance.
But Grief and Vengeance thou dost so revive,
As if to them alone thou wert alive.
And onely takest care with language foul
To soil his person, that would clense thy soul.

Thus the free chearfull Sun with his bright rayes
Shines upon dunghils, fens, and foul high wayes,
While they return nought back for his pure beams
But thick unwholsome mysts and stinking steams.
But yet at length near his Meridian height
Dispells the Morning-fogs by fuller light.
Go on brave Mastix then, those noysome fumes
Thy first appearance rais'd, sure this consumes.
Johannnes Philomastix.


To the Reader.
Reader,
IF thou hast perused my Observations upon the two Magicall Treatises of Eugenius Philalethes, and his Answer to them, I do not doubt but that seeming and personated sharpnesse of mine will now seem just nothing at all, to thy indifferent judge∣ment; if thou compare it with his unchristian bitter∣nesse and inhumane railings against me. For mine own part, I was so farre from all malice, that if I have trespassed, it was from that over-pleasantnesse of temper I was in, when I wrote: which made me perhaps too heedlesse how much I might displease the party with whom I dealt, being secure of the truth of that saying in the Poet,

—Ridentem dicere verum
Quis vetat?—
But I find that I have so nettled him unawares, as if his senses lay all in his backside, and had left his brains destitute: Which hath made him very ill-fa∣vouredly wrong both himself, the Rod, and the Cor∣rectour. Verily if I had thought his retentive faculty had been so weak, I would not have fouled my fingers with medling with him. Nor would I now lay on this second gentle lash (I seeing the disposition of my young Eugenius) if it were not as well to wipe my self, as to whip him. I could have been content to have been represented to the world as ignorant of Na∣ture and Philosophy, as he hath by his bold and very bad speeches to me, endeavoured to represent me. For I am not bound in conscience to know Nature, but my self; nor to be a deep Philosopher; but to be and approve my self a plain and honest Christian. This

forced me to this Reply. But I thought fit to cast in also, what will prove me no lesse a Philosopher then no Rayler.
But I am not contented to justifie my self onely from the successe; but to thy further satisfaction, I shall not think much to acquaint thee with my pur∣poses and principles. The truth is, Eugenius, though he be so highly conceited of himself, that he thinks his worth is great enough to contract my envy; yet he is so little in my eyes, and my self (I thank God) so little envious, that in this regard he is not at all considerable to me. But my drift was to whip that Genius & dispensation he is for the present under, upon Eugenius his own back, as having deserved to be an instrument to so good an end. And I perswade my self there are those parts and that freedome in some measure already in this young Philosopher, that in a little time he will say that he deserved this correction, and will laugh for company at the merry punishment, and will freely confesse that I am his brother Philale∣thes, a lover of him and of Truth: And that he that whipped the money-changers out of the Temple, is as much the first Mastix, as Adam the first Magicus. But for the present he is under that dispensation which is as pernicious to the nature of man and Christiani∣ty it self, as it is, to the sober and wise, ridiculous. For he is even in a feaverish thirst after knowledge and fame, and (as he hath made it manifest to t•e world) more after fame by farre then knowledge. Wherefore, I observing in his Theomagicall tumour and loftinesse nothing but confident misapplying or conceitedly in∣terpreting the holy Writ, (the drift and meaning whereof is farre above all naturall Philosophy or tricks of Magick whatsoever) and then sleighting and scorning those that, I dare say, he doth not under∣stand,


who yet are very rationall and intelligible, I mean such as Des Cartes: and down-right rayling against the Aristoteleans and Galenists, who yet have many sober and usefull truths amongst them: More∣over, I noting a melancholick, flatuous and heedlesse fancy to appear in his writings, clothed with sonorous and amazing terms, such as might rather astonish the ignorant, then teach the docible: Adde unto all this, that it is too too common a disease now adayes to be driven by heedlesse intoxicating imaginations under pretense of higher strains of Religion and supernatu∣rall light, and by bidding adieu to sober reason and a purified minde, to grow first fanaticall, and then Atheisticall and sensuall, even almost to the height of abhorred Gnosticisme: I thought in good earnest it was very fit, out of my indignation to Foolery and Imposture, out of my detestation to Beastlinesse, A∣theisme, and Sensuality, and lastly out of that ho∣nourable respect and tender affection I bear to the Plainnesse and Simplicity of the life of Christ and true divine Wisdome, to take occasion to write in such a manner as I did, and to discountenance that Genius, that defaces the new appearing face of Christendome, and is a reproach to that just liberty that belongs to all those that seek after God in sincerity and truth.

I but you will say, This indeed may be well meant: Bu• what title or right have you to intermed∣dle, or to correct another mans follies? This is usur∣pation and incivility. To this may many things be answered. It is true; The inward rottennesse of men hath made very smooth laws to themselves in favour of their own follies and vices, and mutuall connivence at what is bad is held the best manners; as if man∣kind pack'd and conspired together to keep wicked∣nesse warm in her usurped seat by never taking the bold∣nesse


to examine her title. But to judge more chari∣tably of the generations of men, I think it is more out of self-love, then love to her, and out of a tender dotage toward this imposturous knot of Atoms, our earthly Personality. Which yet I thought I was more favourable to here, having to do onely with fi∣ctitious names, not any known Person. But it doth not follow, Though this be the mode, that therefore it is the right fashion: and Quando ego non curo tu∣um, nè cura meum, is but surlily said of the old man in the Comedy. That's the principle of Cain, Am I my brothers keeper? There was more divine genero∣sity in that noted Cynick, then in civility it self, when it is so soft that it will not prick nor hurt vice. He would not spare to speak where things went amisse, however he sped for it; tanquam Pater omnium, tan∣quam Frater omnium, as they report of him. And I think I have sped ill enough for my but seasonable speaking.

But if this be to appeal to too high a law, I an∣swer further, that Eugenius had forfeited his privi∣ledges he might claim by the laws of civility, he him∣self having so uncivilly dealt with others that are a∣bove all comparison better then he. I but you'll say, Why do you make him so ridiculous in your reprov∣ing him? Single reproof had been enough. I answer, I did not make him ridiculous, but found him so. He put on himself the pyde coat, and I onely drew aside the curtain. Did not the Thracian Girl rightly laugh at Thales when she see him stumble into a ditch, whiles he was staring up at the starres? And are not they as ridiculous, that pretend to Seraphick mysteri∣ous Theories, and are not masters yet of common sense and plamest truths of Christianity? That stum∣ble at the threshold, or rather grope for the dore as


the blinded Sodomites? All the faculties of man are good in themselves, and the use of them, is at least permitted to him, provided that with seasonable cir∣cumstances and upon a right object. And I have made it already manifest that my Act was bounded with these cautions.

I, but there is yet something behind unsatisfied. Though Eugenius be ridiculous; yet is it not ridicu∣lous, for one that pretends so much to the love of Christianitie as your self, so publickly to laugh at him? That pinches indeed. Why! am I so venera∣ble a Personage? I am sure I never affected to seem any such to the world yet. I wear no sattin ears, nor silk cap with as many seams as there are streaks in the back of a lute. I affect neither long prayers, nor a long beard, nor walk with a smooth-knobbed staff to sustain my Gravity. If I be a Precisian, as Eugeni∣us would have me, it must be from hence, that I pre∣cisely keep my self to the naked truth of Christiani∣ty. As for Sects, Ceremonies, superstitious Humours, or specious garbs of Sanctimony, I look on them all, if affected, as the effects of Ignorance, or masks of Hypocrisie. And thus am I 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, a Gen∣tleman in querpo, a meer man, a true man, a Christi∣an. One that never thinks himself so great, as to grow unweildy and unready to put himself into any shape or posture for a common good. And I prethee, Reader, why may not such a Christian as this laugh? Or tell me, Who is he in Heaven that laughs them to scorn, that has the opposers of the reigne of Christ in derision? God is not a man that he should laugh, no more then cry or repent, as much as concerns thē Divine Essence it self: But as God is in a Deiform man, he may be said to laugh, and he can be said to laugh no where else. And if he might, yet that


which is attributed to God, though 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, cannot mis-become a good man. Thus Rea∣der, is your argument again•• laughing as solidly ar∣gued as sportingly laughed out of countenance; and affected austerity made ridiculous by the plain and unaffected reasonings of Eugenius his merry Adver∣sary, but

Your sober and serious friend

Alazonomastix Philalethes.


To Eugenius Philalethes.
Eugenius,
THe reason why you heard not from me sooner, is because yours arrived to my hands later then I exspected. It was so hot, it seems, that none of my acquaintance had so hard and brawny fingers as to indure the dandling of this glow∣ing coal till its conveyance where you would have it. It is a brand from that fire, that hath not onely cal•i∣ned, but so vitrif•ed Eugenius that it hath made him transparent to all the world. All men may see now through his glassy sides how unevenly and disorderly his black heart beats and pants; they need not feel his pulse to find his distemper•AEsops fair water but a little warmed hath proved a very •ffectuall Emet•ck, for thee, O Philalethes, and hath made thee vomit up thy shame and folly in the sight of the world, as his Accu•er did the figs before his Master. So that that which you falsly supposed me to have e•deavoured, you have fatally brought upon your self, above the desire, I should think, of your bitterest enemies; I am sure be∣yond the expectation of me that am your reall friend. I did not endeavour your personall disgrace, but the discountenancing of that, which in my judg•ment is the disgrace of your person and many other persons be∣sides. And now that you have done me the greatest despight you can imagine, and show'd your malice to the full• so that in the court of Heaven and accord∣ing to the doctrine of Christ you are no better then a murderer, yet for all this I am benignly affected t• you still, and wish you as much good, as I do those that never endeavoured to provoke me. And really I speak it from my soul, if it lay in my power to do it,


you should find it. But for the pres•nt, I could in my judgement do nothing more proper, considering all cir∣cumstances, then what I have done, and still do, in advertising you of what is for the best. And truly, (looking upon you in some sort as a Noctambulo, one that walks in his sleep) that Book which hath proved so mischievous a scandal, I intended onely for a stumble to wake you, (that you might shrugg and rub your eyes, and see in what a naked condition you are,) not a stone of offense for you to fall upon and hurt you. But you are fallen and hurt, and yet do not awake, as if Mercuries rod, or I know not what other force of Magick, still held fast your eyes. You onely mutter against the present disturbance, as one shogged while he dreams upon his pillow, but you still sleep. You cry out as one cramp'd in your bed, but your closed sight can not discern whether it be a friend in sport or for better purpose, or whether it be your foe to torture you. Awake Eugenius! Awake, Behold, it is I, your sportfully troublesome friend, or what you will in due time acknowledge, though in this present drowsie hu∣mour you puff at it, and kick against it,

Your carefull and vigilant brother

ALAZONOMASTIX PHILALETHES.

Page 165
¶ The second Lash of Alazonomastix.
SECT. I.
Mastix sports himselfe with Eugenius his Title-page [The man-mouse taken in a trap, &c.] Taxes his indiscretion for dedicating so foul a paper to his grave Tutor. Sleights his friends Poetry. Apolo∣gizes for his own liberty of speech. Vindicates him∣selfe from that unjust aspersion of being uncivil or immoral by answering to every particular passage alledged against him out of his Observations. De∣clares the true causes of his writing against Eugenius.

ANd now, Eugenius, if it be as lawfull to speak to one asleep, as it was for Diogenes to talk to Pillars and Posts that are not in a capacity of ever being awake: Let me tell you (to begin with your Title-page first) that you doe very much undervalue and wrong your selfe, that you being a Gentleman of that learning and parts that you are, you will thus poorly condescend to that contemptible trade of a Mous-catcher: And that you are not content to abuse your self onely, but you doe abuse Scripture too, by your ridiculous applying St. Pauls fighting with beasts at Eph•sus, to your com∣bating with, and overcoming of a mouse. Truly, Phi∣lalethes, I think, they that have the meanest opinion of you, would give you their suffrage for a taller of∣fice
Page 166

then this, and adjudge you at least worthy of the place of a Rat-catcher.

As for your Epistle Dedicatory, I conceive you have a very indulgent Tutor, else you would not be so bold to utter so foul language in his hearing. You have a very familiar friend of him, if you can without breach of civilitie thus freely vomit up your figs into his bosome.

But for P. B. of Oxenford his verses, I will only set this one verse of Virgil's against them all;

Qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carmina Maevi.
Thus you sre how gladly I would rid my selfe of all your foul language and fooleries. I have nimbly run through these. I shall leap over the rest as so ma∣ny dirty ditches. Your slovenly speeches and uncivil raylings, you must seek an answer for them in Bil∣lingsgate or amongst the Butchers;

Nobis non licet esse tam disertis.
But where you bring any thing that bears any shew of reason with it, I will (though it be far below me to answer so foul a mouth) return what in the judgment of the sober, I hope will not fail to be approved as sa∣tisfactorie.
Pag. 4, and 5.
In these pages yo• accuse me of very high incivility and immorality. And it is an accusation worth the answering, especially being set off with that great ag∣gravation of being committed against one that is a Christian. But verily, Philalethes. I doe not meet with any man now that takes you to be such, after this specimen, as I call it, of your Kainish and un∣christian dealing with me, whom indifferent judges
Page 167

will not think to have deserved the hundredth part of this revenge. I tell thee, Eugenius, there is no Christi∣an but who is partaker of the holy unction, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, of the divine Nature, and of that pure and peaceable love. But if thou thinkest thy meer Bap∣tisme will make thee a Christian (while in the mean time thy heart is possessed of uncleannesse and hatred, which the law of Christ interprets murder) the heathen Poet is able to shew thee thy grosse errour in this point;

Ah nimium faciles! qui tristia crimina caedis
Flumine â tolli posse putatis aquâ,
Oh fools and credulou•! that think you may
By water wash sad guilt of blood away.
But to the accusation and charge it selfe which is this, That I say you are Simon Magus-like, a Heat∣ed Noddle, a Mome, a Mimick, an Ape, a meer Animal, a Snail, a Philosophick hog, a Nip-crust, a Pick-pocket, a Niggard, Tom fool with a devils head and horns, one that desires to be a Conjurer more then a Christian. This is the first part of your charge. But before I answer to the particulars of it, or pro∣ceed to the other, these two things are to be noted; First, that you have drained all the sharper humour that was but thinly dispersed through the body of my book into two narrow places, that you may make them appear like two angry boyls, or malignant push∣es in the bodie which if it were done in the soundest bodie that is there would be the like seeming distem∣per. Se•ondly, it is to be considered that I did profess that I would put my self in some seeming posture of harshnesse and incivilitie, that I might shew you your own real miscarriage to others, by imitating and per∣sonating the same toward your self. But the thing that I contend for now, is, that this persona•ed incivilitie
Page 168

and harshnesse of mine is nothing so harsh and uncivil as you doe here make it, as will appear from the cau∣ses or occasional circumstances of this hard language you have thus culled out. For to begin with the first; You having a designe to seem no small thing in the World, and also pretending to Magick; how easily• how naturally does it fall into the mind of a man, to compare you to Simon Magus in these regards? And if you did not walk as all touchy proud men doe, as it were with their skins flean off, such a light thing as this would not smart nor hurt you so sore.

Heated noddle. That's the onely mischief of it that it is true, and your flame and smoke is as conspicuous as that of AEtna and Vesuvius:

—Quis enim celaverit ignem?
Enitet indicio prodita flamma suo.
For who can fire conceal? whose flame shoots out
And shining shews it self to all about.
As your heat and fire has sufficiently done, especially in this your last against me, to your great credit; I am sure to mine, for you have writ so, as if you intended to save me from all suspicion of being mistaken in you.
A Mome, a Mimick, and an Ape. I onely said that you were more like those then Aristotle: And if you distrust my judgement, I pray you aske any bo∣dy else.

And to call you a meer Animal occasionally in our dispute, Whether the world be an Animal or no; what rudenesse is there in it? worse then this is held no incivility between those two famous Phlosophers Cardan and Scaliger, whom your Magisterialnesse has made bold to use at least as coursely as I seem to have used you. But you would it seems have the whole Monopoly of reprehension to your selfe. And
Page 169

much good may it do you Eugenius! My generous li∣berty of speech has been so well entertained by •ome in the world that I shall take up that prudential reso∣lution for the future, Si populus decipi vult, decipiatur.

A Snail. But that a poor snail should stick in your stomach so, Philalethes, I much wonder at it. Cer∣tainly as fair as you bid for a Magician, yet I perceive you will be no Gypsie by your abhorrencie from this food.

But a Philosophick Hog: There's a thwacking con∣tumely indeed. Truly you are young, Eugenius: and I pray you then please your selfe, if you had rather be called a Philosophick pig. But then you would be afraid that some Presbyterian may click you up for a tithe-pig, and eat you. (This is a pig of your own sow, Philalethes, a piece of your own wit.) But being a Philosophick pig you may be secure: That's too tough meat for every countrey Presbyter. But I pre∣thee Phil. why art thou so offended at the term of Philosophick Hog? The meaning is onely, That thou wouldst pretend to see invisible essences, as that crea∣ture is said to see the wind. Dos Christ call himselfe thiefe, when he says his coming shall be as a Thiefe in the Night? Peace for shame Caviller, peace.

Niggard and Nip-crust, viz. of your Theomagi∣cal notions. That's all I said, and I am such a Nip∣crust and Niggard of my speech, that I will say no more.

Pick-poket, To this I answer fully at Observ. 26. where I shew thee that there being no suspicion at all of any such fact in you, it makes the conceit harmlesse and without scurrility. And as little scurri∣lous is that which follows, viz. Tom fool with the Devils head and horns. For my speaking of it in such
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such sort as I did, implies onely that I look upon you, as a merry wag, playing the child and fooling behind the hangings, and putting out your head by fits, with a strange vizard to scare or amaze your familiar com∣rades and companions. And I pray you what bitter∣nesse is in all this? But you have made the foulest, ugliest vizard for me in this your book, and put it on my head, to make the world believe that I were both Fool and Devil incorporate into one person. And this you have done out of malice, Magicus, and implaca∣ble revenge. But I wish you had some black bag or vail, to hide your shame from the world: That is the worst I wish you.

One that desires to be a Conjurer more then to be a Christian: If you like not Conjurer write Exorcist. That's all I would have meant by it. There is a Con∣juring out as well as Conjuring up the devil. And I wish you were good at the former of these, for your own sake.

But now to apply my Emollient to the other boyl you have made in the body of my little book. You have made the sharp humour swell into this second bunch by your unnatural draining. A fool in a play, a Iack-pudding, a Thing wholly set in a posture to make the people laugh, a giddy phantastick Conjurer, a poor Kitling, a Calfshead, a Pander, a sworn enemy to Reason, a shittle scull, no good Christian, an Otter, a water-Rat, Will with the wisp, and Meg with the Lan•horn, Tom fool in a play, a natural fool.

A fool in a play, a Iack-pudding, &c. Let the Reader consult the place if there be not a seasonable occasion of reminding you of your over much light∣nesse, you taking so grave a task upon you as to be a publick professor of Theomagicks.

A giddy fantastick Conjurer. No Conjurer there
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but a Phantastick. I admit in you the lesser fault to discharge you of the greater. Is this to revile you, or befriend you?

A poor Kitling. Poor Kitling! Take it into thy lap, Phil. and stroke it gently: I warrant thee it will not hurt thee. Be not so shie, why thou art akin to it, Phil. by thy own confession. For thou art a Mous-catcher which is neer akin to a Cat, which is also a catcher of mice: and a Cat is sire to a Kitling.

A Calfs-head. I did not call thee Calfshead. Eu∣genius, but said that no Chymist could extract any substantial visible form out of thy brains, whereby they may be distinguished from what lies in a Calfs∣head. And there is a vast difference in simply calling you Pander, and calling you Pander to Madam Na∣ture; who, you confesse, complains of your prostituti∣ons.

A sworn enemy to Reason. Why, Doe you not pray against reason, A logicâ libera nos Domine? And I think any body would swear you are a real ene∣my to that you pray against, unless your devotions be but a mockerie.

A shittle scull. My words were, Did your sculler or shittle skull. I hope you do not think, that I meant your skull was so flue and shallow that boies might shittle it, and make ducks and drakes on the water with it, as they do with oyster-shells: Or that your self was so Magical, that you could row to the crystal rock in it, as witches are said to do on the Seas in Egg∣shells. Excuse me Phil. I meant no such high myste∣ries. It was onely a pitiful dry clinch, as light as any nut-shell: something like that gingle of thine, Nation and Indignation.

No good Christian. In that place you bad us show you a good Christian, and you would &c. There I
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inferre, that (you being at all other times so ready to show your selfe, and here you slinking back) you were conscious to your selfe that you were no good Christian.

Otter and Water-Rat. I said onely that you did waddle on toward the river Vsk like an Otter or Water-Rat.

Will with the wisp, and Meg with the Lanthorn. I do not call you Will, nor Meg: but tell you, If you walk by River sides and Marish places, you may well meet with such companions there as those, to take a turn or two with you.

Tom-fool in a play. Why, is not your name Tom? They tell me it is Tom Vaughan of Iesus Colledge in Oxford. Well then Tom, Do not you make your self an Actour in a play? For these are your words: I will now withdraw and leave the stage to the next Actour. So here is Tom in the play. But where is the fool? say you. Where is the wisest man? say I. My selfe saies Tom Vaughan I warrant you. Why, then say I, Tom Vaughan is Tom fool in the play. For the fool in the play is to be the wisest man, according to the known proverb.

But how will ye wipe off that aspersion of calling me natural fool? says wise Tom. That indeed I confess impossible, because it was never yet laid on. I said on∣ly, if you had answered the Aristoteleans Sic probo's, with meer laughter, you would have proved your selfe a natural fool. But he hath not done so, nor is Tom Vaughan a natural fool, I dare swear for him. He has too much natural heat to be a natural fool. Bless thee from madness, Tom, and all will be well.

But there is yet something else behind, worse then all this: That all these terms of incivilitie must pro∣ceed from spight and provocation. And this you place
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betwixt the two bilious tumours you have raised, as a ductus communis, or common chanel to convey the sharp malignant humour to swell them to the full. It is true, my words run thus; That I have been very fair with you, and though provoked, &c. But this was spoken in the person of an Aristotelean, whom your scornfull usage of their Master Aristotle you may be sure did and does provoke. But in good truth, Philalethes, you did not provoke me at all with your book, unlesse to laugh at you for your Pue∣rilities. I, but you have an argument for it, that I was provoked, viz. Because your Theomagicall discourse has so out done or undone my Ballade of the Soul (as you scornfully call it) that my ignorance in the Platonick Philosophy has now appeared to the world. O rem ridiculam! Thou art a merry Greek indeed, Philalethes, and art set upon't to make the world sport. Thou dost then professe openly to all the world; that thou hast so high a conceit of thy An∣throposophia, that it may well dash me out of counte∣nance with my Philosophicall Poems; and that through envy, I being thus wounded, I should by my Alazonomastix endeavour for the ease of my grief, to abate thy credit. What a Suffenus art thou in the esteeming of thy own works, O Eugenius? and of what a pitifull spirit dost thou take Alazonomastix to be? I do professe ex animo, that I could heartily wish that my self were the greatest Ignaro in the world, upon condition I were really no more igno∣rant then I am: So little am I touched with precel∣lency or out-stripping others. (But thou judgest me to have wrote out of the same intoxicating Principle that thou thy self hast, that is, vain glory.) Or how∣ever if there was any thing of that wh•n I wrote those Poems, which, I thank God, if any, was very
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little; yet long ago (I praise that power that inabled me) I brought it down to a degree far lesse then thy untamed Heat for the p•esent can imagine possible. But you'll say, This is a mysterie above all Magick. What then was the Impulsive of writing against your book? I have told you already, but you are loth to be•ieve me: Mere emnity to immorality and foolery. But if it were any thing that might respect my self, it was onely this; That you so carelesly and confi∣dently adventuring upon the Platonick way, with so much tainted heat and distemper, that to my better composed spirit you seemed not a little disturbed in your fancie, and your bloud to be too hot to be suf∣ficiently rectified by your brain, I thought it safe for me to keep those Books I wrote out of a spirit of so∣bernesse from reprochfull mistake: For you pretend∣ing the same way that I seem to be in, as in your bold and disadvantagious asserting, The soul to pre-exist, and to come into the bodie open-ey'd as it were, that is, full fraught with divine notions; and making such out-ragiously distorted delineaments of that 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as the Stoicks call it, the enlivened Universe, with sundry other passages of like grossnesse, I was afraid that men judging that this affectation of Platonisme in you, might well proceed from some intemperies of bloud and spirit; and that, there no body else besides us two dealing with these kinds of notions, they might yoke me with so disordered a companion as your self: Reasoning thus with themselves; Vaughan of Iesus in Oxenford holds the pre-existencie of the Soul, and other Platonick Paradoxes, and we see what a pickle he is in: What think you of More of Christ's, that writ the Platonicall Poems? Nay, what think you of Platonisme it self? Surely, it is all but the fruit of juvenile distemper and intoxicating heat. But I say, it
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is the most noble and effectuall Engine to fetch up a mans mind to true virtue and holinesse, next to the Bible, that is extant in the world. And that this may not suffer, I have suffered my self to observe upon you what I have observed, my young Eugenius. This is true, my Friend, to use your own phrase.

SECT. II.
Mastix provoked by the unworthy surmises of Eugeni∣us, gives the world a tast of that Spirit that actu∣ated him when he wrote his Poems. Eugenius his abuse of Des-Cartes the greatest personall Impul∣sive to Mastix to write his Observations. The Di∣vine accomplishments of the Soul farre beyond all naturall knowledge. What is true Deiformitie. A vehement Invective against the Deified rout of Ranters and Libertines. Mastix magnifies the do∣minion of his own minde over the passions of the body, preferring it before the Empire of the world, and all the power of Magick that Eugenius so bankers after.

ANd now that the World may know that I have not wrote like some bestrid Pythonick or hack∣neyed Enthusiastick, let them look and read under what light I sat and sung that divine Song of the Soul.

But yet, my Muse, still take an higher flight,
Sing of Platonick Faith in the first Good,
That Faith that doth our souls to God unite
So strongly, tightly, that the rapid stood
Of this swift flux of things, nor with foul mud
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Can stain, nor strike us off from th' Vnity
Wherein we stedfast stand, unshak'd, unmov'd,
Engrafted by a deep Vitalitie.
The prop and stay of things is Gods Benignity.
Als is the rule of His Oeconomie,
No other cause the creature brought to light,
But the first Goods pregnant fecundity:
He to himself is perfect-full delight.
He wanteth nought. With his own beams bedight
He glory has enough. O blasphemy!
That envy gives to God, or sowre despight.
Harsh hearts! that feign in God a Tyranny
Vnder pretense to encrease his soveraign Majesty.
When nothing can to Gods own self accrew
Who's infinitely happy; sure the end
Of His Creation simply was to shew
His flowing goodnesse, which He doth outsend
Not for himself: for nought can Him amend,
But to his Creature doth his good impart.
This infinite Good through all the world doth w•nd,
To fill with Heavenly blisse each willing heart:
So the free Sun doth light and liven every part.
This is the measure of Gods providence,
The Key of knowledge, the first fair Idee,
The eye of Truth, the spring of living Sense,
Whence sprout Gods secrets, the sweet mystery
Of lasting life, eternall Charity, &c.
And elsewhere in my Poems.
When I my self from mine own self do quit,
And each thing else; then all-spreaden love
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To the vast Vniverse my soul doth fit,
Makes me half equall to all-seeing Iove.
My mighty wings high stretch'd then clapping light,
I brush the stars and make them shine more bright.
Then all the works of God with close embrace
I dearly hug in my enlarged arms,
All the hid pathes of heavenly love I trace,
And boldly listen to his secret charms,
Then clearly view I where true light doth rise,
And where eternall Night low-pressed lies, &c.
This, Philalethes, is that lamp of God in the light whereof my Reason and Fancie have wrought thus many years. This is that true Chymicall fire that has purged my soul and purified it, and has crystallized it into a bright Throne and shining Habitation of the divine Majesty. This free light is that, which having held my soul in it self for a time; taught me in a ve∣ry sensible manner •hat vast difference betwixt the truth and freedome of the Spirit, and anxious impo∣stures of this dark Personalïty and earthly bondage of the body. This is my Oracle, my Counsellour, my faithfull Instructer and Guide, my Life, my Strength, my Glory, my Joy, my communicated God. This is that heavenly flame and bright Sun of Righteousnesse, that puts out the light, and quenches the heat of all worldly imaginations, and desires whatsoever. All the power and knowledge in Na∣ture, that is, all the feats and miraculous perform∣ances done by Witches, Magicians, or Devils, they be but toyes and tricks, and are no solid satisfaction of the soul at all, (yea, though we had that power up∣on lawfull terms) if compared with this. And as for divine knowledge, there is none truly so called, with∣out
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it. He that is come hither, God hath taken him to his own familiar friend, and though he speak to others aloof off in outward Religions and Parables, yet he leads this man by the hand, teaching him in∣telligible documents upon all the objects of his Provi∣dence; speaks to him plainly in his own language; sweetly insinuates himself, and possesses all his facul∣ties, Understanding, Reason, and Memory. This is the Darling of God, and a Prince amongst men, farre above the dispensation of either Miracle or Prophesie. For him the deep searchers and anxious soliciters of Nature drudge and toyl, contenting themselves with the pitifull wages of vain glory, or a little wealth. Poor Giboonites! that how wood and draw water for the Temple. This is the Temple of God, this is the Son of God, whom he hath made heir of all things, the right Emanuel, the holy mysterie of the living members of Christ Hallelujah.

From this Principle which I have here expressed, have all those Poems I have wrote had their Origi∣nall: and as many as are moved with them aright, they carry them to this Principle from whence they came. But to those, whose ignorance makes them contemn them, I will onely say to them what our Sa∣viour said to Nicodemus; The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but knowest not from whence it comes, nor whither it goes.

But I am afraid I have stood all this time in a little too high a station for thee, my Philalethes: I de∣scend now and come a little nearer to thee. And now I tell thee further, that thy rash and unworthy abuse of Des-Cartes did move me to write so as I did, more then any personall regard else whatsoever. For I love the Gentleman for his excellent and transcen∣dent naturall wit, and like his Philosophy as a most
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rationall, coherent, subtil piece, and an Hypothesis accurately and continuedly agreeing with the Phaeno∣mena of Nature. This is he whom thou callest my fellow fool, to thy own great disparagement. But this is he that I call the wisest Naturalist that ever came to my hands. And having not had the good hap to light on such a rare piece of my own invention, I thought it was the best office I could do the world to bestow my judgment & censure of his. And so now you will say I am become so great a Cartesian that I begin to think but meanly of Platonisme. A wise in∣ference! as if divine and naturall knowledge were inconsistent. I tell thee no, Philalethes: Nor am I become cold to my own Poems. For I say that that divine spirit and life that lies under them, is worth not onely all the Magick that thou pretendest to, but all that thou art ignorant of beside, yea, and Des-Cartes his Philosophy to boot. •I say it is worth all that a thousand times told over. Des-Cartes Philo∣sophy is indeed a fine neat subtil thing, but for the true ornament of the mind bears no greater proporti∣on to that Principle I told you of, then the dry bones of a snake made up elegantly into a hatband, to the royall clothing of Solomon. But other naturall Philo∣sophies in respect of Des-Cartes his, are even lesse then a few chips of wood to a well erected Fabrick. But I say that a free divine universalized spirit is worth all. How lovely, how magnificent a state is the Soul of man in, when the life of God inactuating her, shoots her along with himself through Heaven and Earth, makes her unite with, and after a sort feel her∣self animate, the whole world, as if she had become God and all things? This is the precious clothing and rich ornament of the mind, far above reason or any o∣ther experiment. And in this attire thou canst not but dance to that Musick of the Sibyll.

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〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉,
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉,
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
I am Iehovah, (well my words perpend)
Clad with the frory sea, all mantled over
With the blue Heavens, shod with the Earth I wend,
The stars about me dance, th' Air doth me cover.
This is to become Deiform, to be thus suspended (not by imagination, but by union of life, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, joyning centers with God) and by a sen∣sible touch to be held up from the clotty dark Persona∣lity of this compacted body. Here is love, here is freedome, here is justice and equity in the superessen∣tiall causes of them. He that is here, looks upon all things as one, and on himself, if he can then mind himself, as a part of the whole. And so hath no self-in∣terest, no unjust malicious plot, no more then the hand hath against the foot, or the ear against the eye. This is to be godded with God, and Christed with Christ, if you be in love with such affected language. But you, O ye cages of unclean birds, that have so be god∣ded your selves, that you are grown foul and black like brutes or devils, what will become of you? O you sinks of sinne! You that have heretofore follow∣ed religion to excuse you from reall righteousnesse and holinesse, and now have found a trick to be abo∣minably wicked without any remorse of conscience. You are Gods and Goddesses every bit of you, and all actions in you divine. He leads you up into the bed of a whore, and uncases you both for the unclean Act. And when you tell obscene stories in a rapture, you are caught up into God. O you foul mouthes! You blebs of venery, you bags of filth! You disho∣nour
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of Christendome and reproach of men! Is not all this righteously come upon you, because you never sought after Religion, as a thing within you, holy, and divine; but as an excuse to save you from wrath, and yet to remain in your sinnes? But that cannot be: You are in the fewell of wrath while you are in your sinnes, and that fewel will be set on fire some time or other. But that you may be secure of wrath you say there is no sinne, but that it is onely a conceit and a name. Is it not a sinne to be lesse happy ten thousand times then God would have you? Doth not both Sense and Reason discover to you, (I am sure it doth to others) that you walk in the wayes of Hell and death? But you are still secure, you your selves are as much God as any thing else is, and so you may make your Hell as favourable to your selves as you please; But O you fools and blind! I see you cannot; but you are entangled with the cords and snares that the divine Nemesis hath laid for the wicked in all the parts of the world. But you are not yet any thing moved, O ye dead in trespasses and sinnes! For there is no God, say you, more then a dog or a horse is God. Behold, O ye forlorn wretches and miserably mistaken! Behold, He is come down to you: nay, He is ever with you, and you see him not. Ask of him, and He shall answer you. Demand of him, and He shall declare unto you, not in obscure words or dark sayings, not in aenigmaticall speeches or parables; but He will speak unto your own reason and faculties which he hath given you: propound therefore unto him why you think the Soul of man is mortal, and why you deny an omnipotent and omniscient God distinct from Nature and particular Beings: pro∣pound unto him, and He will plainly answer you. But alas! alas! your are neither fit to hear, nor able to pro∣pound,
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for you have destroyed those faculties that he hath given you by sinning against the light of them; and now you have drunk out your eyes, you swear there is no Sun in the Firmament: and now you have whored away your brains, you are confident there is no God. O sunk and helplesse generation! how have you sop'd and soaked, overflown and drown'd the highest seat and Acropolis of your soul, that through your sensuality it is grown as rotten and corrupt as a dunghil? You have made your selves as fit to judge of reason, as if your heads were stuffed with wet straw. These things hath the divine Indignation uttered a∣gainst you, but more for reproof then reproach. But your sinne hath made you sottish, and your sottish∣nesse confident and secure. But his anger burns against you; O you false Religionists! and the wrath of God will overtake you when you are not aware: and your shame shall ascend up like the smoke of the bottom∣lesse pit, and your stink shall be as the filthinesse in the valley of the children of Hinnom. This will be the portion of all those that barter away sound reason and the sober faculties of the soul for boisterous words of vanity, and unsetled conceits of Enthusiasts, that ha∣ving neither reason, nor Scripture, nor conspicuous mi∣racle, row down with the stream of mens corruptions, and ripen and hasten the unclean part in man, to a more full and speedy birth of sinne and ungodlinesse. But what's all this to me? saith Philalethes. I tell thee, Phil. I neither wrote before nor do I now write onely for thy sake, but for as many as my writings may reach for their good. Nor am I out of my wits as some may fondly interpret me in this divine free∣dome. But the love of God compelled me. Nor am I at all, Philalethes, Enthusiasticall. For God doth not ride me as a horse, and guide me I know not whi∣ther
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my self; but converses with the as a friend, and speak• to me in such a Dialect as I understand fully, & can make others understand, that have not made ship∣wrack of the faculties that God hath given them, by superstition or sensuality: for with such I cannot con∣verse because they do not converse with God; but one∣ly pity them, or am angry with them, as I am merry and pleasant with thee. For God hath permitted to me all these things, and I have it under the broad seal of Heaven. Who dare charge me? God doth ac∣quit me. For he hath made me full Lord of the four elements, and hath constituted me Emperour of the world. I am in the fire of choler, and am not burned: In the water of phlegme, and am not drowned: In the aiery sanguint, and yet not blown away with every blast of transient pleasure, or false doctrines of men: I descend also into the sad earthy Melancholy, and yet am not buryed from the sight of my God. I am, Philalethes, (though I dare say thou takest me for no bird of Paradise) Incola coeli in terra, an inhabi∣tant of Paradise and Heaven upon Earth: and the white stone is mine, however thou scramblest for the Philosophers stone. (I wish thou hadst them both, that is all the harm I wish thee.) I still the raging of the sea, I clear up the sowring Heavens, and with my breath blow away the clouds. I sport with the beasts of the Earth, the Lion licks my hand like a Spaniell, and the Serpent sleeps upon my lap and stings me not. I play with the fowls of Heaven, and the birds of the Air sit singing on my fist. All the Creation is before me, and I call every one of them by their proper names. This is the true Adam, O Philalethes: This is Paradise, Heaven, and Christ. All these things are true in a sober sense. And the Dispensation I live in, is more happinesse above all measure, then if thou
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couldst call down the Moon so near thee by thy Ma∣gick charms that thou mightest kisse her, as she is said to have kissed Endymion, or couldest stop the course of the Sunne, or which is all one, with one stamp of thy foot, stay the motion of the Earth. All this externall power in Nature were but as a shop of trinkets and toyes, in comparison of what I have de∣clared unto you. And an adulterous generation onely seeks after a signe, or idiots, such as love to stare on a dexterous jugler when he playes his tricks. And therefore they being of so little consideration in them∣selves; I see and am satisfied why miracles are no more frequent in the world. God intends an higher dispensation, and greater happinesse for these later times, wherein Divine Love and Reason, and for their sakes Liberty will lay claim to the stage. For He will as I told you draw us with the cords of a man, not ride us as with a bridle-like a horse, or tug us along like a mad stear in a band. He will sanctifie our in∣ward faculties, and so take possession of the Earth. But that a man may not deplore what is lamentable, or be angry at what is injurious to God or Goodness, or laugh at what is ridiculous, this is not any part of that Law that is made manifest in the Heavenly life, but the arbitrarious precepts of supercilious Stoicks, or surly Superstitionists. For God hath sanctified and will sanctifie all these things. Nor am I at all mad or fanatick in all this, O you unexperienced and un∣wise! For as our Saviour said of his body, Touch me and handle me: so say I of my soul: feel and try all the faculties of it if you can find any crack or flaw in them. Where is my Reason inconsequent or incon∣sistent with the Attributes of God, the common No∣tions of men, the Phaenonema of Nature or with it self? Where is my Fancie distorted, unproportionate,
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unproper? But for the bottome of all these, that, I confesse, you cannot reach to nor judge of, that is di∣vine sense, the white stone, in which there is a name written that none can read but he that hath it. But for the guidance of my reason and imagination, they have so safe a Stearsman, viz. that Divine touch of my soul with God, and the impregnation of my Un∣derstanding from the most High; that judgement and caution have so warily built the outward fabric of words and fancy, that I challenge any man to disco∣ver any ineptitude in them, or incoherencie.
And now verily the serious consideration of these weighty matters hath so composed my mind, that I find it some difficultie to discompose it into a tem∣per childish enough to converse with my young Eugenius. But as high as I have taken my sta∣tion, I will descend, and go lesse my self, to bring him to what is greater. Behold, I leap down as from the top of some white rocky cloud, upon the grassie spot where my Philalethes stands, and I shall now be∣gin the game of my personated Enmitie, or sportfull Colluctation with him.

SECT. III.
Eugenius his skill in Grammar, Rhetorick and Lo∣gick. That an Essentiall definition doth not pretend to set out to us the very naked substance of the thing defined. That the frame of the World is not like the inanimate frame of an house according to the Aristoteleans. Mastix his excuse for the man∣ner of writing against Eugenius, from his want of knowledge of either his name or person. His Fur∣ther justification of himself from the warrantable
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end of his enterprise. His dexterous discovery of the grand folly of his vaunting Adversary, and serious exhortation to him to lay aside his vain af∣fectation of Magick and to become a good Chri∣stian.

Pag. 7. lin. 14.
HIgh swoln words of vanity, I tell you, I have found them in your Ballade. Ballade is a good old English word, from which I abhorre no more then Spencer, or Lucretius from old Latine, who yet was something younger then Tully. Is not the song of So∣lomon called the Ballade of Ballades, in some Church-bibles? Thou art so angry that thou art not able to rail with judgement. But what high swoln words of vanitie are there in that Ballade of mine? Thou art so ignorant, that terms of Art seem Heathen Greek to thee. But for those words that I interpreted for the ignorants sake (you see what care I have of you, O unthankfull Eugenius!) there is an Apologie prefixt that will satisfie the ingenuous, and for others it mat∣ters not.

Pag. 9.
Lin. 15. With a Bull rampant. You bestow upon me many Bulls, Eugenius: But when you are so kind as to give me them for nothing, you may well expect that I will be so thankfull, as to return you a Calf for every Bull I have gratis. Let us begin, &c. And you indeed have done your part already. The sense is, But you indeed have done your part already: What is this but an 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉? But you have I see as lit∣tle skill in Rhetorick as Civilitie. The Calf take
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thee, Phil. or take thou the Calf. There is one to be∣gin thy herd.

Pag. 10.
Lin. 1. What, both Tell-troths? Before thou wast no Rhetorician, now thou art no Logician nor Philo∣sopher, that canst not distinguish betwixt Veritie and Veracitie. Veracitie is enough to make a Tom Tell-troth, though his Narration be false. Hence it is de∣monstrable that two men may be both Tel-troths, though their stories be point-blank contrary to one another. The sense of my words is this; You have told what you thought Aristotle was blameable in: I will now tell what I think you are blameable in. You may be against Aristotle, and I for him, and both with veracitie, though not with veritie.

Pag. 11.
Lin. 2•. Found out some new truth. Yes, I say, there are passages in your book, that imply so much at least. We shall see when we come at them: and I shall shew that you found them before they were lost.

Pag. 12.
Lin. 17. The third project is the same with the first. Why, is to be skilful in Art magick, and to find out new truths all one? It seems then you suppose there are no new Truths to be found out but Magicall ones. Blessed age that we live in! All other arts are brought to their Non plus ultrá. Physicians, Geometricians, Astronomians, Astrologians, Musicians, put up your
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pipes. Claudite jam rivos pueri. There is nothing re∣mains to be done by you. All is perfected. But let me ask you one sober question, Phil. Have you gone through all these Arts and throughly understand them, that you do so boldly pronounce them compleat and perfect? I know Philalethes is not so immodest as to say so; I am sure the world is not so foolishly credulous as to believe so. So that I must conclude, Eugenius, that thou art so outragiously distempered in thy mind, that thou art a weaker Arithmetician then the rude Thracians. They told to foure• Thou art out at three, and must begin again.

Pag. 13.
Lin. 11. How many more syllables in Anthropo∣sophia, then in Antipsychopannychia? Not so many. So that if I had affected to be so Magical as your learned self, the same conceit would have fitted my Title-page. But I begin now to suspect, you are so nimble at comparing, that your Title-page was a kind of Apish Imitation of mine in the first Edition of my Song of the Soul. But wast thou so simple as to think that any body thought better of my book for those hard words in the Frontispice of it? I onely set them there as a wind-mill on a stack of corn, by the clack of it to scare away sparrows and crows, that it might be reserved entire for men. But I perceive for all that, that, thy Rooks bill has been pecking there. But much good may it do thee, Phil. I envy it thee not.

Pag. 15.
Lin. 20. Vim sermonis esse in verbis, &c. I say,
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the force and warrant both of Nouns and Verbs is from their use,

Quem penes arbitrium est, & jus, & norma lo∣quendi.
But if you will have, Orator, to be good and pro∣per: this Epistle of yours must then be no Epistle, though you call it so, but an Oration to the Fratres R. C. which you spoke to them when they were God knows where, and they will answer you God knows when. Verily, Philalethes, thou art a fine fellow to have made an Oratour of in King Midas his time; for he had, they say, very long eares: And so mightest thou have made an Oration before the King in his absence.

Pag. 17.
Lin. 21. A twofold Definition, Accidentall and Essentiall. That's true, Phil. what Freshman but knows that? But how it is to be understood I perceive thou dost not know. I am ashamed that I must be fain to rub up in thee the very first rudiments of Lo∣gick, or rather teach thee them. For couldst thou ever forget what is meant by Accidentall, what by Essen∣tiall? Accidentall is that which may be or not be in a thing, and yet the thing be: As a horse may be a horse, be it black or white. Essentiall is that which so belongs to the thing to which it is said to be Es∣sentiall, that the thing cannot be conceiv'd to exsist without it; Now, say I, these Faculties of Under∣standing, Reason, and Sense are essentiall to the Soul of man, because we cannot conceive a Soul without a power or faculty of understanding, reasoning, &c. And Aristotle has defined a Soul from these. There∣fore would a Peripatetick say, with an Essentiall De∣finition:
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But Eugenius, No: This is but circum∣stantiall, sayes he. Therefore I do inferre, Eugenius, that thou dost dream of knowing the very naked sub∣stance of the Soul; which thou wilt as soon know, as see the wind. And thus I spoke to that that thou must needs mean, if thou meanest any thing: but it is a plain cafe, thou dost not know thy own meaning. But Ari∣stotle doth sufficiently countenance mine, with what he has very luckily let fall somewhere in his Analy∣ticks; 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. And thus is it manifestly true in that sense that you your self meant; That the very essence of any Substance is not to be known, nor is there any such Essentiall Definition. This is as true, Tom. Vaughan, as two and two are foure, though I do not call you Owl for your ignorance, as you do me for my know∣ledge. But we shall have another bout again with this, in your Anima Magica Abscondita.

Pag. 19. to the 24.
To have made the world as a Carpenter, of stone and timber. Thou hast misplaced a comma in the sentence to make a Cavil. Put on thy spectacles, and see if there be any comma before of in my Book. If you understood common sense you could not but un∣derstand, that my meaning is this; That you tax the Pe∣ripateticks for fancying God to have made the world as a Carpenter makes houses of stone and timber. Now pitifull Caviller! But to the point. I say this is a false taxation, Eugenius: For the parts of the world, ac∣cording to the Peripateticks own doctrine, are set in this order they are, from an inward principle of mo∣tion, and their own proper qualities: so that they do as the stones and trees are said to have done at the mu∣sick
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of Orpheus and Amphion, move of themselves. But the stone and timber in the work of a Carpenter, do not move themselves into their places they ought to be, for the building up of an house. But you an∣swer two things to this: First, that the parts of the world do not move themselves: Secondly, that if they do, then they have infusion of life. To the first: Why, do's not any part of the earth move it self down∣ward, if it be in an higher place then is naturall to it, and the aire and fire upward, &c. and this from an inward principle of motion? Nay, is not the very definition of Nature, Principium motûs & quietis, &c. wherefore we see plainly, that according to the Aristoteleans, all to the very concave of the Moon have an inward principle of motion. And for the Heavens themselves, the most sober and cautious of the Peripateticks hold them to be moved from an in∣ward Principle, their Forma informans, as they call it. So that though they do not allow life infused into the world, yet they allow an inward principle of mo∣tion in naturall bodies, which is their Substantiall Forms, by virtue whereof they are ranged in this or∣der as we see; or at least according to which they are thus ranged and ordered. And this is not so dead a businesse as the Carpenters building with stone and timber. But in the second place you say, That if they have this motion from an inward principle, then they have also infusion of life. But do not you see plain∣ly, that (according to the mind of the more sober Peripateticks) they have motion from an inward Principle? Therefore you should have been so farre from taxing them to look upon God as a Carpenter, that you should have concluded rather that they held infusion of life.

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Pag. 24.
Lin. 1. Thou hast abused me basely. Verily, if that were true I should be very forrie for it: For I would not willingly abuse any man living, of what condition soev•r. But the thing has happened unluc∣kily. I read thy Book, I knew not thy person, nor thy name, nor thy nature, further then it was exprest in thy Book, which did not represent it so ill as now I find it. If I had thought my Galenical purge had met with such a constitution, I should have tempered it more carefully: For I delight not in the vexation of any man. The truth is, my scope in writing that Book was laudable and honest, and such as might be∣come a very good Christian, and my mirth and plea∣santnesse of mind much and reall; but the sharpnesse of my style personated, and Aristotelicall; and there∣fore being but affected and fictitious, I felt it not, there was no corrosion at all; but all that was unkind in it, (if you will call that passion unkindnesse) was a certain light indignation that I bore, and ever do bear, against magnificent folly. And there being no name to your Book, I thought I had the opportunity of doing it with the least offence, as meeting with the thing disjoyned and singled from the person. But I ver•ly think I should not have medled at all, if you had spared your incivilities to Des-Carters, whose worth and skill-in naturall Philosophy (be it fate or judgement that constrains me to it, let the world judge) I cannot but honour and admire. He is rayled at, but not confuted by any that I see, in his naturall Philo∣sophy, and that's the thing I magnifie him for. Though his Metaphysicks have wit and strength enough too, and he hath made them good against his opposers.

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Line 21. And assure thy self I will persecute thee, so long as there is ink or paper in England. Assuredly thou wilt not, Philalethes: For why, I am dead al∣ready, taken in thy trap and tortured to death: will not this suffice thee? I am dead, and thou thy self but mortall; wilt thou entertain immortall enmity against me? But how canst thou persecute me being dead? Wilt thou raise my soul up, O Magicus, by thy Ne∣cromancy? and then combate with me over my grave? I hope thou art but in jest, Eugenius: If thou beest not, I must tell thee in good earnest, thy present bit∣ternesse will make thee Simon Magus-like, as well as thy former boasting. O thou confounded and undone thing! how hast thou shamed thy self! Thy vizard is fallen off, and thy sanctimonious clothing torn from about thee, even as it was with the Apes and Monkies, that being attired like men and wearing vizards over their faces did daunce, and cringe, and kisse, and do all the gestures of men so artificially & becomingly, that the Countrey people took them to be a lesser size of humane race, till a waggish fellow that had more wit then the rest, dropt a few nuts amongst them, for which they fell a scrambling so earnestly, that they tore off their vizards, and to the great laughter of the spectatours show'd what manner of creatures they were. O Magicus! do not dissemble before me: For thou dost not know with what eyes I behold thee. Were it not better for thee and all the world beside, to make it their businesse to be really and fully possest of those things that are undoubtedly good and Chri∣stian, nay, indeed if they be had in the right Princi∣ple, are the very buds and branches of the tree of Pa∣radise, the limbs and members of the Divine nature, such as are meeknesse, patience, and humility, discre∣tion, freedome from self-interest, chastity, temperance,
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equity, and the like: is it not better to seek after these things, then to strain at high words and uncertain fla∣tuous notions that do but puff up the mind and make it seem full to it self, when it is distended with nothing but unwholsome wind? Is not this very true, my dear Philalethes?

SECT. IV.
The Confutation of Eugenius his World-Animal from the unmercifull disproportion and ugly dissi∣militude of the parts thereof compared with a true Animal, reinforced and invincibly confirmed.

Pag. 24.
WE are now come to that rare piece of Zoo∣graphy of thine, the world drawn out in the shape of an Animal. But let's view the whole draught as it lies in your book, because you make such a foul noise about it in your answer. Your words are these. Besides the texture of the Vniverse clearly discovers its Animation. The Earth which is the vi∣sible naturall Basis of it, represents the grosse carnall parts. The element of the water answers to the bloud, for in it the pulse of the great world beats; this most men call the flux and reflux, but they know not the true cause of it. The air is the outward refreshing spirit, where this vast creature breathes though invi∣sibly yet not insensibly: The interstellar skies are his vitall ethereall waters; and the starres his animal sen∣suall fire. Now to passe my censure on this rare Zoo∣graphicall piece, I tell thee, if thy brains were so confusedly scattered as thy fancy is here, thou wert a
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dead man Philalethes: all the Chymistrie in the world could not recover thee. Thou art so unitive a soul, Phil. and such a clicker at the slightest shadows of similitude, that thou wouldst not stick to match chalk and cheese together, I perceive, and mussi•ate a marriage betwixt an Apple and an Oyster. Even those proverbiall dissimilitudes have something of si∣militude in them, will you then take them for similes that ha•e so monstrous a disproportion and dissimili∣tude? But you are such a Sophister that you can make any thing good. Let's try. •he Earth must repre∣sent the flesh, because they noth be grosse: so is chalk and cheese, or an Apple and an Oyster. But what think you of the Moon? is not that as much green cheese as the Earth is flesh? what think you of Venus, of Mercury, and the rest of the Planets? which they that know any thing in Nature, know to be as much flesh as the Earth is, that is, to be dark and opake as well as she. What! is this flesh of the world then torn apieces and thrown about, scattered here and there like the disjoynted limbs of dragg'd Hippoly∣tus? Go to Phil. where are you now with your fine knacks and similitudes? But to the next Analogie. The element of water answers to the bloud. Why? For in it is the pulse of the great world. But didst thou ever feel the pulse of the Moon? And yet is not there water too? thou little, sleepy, heedlesse Endymi∣on: The bloud is restagnant there, I warrant you and hath no pulse. So that the man with the thorn• on his back lives in a very unwholesome region. But to keep to our own station here upon Earth; Dost thou know what thou sayest when thou venturest to name that monosyllable, Pulse, dost thou know the causes and the laws of it? Tell me, my little Philosophaster, where is there in the earth or out of the earth in this
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World-Animal•of thine, that which will answer to the heart, and the systole and diastole thereof to make this pulse? And besides this, there is wanting rare∣faction and universall diffusion of the stroke at once. These are in the pulse of a true Animal, but are not to be found in the Flux of the sea; For it is not in all places at once, nor is the water rarefied where it is. Now my pretty Parabolist, what is there left to make your similitude good for a pulse in your great Animal more then when you spill your pottage, or shog a milk-bowl? But believe it Eugenius, thou wilt ne∣ver make sense of this Flux and Reflux, till thou calm thy fancy so much as to be able to read Des-Cartes. But to tell us it is thus from an inward form, more A∣ristotelico; is to tell us no more, then that it is the na∣ture of the Beast, or to make Latine words by ad∣ding onely the termination bus, as hosibus and shoosi∣bus, as Sir Kenhelm Digby hath with wit and judge∣ment applied the comparison in like case. But now to put the bloud, flesh and bones together, of your World-Animal: I say they bear not so great a pro∣portion to the more fluid parts. viz. the vitall and animal spirits thereof, as a mite in a cheese to the whole globe of the Earth. So that if thou hadst any fancy or judgement in thee, thy similitude would appear to thine own self outragiously ugly and disproportion∣able, and above all measure ridiculous: Nor do not think to shuffle it off, by demanding, If there be so little earth, to tell thee where it is wanting. For I one∣ly say, that if the world be an Animal, there will be much bloud and flesh wanting, Philalethes, for so great a Beast. Nor do not you think to blind my eyes with your own Tobacco smoke, (I take none my self, Eu∣genius,) For to that over ordinary experiment, I an∣swer two things. First, that as you took upon the
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parts of the body of a true Animal, in the same ex∣tension that they now actually are, not how they may be altered by rarefaction; so you are also look up∣on the parts of your World-Animal, as they are de facto, extended, not how they may be by rarefaction. And thus your Argument from Tobacco, will vanish into smoke. But if you will change the present con∣dition of any lesser Animal by burning it, and tur∣ing many of the grosse parts into more thin and fluid, you destroy the ground of your comparison, betwixt the World Animal and it; for you take away the flesh of your lesser Animal thus burnt. And besides, the proportion betwixt the vapour or thinner parts ex∣tension to the remaining ashes, is not yet so big, as of the thin parts of the World-Animal in respect of its solid parts, by many thousand and thousand millions. Nay, I shall speak within compasse, if I say (as I said before) that there is a greater disproportion then betwixt the globe of the Earth and a mite in a cheese. This is plainly true to any that understands common sense. For the Earth in respect of the World is but as an indivisible point. Adde to all this, that if you will rarefie the Tobacco or Hercules body by fire, I will take the same advantage, and say, that the water and many parts of the earth may be also rarefied by fire, and then reckon onely upon the remaining ashes of this globe, and what is turned into vapour must be added to the more fluid parts of the World-Animal, to increase that over-proportion. So that thou hast answered most wretchedly and pitifully every way, poor Anthroposophus! But besides, In the second place: When any thing is burnt, as for example, your Tobacco, I say it takes up then no more room then it did before: Because Rarefaction and Condensation is made, per modum spongiae, as a sponge is distended
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by the coming in, and contracted again by the going out of the water it had imbib'd. But the Aristoteli∣c•ll way• which is yours, (O profound Magicus! that hast the luck to pick out the best of that Philoso∣phy) implies I say, grosse contradictions, which thou c•nst not but understand, if thou canst distinguish corporeall from incorporeall Beings. Thy way of Rarefaction and Condensation, O Eugenius, must needs imply p•netration of dimensions, or something as incongruous, as every lad in our Universities, at a year or two standing at least, is able to demonstrate to thee. But if thou thinkest it hard, that so little a body as a pipe of Tobacco, should be multiplied into so very much superficies above what it had before, go to those that beat out leaf gold, and understand there how the superficies of the same body may be, to wonder, increased. And beside, I could demonstrate to thee, that a body whose basis thou shouldst ima∣gine at the center of the Earth, and top as farre above the starry Heaven, as it is from thence to the Earth, without any condensation used thereunto, is but equal to a body that will he within the boll of a Tobacco-pipe. Where art thou now, thou miserable Philoso∣phaster? But to the next Analogie.

The aire is the outward refreshing spirit, where this vast Creaure breaths. Two things I here object, to shew the ineptnesse and incongruity of this compari∣son. The one is taken from the office of respiration, which is to refresh by way of refrigerating or cooling. Is not the main end of the lungs to cool the bloud, be∣fore it enter into the left ventricle of the heart? But thou art so Magical, thou knowst none of these sober and usefull mysteries of Nature. All that thou an∣swerest to this is, That we are refresh'd by heat as well as by coolnesse. Why then is that generall sufficient
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to make up your analogie or similitude? This is as well fancied as it is reasoned, when men conclude af∣firmatively in the second figure. There are laws in fancy too, Philalethes: and I shall shew thee anon, how ridiculous thou hast made thy self by transgres∣sing them. If thou meanest by refresh'd, to be chear∣ed or restored onely, and what ever do's this must be ground enough to fancy a respiration; then thou breathest in thy cawdle, when thou eatest it, and hast spoyled that conceit of his, that said he never would drink sack whilst he breathed; for if sack do in any sense refresh and comfort a man, it seems he breaths while he drinks. I tell thee, in the Homologi termini of similitudes, there ought to be something in some sort peculiar and restrained, or else it is flat, ridiculous, and non-sense. The other objection was taken from the situation of this aire that is to he the matter of Respiration in this great Animal. What a wild dif∣ference is there in this? The aire that an ordinary A∣nimal breaths in, is external; the aire of this World-Animal, internall; so that it is rather wind in the guts, then aire for the lungs; and therefore we may well adde the Colick to the Anasarca. Is the wind-Colick an outward refreshing spirit, or an inward griping pain? Being thou hast no guts in thy brains, I suspect thy brains have slipt down into thy guts, whither thy tongue should follow to be able to speak sense. Answer now like an 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, O thou man of Magick! He answers, and the point and sting of all the sense of his answer is in the tail of it: pag. 29. lin. 11. and it is their outward refreshing spirit. He means the Earths and the Waters. O feeble sting! O foolish answer! This onely reaches so farre as to save the Earth alive from my jugulating objection. The globe of Earth and Water indeed
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may be still an Animal for all that objection. But thou saidst the whole World was an Animal. What, is the whole world an Animal because the Earth is one? O bundle of simples! (to return thee thine own parcell of ware again, for it belongs not to me) this is as well argued as if thou shouldest say, That a cheese is an Animal, because there is one living mite in it. But that this Earth neither is a breathing Ani∣mal, is plain enough: For what respiration, what at∣traction and reddition of aire is there in it? There may be indeed something answering to sweating and perspiration, nothing to respiration, my good Phila∣lethes. But to shew thee thy folly, I will follow thy liberty, and impudently pronounce that a pair of bel∣lows is an Animal. Why, is it not? It has a nose to breathe through, that's plain, the two handles are the two eares, the leather the lungs, and that which is the most seemly analogie of all, the two holes in the back-side are the two eyes; as like the eyes in the fore-side of a Crab as ever thou seest any thing in thy life: Look thee, Phil. are they not? You'll say, The ana∣logie of the nose is indeed as plain as the nose on a mans face: But how can the handles be eares, when they stand one behind another? whereas the eares of Animals stand one on one side, and the other on the other side of the head. And then how can the leather be lungs, they being the very outside of its body? Or those two holes eyes? They have neither the situati∣on, as being placed behind, nor office of eyes. An∣swer me all these objections. O Mastix! I can fully answer them, O Magicus! This is an Animal drawn out according to thine own skill and principles. The leather sayst thou must be no lungs, because it is with∣out. Why then the aire must be no aire for thy World-Animal to breath, because it is within: And
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if thou canst dispense with within and without, much more mayst thou with before and behind, or behind and on the sides. So the eares and lungs of this Ani∣mal hold good against thee still. Now to preserve my monsters eyes against this Harpy that would scratch them out; They are no eyes say you, because they have not the situation of eyes. But I told thee be∣fore, thou makest nothing of situation. But they have not the office of eyes. Why? They can see as much as the eyes of thy World-Animal, for ought thou know∣est. I but this Bellows-Animal breaths at these eyes: And have not I shewed thee thy World-Animal breaths in his guts? But I will make it plain to thee that those two holes are eyes: For they are two, as the two eyes are; and transmit the thin air through them, as the eyes do the pure light. So that they agree gainly well in the generall: As your Respiration in the World-Animal, in refreshing, though by heat, when in others it is by cold. Fie on thee, for a Zoographicall Bungler. These Bellows thou seest is not my Animal but thine, and the learned shall no longer call that instrument by that vulgar name of a pair of Bellows, but Tom Vaughans Animal. So famous shalt thou grow for thy conceited foolery.

The interstellar skies are his vitall ethereall wa∣ters. Here I object, O Eugenius! that there is an over-proportionated plenty of those waters in thy World-Animal and that thus thou hast distended the skin of thy Animal, God knows how many milli∣ons of miles off from the flesh. O prodigious Ana∣sarca! But what dost thou answer here? viz. That I say, that the body which we see betwixt the starres, namely, the interstellar waters, is excessive in propor∣tion. No, I do not say so: but that they are too excessive in proportion to be the fluid parts of a
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World-Animal. But however, as if I had said so, he goes about to prove, that there is no excesse of pro∣portion in them. Dost thou hear, Mastix? sayes he, Look up and see. Well, I hear, Phil. I look up. But do not chock me under the chin, thou wag, when I look up. Now, what must I see? What a number of bonefires, lamps, and torches are kindled in that mira∣culous celestiall water. Yes, I see them all. I suppose they burn so clear for joy and triumph, that my Rea∣son and Sense have so victoriously overthrown thy Fantastry and Non-sense. But why miraculous wa∣ters, Phil? I see the cause: Bonefires and torches burn in the waters. That were a miracle indeed, Eu∣genius; but that it is a falsity. Thou givest things false names, & then wouldst amaze us with verbal miracles.

And the starres his animal sensuall fire. What is thy meaning here, little Phil. (For I never called thee to account for this yet) That this World-Animal has sense onely in the starres? To call them the eyes of the world is indeed pretty and Poeticall. And Plato's delicious spirit may seem to countenance the conceit in that elegant Distich upon his young friend Aster, (which in plain English in Starre) whom he instructed in the Art of Astronomie:

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
Thou viewest the starres, my Star, were I the skies!
That I might fix on thee so many eyes.
But what, Eugenius, wilt thou venture in Philoso∣phick coolnesse, to say the sense of thy World-Ani∣mal lies in the starres? I prethee, what can those starry eyes spy out of the world? They are very quick∣sighted, if they can see there, where there is nothing to be seen. But it may be, this Animal turns its eyes inward and views it self, I would Philalethes were
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such an Animal too; He would then find so much a∣misse within, that he would forbear hereafter to be so censorious without. But what? is there sense then onely in the starres? (For sense can be no where but where there is accesse for the Animal spirits:) So it seems, the starres must hear as well as see, nay, feel and tast; as they do questionlesse, as often as they lick in, and eat up that starre-fodder, the vapours, wherewith in Seneca they are fantastically said to be nourished. And thus you see, that Tom Vaughans Animal, I mean the Bellows now may see at the very same two holes that it breathes at, for he confounds all by his indiscreet fancy. How art thou blown about like a feather in the air, O thou light-minded Eugenius! How vain and irrationall art thou in every thing! Art thou the Queen of Sheba, as thy Sanguin a little o∣verflowing thy Choler would dresse up thy self to thy soft imagination, and make thee look smugg in thy own eyes? Had that Queen so little manners, in her addresses to so great a Philosopher? No, thy lan∣guage in all thy book, is the language of a scold and of a slut. And for thy wit, if thou wilt forgo thy right to the ladle and bells, thy feminine brains, as thou callest them, may lay claim to the maid-mari∣ans place in the Morris-dance: while my strong cruds, (as thou tearmest my masculine understanding) which are as sweet as strong, not tainted with the fumes of either revenge or Venery, shall improve their ut∣most strength, for the interest of Truth and Vir∣tue.
And thus have I taken all thy Outworks, Eugeni∣us, yea and quite demolished them. Yet now I look better about me, there is I perceive, one Half-moon standing still. Wherefore have at thy Lunatick an∣swer to that which thou callest my Lunatick argu∣ment,
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which thou propoundest thus; That the Flux and Reflux cannot be the pulse of the great World, be∣cause it proceeds, from the Moon, not from the Sunne. I say, Philalethes, The Sunne being the heart of the world, according to those that be more discreetly fantasticall (consult Dr. Fludd, thou art but a bad chip of that block) it was to be expected, if thou wouldst have the Flux and Reflux to be the Pulse, that it should come from the Sun, that is reputed the heart of the world; but it comes from the Moon. To this you answer; That it comes no more from the Moon, then from that fictitious Anti-selene or Anti-moon, as you venture to call it. You say thus, but prove nothing. But there is such an apparent con∣nexion betwixt this Phaenomenon of the Flux and Re∣flux, and so constant with the course of the Moon, that it is even unimaginable but that there should be the relation of cause and effect betwixt them. But I think you will not say, That the motion of the Sea has any power or effect upon the course of the Moon; wherefore it must be granted, that the course of the Moon has an effectuall influence upon the Flux of the Sea. And therefore Fromundus speaks very expressely concerning this matter, and very per∣emptorily in these words:

Si ex effectis de causa con∣jectatio valere potest, tam compertum videtur •stus effici & gubernari à Lunari sydere, quàm calorem ab ignibus effundi, aut lumen à Sole:
to this sense; If we can gather any thing from effects concerning the cause, it seems to be as experimentally sure, that the Ebbing and Flowing of the Sea is made and go∣verned by the Moon, as that heat flows from the fire, or light from the Sunne. For indeed how could there be kept such inviolable laws, as that the Ocean should alwayes swell at the Moons ascending; and not one∣ly
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so, but attemperately and proportionably to her motion, (for she coming every day later and later a∣bove the Horizon, the Flux of the Sea is later and later every time, according to her recession toward the East in her monethly course) I say, How could these laws be so accurately observed, Mr. Eugenius, if the Moon were not accessory to, nay, the principall causer of this Flux and Reflux of the Sea? And if thou beest not wilfully blin•, this is enough to convince thee, that that which thou callest the Pulse of thy World-Animal, is from the Moon, not from the Sunne, nor from its own inward •orm: for thou seest it is caused and regulated by an externall Agent. But for a more full discovery of this mysterie, I send thee to Des-Cartes in the fourth part of his Principia Philo∣sophiae; or to what I have taken from thence and made use of in the Notes upon my Philosophicall Poems. In which Poems the intelligent Reader may under∣stand, how far, and in what sense any sober Platonist will allow the world to be an Animal. Nor do's one part of it acting upon another, as the Moon upon the Sea, hinder its Animation. For in men and beasts, one part of the body do's plainly act upon another, though all be actuated by the soul.
And now, Philalethes, I have taken all thy Out∣works, none excepted; out of which thou hast shot many a slovenly shot against me. But thy foul piece has re•oyled against thy self, in all sober mens opini∣ons, and has beat thee backward into the dirt. And truly, I know not whether I should pity thee, or laugh at thy childish Ars but thou hast given thy self. For thou railest at me now thou art down, and threatnest him that is ready to set thee up upon thy feet, pro∣vided thou wilt not prick up thy eares too, and look too spruntly upon the businesse. But thou wantest no
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help, thou art a Giant, an invincible man of warre, great Goliah of Ga•h. I a meer Punie, as thou callest me; nay, a Munkey, a Mouse. What, dost thou bid defiance to three at once, Philalethes? I tell thee, any one of these three would be hard enough for thee. But what wilt thou do, now thou art to deal with a man? For I shall fight with thee, onely with a mans weapon, Reason. As for thy railings and quibblings, I shall not take notice of them; so that the battel is likely to be the sharper & shorter for it. Onely let's be a little merry at the beginning, it will be like shaking of hands at the taking up of the cudgells.

SECT. V.
Mastix makes himself merry with Eugenius upon his abuse of the Argument of one of the Cantoes of his Poems. That Reminiscency is no proof for the Praeexistencie of the Soul. That Eugenius is en∣forced to acknowledge the two Aristotelean princi∣ples, Matter and Privation. His ridiculous mis∣take of finding out and seeing the first Matter.

Observation 1.
ARt thou the hobling Poet who sometime
—Prays'd with his quill
Plato's Philosophie?
I am the Poet that did, and do with my pen, my mouth, and from my heart praise that excellent Philo∣sophy of Plato, as the most consistent and coherent Metaphysicall Hypothesis, that has yet been found out by the wit of man. But why hobling Poet? thou hobling Asse or Hobby-horse, choose thee whether.
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Thou hast so diseased and crazie a brain, that it can∣not endure it seems the least jotting• and so thou hadst rather be carried in a Sedan, as those that are rotten with the Neapolitan disease, or else going the way to it; then be bravely hurryed in my open magnificent chariot, whose tempestuous wheels dance and leap while they are wearing down the cragginesse and aspe∣rity of Philosophick difficulties into plainnesse and easinesse. But I know the vulgar, those poor Mer∣chants of Eel-skins, that deal with nothing but the Exuvia of things, words and phrases, are more taken with smooth Non-sense, or superficiall flourishes, then with the deepest knowledge in a carelesse dresse. Dost thou not know that those men, that make it their busi∣nesse to be compt and elegant in their clothes and carriages, commonly have little else but this in them? And so it is too often with Poems and other writings. But how I slight your simple censures, O ye skin-sucking flies! ye wasps with rush stings in your tayls! ye winged inhabitants of Crowland! I will shew you now, not in the prose of More, but in the very Trot and Loll of Spencer, as this Naturall with his tongue lolling out of his driveling mouth, uncivilly calls it.

As gentle Shepherd in sweet Eventide
When ruddy Phoebus 'gins to welk in West,
High on an hill his flock to viewen wide,
Marks which do bite their hasty supper best,
A cloud of cumb'rous Gnats do him molest,
All striving to infix their feeble stings,
That from their 'noyance he no where can rest,
But with his clownish hands their tender wings
He brusheth oft, and oft doth marre their murmurings.
Nor have I here called my self Clown by craft, no more then the Poet calls the Knight so. But thy in∣discreet
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wit cannot distinguish betwixt the Formale and Materiale of that whence the similitude is fetch∣ed; which made thee so ill digest my Philosophick Bacon. It was thine own Magick, Phil. or perverse imagination that turned thee into an Hog with tusks and bristles, not I. But to return to the businesse: O thou judicious Critick! What is the fault? where is the flaw in what thou hast recited?
—Praise with my quill
Plato's Philosophy.
Thou dost onely play wich the feather of the quill. But for what is writ with the inky end thereof, in those Poems of mine, I challenge thee to shew me if thou canst, where my fancy or reason hath really tript. Thou indeed hast attempted something in the Plato∣nick way, but I have made it manifest, thou hast writ with the quill of a goose. But I have penned down the praise of Plato's Philosophy in this Canto, with the skill of a man, as any man that hath skill will acknowledge. But thy spirit is not yet prepared for the knowledge of such divine matters. It is not yet fine, gentle, and benigne enough, to receive so de∣licious impressions. Put thy soul into a crysiple, O pragmaticall Chymist, and set it on that fire that will excoct and purge out thy drosse, and then judge of Platonisme. Art not thou the Chymicall Monkey that art very busie to little purpose about the glasses of H. Blunden, an honest man and an happy Opera∣tour in Chymistrie as I hear? But thou dost nothing but lear and look up at the reek of the furnace, and sendest as high Theomagicall meditations after every fold or curle of smoke that mounteth up, as the mu∣sing Ape after the flur and farre flight of every par∣tridge he let out of the basket. But enough of Le∣vity. Now to expiate the excesse of this mirth with
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something more solid and sober. I am ready to an∣swer what thou alledgest, and to make good that my first Observation is no oversight.
Thou art here mistaken in two things. First, in that thou conceivest that Reminiscency is so strong an argument to prove the Preexistency of the soul before her entrance into the body. I say it is not any argu∣ment worth the insisting upon. For though the Soul do finde truth in her self, questions being wisely pro∣posed to her; yet she doth not perceive that she ever though• of those things before, and therefore cannot acknowledge any such Reminiscency in herself. And I appeal unto thine own reason, Eugenius, if God should create an humane soul, and put it into a body fit and complyable with contemplation, whether that Soul would not be able to answer all the questions propounded in Plato's Meno, as well as those that are supposed to preexist. And therefore I have not made use of this argument in all my Platonical Po∣ems. For I tell thee, Phil. I am a very wary Philo∣sopher, and he must rise betimes that goes about to impose upon my reason. Thy second mistake is, that thou thinkest I condemn thy opinion of the Preex∣istency of the soul, which indeed I might well do as personating an Aristotelean. But what I really blame there, is thy boldnesse and disadvantagious rashnesse in the proposall of it, thou intimating, as if the soul descended into the body with her eyes broad awake, which the first page of thy Praeface to the Reader doth plainly imply. Let any one read and judge. But if any one ask what my opinion is, I answer, It is no matter what my opinion is, as it is mine, (for what man is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉?) but the discussion of the truth of these things he may find in my Poems.

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Observation 2.
Here, Philalethes, I charged thee with three ab∣surdities.

The first was affectation of pomp and ceremony in the finding out those things which cannot be hid from the eyes of the meanest capacity. As pretending it was a whole springs task, to find out this conclusion, viz. That things that are produced in Nature, are out of something in Nature unlike the things produced. To this thou answerest; that thou art not to be under∣stood, as if thou wert a whole spring in finding out this co•clusion: For thou onely saist, I took to task the fruits of one spring. But I say, that one spring may signifie a whole spring, and your making a task of it seems to determine the words to that sense. And unlesse thou tookest the pains of examining all the flowers that grew in the spring, one after another, I mean their kinds; it would prove no task, or at least be no proof for thy conclusion. And therefore in all likelihood, one spring should signifie here a whole spring.

The second was, that thou art fain to admit of two of Aristotles Principles, Matter and Privation. And this I inferred from the foregoing Conclusion. But thou answerest, That thou hast not so much as named Privation, much lesse acknowledged it for a Princi∣ple. That's no matter. Though thou hold thy peace, thy Observations speak it. That Viola est ex non vio∣la, Rosa ex non Rosa, &c. Which is the very same thing the Peripateticks observe to be necessarily in∣cluded in all generation, and therefore they make a Principle of it, and call it Privation.

The third absurditie was, that you seemed so sim∣ple,
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as to ptomise your self that you would find out the First Matter, or the common matter of all things, by experience. To which you answer, That you have found it out, felt it, and seen it. Well, Euge∣nius, thou art grown a great Proficient, I perceive, since the last time I met thee. For then thou wast to seek for this First Matter, now thou hast found it and felt it. Hast not thou felt the Ephialtes, Phil? or is not thy fancy as grosse and thick as a syrup? I be∣lieve thou art as much Iesuite as I Puritan, tell me truly Philalethes, dost not equivocate in this answer? and understandest by this First Matter, onely the first matter of some things, as meal is the first matter of pudding, and pycrust, and bread, and the like. But if thou saist thou hast seen and felt the First matter of all things whatsoever, thou hast pronounced what is impossible to be proved, and therefore as impossible to be believed by the sober and wise. And yet un∣lesse thou pronounce thus, thou pronouncest nothing to the present purpose. For, by first Matter, is un∣derstood the common matter of all things. But now to rebuke thy boldnesse in this assertion: Let me ask thee a sober question or two. This first Matter, which thou soughtest after, and now hast found, whe∣ther hadst thou any marks to know it by, when thou didst light on it? For as Venus in the Poet, when she sends hue and cry after her little Fugitive, describes him from his marks;

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
So what ever is sought for by us, we ought to have an idea of it, that we may know it when we find it. As he that is to seek an horse in the field, if he have not an idea of an horse and of a cow, &c. he may bring one for the other. To be short, he that seeks without an idea of what is sought, seeks for he knows not
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what, and he will find it he knows not when. So that it was necessary for thee to have an idea of the first Matter in thy mind, when thou wentest about to find it out. Now tell me, what the idea of the first Matter can be, if not this? A substance out of which all corporeall things are made, but it self out of no∣thing. And this is, if thou understandest truth when it is propounded to thee, as true an idea of the first Matter, as, to have three angels, is the right idea of a Triangle. But answer me now, Eugenius, in good earnest. Is that Matter which thou saist thou hast seen and handled, such as will fit with this idea? How canst thou ever prove but that that matter was made of some other matter otherwise modified, as well as other things may be made of this? But I will deal very candidly with thee, Philalethes: For I would fain have thee speak some sense. The idea of thy first Matter thou meanest may happily be this. Mat∣ter so prepared and qualified by the Art of Chymi∣stry, that it is fit to receive any form whatsoever, or Matter that is reduced to such a temper as it all was of at first, when it lay fitted for receiving of all forms of what nature so ever, and by this fitnesse engaged them to lodge in her large bosome. And thus though this Matter of thine be made of another matter, yet, because it is reduced to the state it was in first of all, before it received any forms, and was contrived into this order and distinction of parts that constitute the world, it may in this sense be called the first Matter. But tell me, Eugenius, how knowst thou that thou hast light on such a Matter as this? Thou hadst no preconceived idea of the colour and consistency of this matter which thou saist thou hast felt and •een, unlesse somebody hath described it to thee, from cer∣tain sensible qualities. But then I would ask both
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them and thee, how they know that a Body of this consistency and colour is the first matter? It is either because that they observe, that, what ever they resolve by their Chymicall fires is resolved into this at last, or because they have observed that all things will a∣rise out of this matter. But for the first: I say, they have not, nor can make triall of all things by their Art. For how many things appear above us out of our reach? besides what he eternally buried below. They can not distill the stars, as some say, glow-worms may be, and make them lamps of them to stu∣dy by. Besides, why is that which is left, to be the first matter more then what is flown away and evapo∣rated? And that which will not evaporate, I demand whether that is the first matter of air and light? Adde to all this, That you do not so much find this first matter as make it in all likelyhood. For how incredible a thing is it, but that by your fires or heats, (you putting the body that is under your operation into a perpetuall motion, so that the parts fridge one against another uncessantly) the nature of it should be quite changed by you. So that you do not by a kind of Analysis discover what is at the bottome, but by Genesis modifie the matter into a new dresse. But that's no matter you'll say, so long as it is reduced to such a temper as it was, when the whole world was to be impregnated with several forms. But there is no way now left for you to know that you have thus reduced it, unlesse you have seen this Matter of yours, Ver∣tumnus-like to appear before you in all shapes Tell me then, Philalethes, Have you seen it put on the form of a Sponge? of a Pumex? of Adamant? of Marble? Have you seen it put on the shape of all plants whatsoever and Animals? to say nothing of metals and mineralls. Have you play'd with it in the
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shape of a dog? or has it roared against you in the form of a lion? or have you made sport with the mustacho's of it in the figure of a mouse? Ha's Pa∣racelsus his homunculus come tumbling out of it, with his tail upwards in signe of good luck? or hast thou conferr'd with it in the dresse of a wanton La∣dy, clothed with transparent lawns or Sybariticall tiffanies? If thou hast not, (and darest thou say thou hast?) thou hast no reason at all to say thou hast seen and felt the first Matter of all things. It is but vain boasting and bold imposture. Adde unto all this; That if there were any such matter as thou meanest, so fit for all forms, and yet fitted with none, the Mun∣dus vitae, or world of Lives and Forms) being eve∣ry where present so as it is, this destitute widow, or marriageable Virgin could be no more kept from be∣ing ma•ch'd with one Form or other, then Dana• could be from Iupiter, who notwithstanding the close cu∣stody she was under, descended into her lap in a golden shower. Wherefore I conclude, that it is not any certain Experience, but rash Juvenilitie and confi∣dence, that makes thee pronounce thou hast seen and felt the first Matter.
SECT. VI.
Rules whereby we may better assure our selves that we use our Reason aright. Mastix as well as Eugenius calls the Matter Darknesse, but Mastix Poetically, Eugenius Philosophically. The true and rationall notion of the first Matter according to Aristotle. Eugenius his ridiculous division of an Idea. Of the divine and naturall Idea according to Philo. Eu∣genius his self-contradiction in making the Earth
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inviron'd with light, and yet a vicissitude of day and night. That the Letter of the Scripture speaks according to the vulgar conceit of men, and therefore extends the World no higher then the clouds or thereabout.

Observation 3.
HEre thou wouldst fain carp at my Hymne of Humility and Charity, but thy pride and un∣christian bitterresse onely makes thee grin at it, it re∣presenting that which is so contrary to thine own na∣ture. But here is nothing said to any purpose, and therefore 'tis to no purpose to apply an answer. As for thy cavills against those expressions of mine, that we are to mea••re our wisedome by unprejudicate rea∣son, by humilty and purity of mind, and not by devo∣tion; the sene is, That we are to try how wise we are, or how •afely we may conclude our selves to be wise, by exa•ining whether we have put off all pre∣judice, and •se our reason impartially, whether we be humble an• set free from all corruption of Flesh and Spirit. Ior by these we may better and more safely conclude •at we have used our understanding aright, and are n•t mistaken in what we conceive, then by long, or hot, or humorous devotions, such as men seem b• to play with God in, and rather shew the world what fine heats they have, then heartily desire the tr•e good from him, whom they seem to solicite for it But thou art so galled with the sense, that thou wo•dst fain revenge thy self upon the words.

•n what sense I call the disciples of Aristotle ortho∣dox, any body that hath any wit and urbanity in them may easily discern, and then my praises of Plato and Des-Cartes may consist very well with this passage.

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But as for Scaligers making use of Aristotles text to make good Athanasius his Creed, I will be very fair with thee, Phil. He did first believe firmly, that there is such a Trinitie, and then made Aristotle speak to that purpose. Now do thou but first prove strongly thy Philosophicall positions by Reason, and then I give thee leave for further countenance to call in Moses his text.

Observation 4.
Do you mention no life here, Eugenius? But then Georgius Venetus do's for you. Omne quod vivit, pro∣pter inclusum calorem vivit: indè coll•gitur, caloris naturam vim habere in se vitalem i• mundo pas∣sim diffusam, &c. Construe it, Phil. and be paci∣fied.

Observation 5.
When you call the Matter darknesse i• your own verse. Why, it seems then you had a mi•d to write poeticall Prose, which I am sure Mr. Bu•• of Eaton had like to have whipt me for when I was aboy. But I wonder how thou comest to stumble on ths Stanza of mine above the rest. Let us bring it all forth en∣tire into view.

The last extreme the farthest off from light,
That's Natures deadly shadow, Hyle's cell.
O horrid Cave, and womb of dreaded Night!
Mother of witchcraft and accursed spell,
Which nothing can avail 'gainst Israel,
No Magick can him hurt, his portion
Is not divided nature, he doth dwell
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In light, in holy love, in union,
Not fast to this or that, but free communion.
O! now I see the reason, there is the word Magick named in it. But tell me, O Magicus! do'st thou understand what I have writ there? If thou didst, as thou shouldst do, and hadst an inward sense and feel∣ing of it, thou wouldst make a bonefire of all thy books of curious Arts, as the Magicians did in the Apostles time for joy of finding a better light. But I cannot expresse what I mean better then I have al∣ready in that Stanza.
Page 40. lin. 20. Prethee, Mastix, what is this subject? I'le tell thee. Nay, Aristotle shall tell thee: these are his words, Phys. l. 1. c. ult.〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Thou wil• not say that this is in nature, nei∣ther 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 nor 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as thou barbarously speak∣est. And thou must give me leave to correct thy Greek, when there is need, as well as thou doest my English where there is no need. Thy 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 is a monster, and hath one 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 too much, but I will not tread on this toe of thine too hard. I passe off, and come to thy head, that, I mean, that should dwell there; if there be any body within, let them answer me. Is not that defined there by Aristotle, (the sense whereof is sufficiently set out in my description of the Idea of the first matter) Is it not in nature, neither 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 nor 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉? I appeal to thine own reason if thou canst any wayes shift it, but that thou must conceive a matter variously changed into severall succeeding forms. Therefore that which continues the same nume∣ricall substance, though in its notion incomplete, and sustains the succeeding form, that is a thing in Na∣ture.
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But when we precisely conceive it utterly de∣void of all forms, that's a separation made onely by the fire of our understanding (〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, the Oracles call it) not by your Chymicall fire: and this is not in Nature, but in our apprehension. Where∣fore your assertion is false, when you say that this Matter is neither 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, nor 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 in Nature. For though the notionall respect be not in Nature, the thing it self is. And this, I say, is a sober descripti∣on, and signifies something. But your horrible empty darknesse, which you say here is the first Matter, doth but mock a mans fancy in the dark.

Page 42. line 15. The holy Spirit, say you, is not able to see, &c. I say, Anthroposophus, that it is you that have put things together so ill-favouredly, as if you implied so much; as the Reader may judge by perpending the ninth page of your Anthroposophia.

Page 43. line 20. As soon as God was. Where is thy Logick, Eugenius? doth that imply there was a time when God was not? when we say, that one is as wise as a wisp, does that imply the wisp is wise? I tell thee, a wisp is no wiser then thou art, Mr. Magicus. So if I say that the light of the Idea's was not later then the existence of God, that saying does neither stint nor stretch out the duration of Gods existence, but onely it coextends the light of the Idea's with that duration.

Page 44. lin. 1. But the water was not so. But what was the horrible empty darknesse? O thou man in the dark! was that ab aeterno, or not? and if that was, could not the Divine light shine in that darknesse? but I will wrestle no longer with such Lemures in the dark, as thy shifting fancie proves it self, O Anthro∣posophus! Let's go on, and see if we can get into the light.

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Observation 6.
And speak of Rationes seminales. Yes, I spake of them, and mov'd a very materiall question con∣cerning them, to wit, what that Experiment in a glasse could do, for the confirming or confuting the Rationes seminales. It had been your duty here to have sa∣tisfied this Quaere, but I perceive your inabilitie, and pardon you.

Observation 7.
Line 10. I my self make the Naturall Idea no Idea at all. So then, Anthroposophus, this is the sto∣ry. There is a twofold Idea, a divine Idea, and an Idea which is no Idea at all: Ha ha he! Thou hadst abused me so unmercifully in this bitter book of thine, that I thought I should never have been able to laugh again as long as I liv'd: But this would make a dog burst his halter with laughing, I must now laugh or die. What, art thou now turned Preacher, Phil? though no Puritane by no means, and tel'st us of three kinds of Seekers, that they are either those which are both Seekers and Finders; or those that are Finders, but no Seekers; or lastly, such as are neither Seekers nor Finders? Certainly when thou wrotest this book, thou hadst a plot to eternize thy fame, and leave thy folly upon record.

Page 46. line 1. Cite him then, and produce his words. Here they are Philalethes: 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, page 20. He there proves, that there are divine Idea's before the creation of the visible plants, from that text of Moses, Gen. 2. v. 4, 5. Philo's own words are these upon that text; 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, sayes he, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
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〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. that is, Does not he manifestly set before us incorporeall and intellectuall Idea's, which are the seals of Gods sensible works? for before the earth sent forth herbs, there was even then (saith Moses) herbs, in Rerum Natura; and before the grasse grew, there was invisible grasse. Can you desire any thing more plain and expresse? But to make thee amends for laughing at thy division of the Idea which had but one member, and hopped like one of the Monocoli upon a single legge, I will give thee another Idea be∣sides this out of the same Philo, and such as may be truly called both an Idea and a naturall one, a thing betwixt thy Ideal vestiment, and the Divine Idea it self: 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 pag. 6. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 that is, But the fruits was not onely for nourishment for living creatures, but prepa∣rations also for the perpetuall generation of the like kind of plants, they having in them Seminal Sub∣stances, in which the hidden and invisible forms of all things become manifest and visible by circumvoluti∣ons of seasons. These are the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, or Rationes seminales, the seminall Forms of things.

Observation 11.
Page 48, line 9. Mastix is deliver'd of a Bull. This is a Calf of thy own begetting; but I have for∣got
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all this while to render thee a Calf for a Bull as I promis'd thee. I am not toyish enough for thee, my little Phil. Do I say Heat and Siccity are Aqua vitae bottles? But may not heat, and siccity, and A∣qua vitae be consentany arguments? what repugnancy is there in it? Answer, Logician: Therefore there is no Bull here, till thou be grown up to thy full sta∣ture.

Observation 12.
Here I told you that you incompassing all with the Empyreal substance, you had left no room for Evening and Morning upon the Masse of the Earth. What do you answer to this? That the Empyreal substance was a fire which had borrowed its tincture from the light, but not so much as would illuminate the Masse of it self. No, Philalethes? Do not you say it retain'd a vast portion of light? and is not that enough to illuminate the Masse of it self? Nay, you say it made the first day without the Sunne, but now you unsay it again. Pitifull baffled Creature! But as for those terrible mysterious radiations of God upon the Chaos, and dark Evaporations of the Chaos towards God, which thou wouldst fain shusfle off thy absur∣dities by; I say, they are but the flarings of thine own fancy, and the reeks and fumes of thy puddled brain. Dost thou tell me this from Reason or Inspira∣tion, Phil? If from Reason, produce thy arguments; if from Inspiration, shew me thy Miracle.

Page 51. line 25. The clouds are in the Aire, not above it, &c. But if the clouds be the highest parts of the world, according to the letter of Moses, which is accommodated, as I shall prove, to the common conceit and sense of the Vulgar; then in the judge∣ment
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of sober men it will appear, that thy Argument hath no agreement neither with Philosophy nor com∣mon sense. Now therefore to instruct thee, as well as I do sometimes laugh at thee; I will endeavour to make these two things plain to thee. First, That Scri∣pture speaks according to the outward appearance of things to sense and vulgar conceit of men.

Secondly, That following this Rule, we shall find the Extent of the World to be bounded no higher then the clouds, or thereabout: So that the Firma∣ment, viz: the Air, (for the Hebrews have no word for the Air, distinct from Heaven or Firmament, Mo∣ses making no distinction) may be an adequate barre betwixt the lower and upper waters. Which it was requisite for Moses to mention, vulgar observation discovering that waters came down from above, viz. showers of Rain, and they could not possibly con∣ceive, that unlesse there were waters above, that any water should descend thence. And this was it that gave occasion to Moses, of mentioning those two waters, the one above, the other beneath the firma∣ment.

But to return to the first point to be proved, That Scripture speaks according to the outward appearance of things to sense, and vulgar conceit of men. This I say is a confessed truth with the most learned of the Hebrews. Amongst whom it is a rule for the under∣standing of many and many places of Scripture. Lo∣quitur Lex secundùm linguam filiorum hominum, that is, That the Law speaks according to the lan∣guage of the sonnes of men: as Moses AEgyptius can tell you. And it will be worth our labour now to instance in some passages.

Gen. 19. v. 23. The sunne was risen upon the Earth when Lot entred into Zoar. Which implies, that it
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was before under the Earth: Which is true onely ac∣cording to sense, and vulgar fancy.

Deuteronom. 30. v. 4. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 or 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉; Implies that the earth is bounded at certain places, as if there were truly an Hercules Pillar, or Non plus ultrá: As it is manifest to them, that un∣derstand but the naturall signification of 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. For those words plainly import the Earth bounded by the blue Heavens, and the Heavens bounded by the Horizon of the Earth: they touch∣ing one another mutually. Which is true onely to sense and in appearance, as any man that is not a meer Idiot will confesse.

Ecclesiastic. cap. 27. v. 12. The discourse of a god∣ly man is alwayes with wisdome, but a fool changeth as the moon. That's to be understood according to sense and appearance. For if a fool changeth no more then the Moon doth really, he is a wise and excellent∣ly accomplished man, Semper idem, though to the sight of the vulgar different. For at least an Hemi∣sphear of the Moon is alwayes enlightned, and even then most, when she least appears to us.

Hitherto may be referr'd also that, 2. Chron. 4. 2. Also he made a molten Sea of ten Cubits from brim •o brim round in compasse, and five Cubits the height thereof, and a line of thirty Cubits did compasse it round about. A thing plainly impossible that the Diameter should be ten Cubits and the Circumfe∣rence but thirty. But it pleaseth the Spirit of God here to speak according to the common use and opini∣on of Men, and not according to the subtilty of Ar∣chimedes his demonstration.

Again Psalme 19. In them hath he set a taber∣nacle for the Sunne, which as a bridegroom cometh out of his chamber, and rejoyceth as a strong man to
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runne his race. This, as Mr. Iohn Calvin observes, is spoken according to the rude apprehension of the Vulgar, whom David should in vain have endea∣voured to teach the mysteries of Astronomy.

Haec ratio est (saith he) cur dicat tentorium ei paratum esse, deinde egredi ipsum ab una coeli extremitate, & transire celeriter ad partem oppositam; Neque enim argutè inter Philosophos de integro solis circuitu dis∣putat, sed rudissimis quibusque se accommodans, intra ocularem experientiam se continet; ideoque dimidiam cursûs partem quae sub Hemisphario nostro non cerni∣tur, subticet. i. e. This is the reason, to wit, the rude∣nesse of the vulgar, why the Psalmist saith there is a tent prepared for the Sunne, and then that he goes from one end of the heaven and passes swiftly to the other: For he doth not here subtily dispute amongst the Philosophers of the intire circuit of the Sunne, but accommodating himself to the capacity of every igno∣rant man, contains himself within ocular experience; and therefore saith nothing of the other part of the course of the sun, which is not to be seen as being under our Hemisphear.
Thus M. Calvin.
I'le adde but one instance more, Ioshua 10. v. 12. Sunne stand thou still upon Gibeon, and thou Moon in the valley of Ajalon. Where it is manifest that Io∣shua speaks not according to the Astronomicall truth of the thing but according to sense and appearance. For suppose the Sunne placed and the Moon at the best advantage you can so that they leave not their natu∣rall course, they were so farre farre from being one over Ajalon and the other over Gibeon, that they were in very truth many hundreds of miles distant from them. And if the Sun and Moon were on the other side of the Equatour, the distance might amount to thousands.

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I might adjoyn to these proofs the suffrages of many Fathers and Modern Divines, as Chrysostome, Am∣brose, Augustine, Bernard, Aquinas, &c. But 'tis already manifest enough that the Scripture speaks not according to the exact curiosity of truth, describing things 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, according to the very nature and essence of them; but 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, according to the•r appearance in sense, and the vulgar opinion of men. Nor doth it therefore follow that such expressions are false, because they are according to the appearance of things to sense and obvious fancy, for there is also a Truth of Appearance.

And thus having made good the first part of my promise, I proceed to the second; which was to shew, That the Extent of the world is to be bounded no higher then the clouds, or there abouts, that it may thence appear, that the upper waters mentioned in Moses, are the same with those Aquae in coelo stantes mentioned by Pliny, lib. 31. his words are these, Quid esse mirabilius potest aquis in coelo stantibus? and these waters can be nothing else, but that con∣tain'd in the clouds, which descends in rain; and so the whole Creation will be contain'd within the com∣passe of the Aire, which the Hebrews call 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉qua∣si〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉ibi aquae: because it is sedes nubium, the place of clouds and rain. And that the world is extended no higher then thus, according to Scripture, it is apparent. First, because the clouds are made the place of Gods abode; whence we are to suppose them plac'd with the highest. There he lives, and runnes, and rides, and walks. He came walking up∣on the wings of the wind, in the 104. Psalm. Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters, who maketh the clouds his chariot, and walketh on the wings of the wind. Laieth the beams of his chambers in the
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waters, to wit, the upper waters which are the clouds. The Almighties lodgings therefore according to the letter, are placed in the clouds. Thereabout also is his field for exercise and warre, Deut. 33. 26. There is none like to the God of Ieshurun, who rideth upon the Heavens for thy help in his excellency on the skie, that is, upon the upper clouds, as Buxtorf interprets it, and indeed what can 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 properly signifie a∣bove, but clouds? for below it signifies pulvis tenu∣issimus, small dust; and the clouds are as it were the dust of heaven. Vatablus also interprets that place of Gods riding on the clouds. And this agrees well with that of Nahum, chap. 1. v. 3. The Lord hath his way in the whirlwind, and the clouds are the dust of his feet. Here he is running as swift as a whirlwind, and raiseth a dust of clouds about him. You shall find him riding again, Psalme 68. 4. and that in triumph; but yet but on the clouds: sutably to that in Deut. Sing unto God, sing praises unto his Name, extoll him that rideth upon the heavens by his name IAH, and rejoyce before Him. That rideth upon the Heavens; the Hebrew is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which I would be bold with Aben Ezraes leave, to translate, that rideth upon the clouds: For clouds cause darknesse, and the root from whence 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 is 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which signifies obtenebrari, obscurari. But for the ground of this Rabbies interpretation, to wit, Vpon the heavens, it is taken out of the 33. verse of the 68. Psalme, To him that rideth upon the heaven of heavens of old. But if we read on there, we shall find that those heavens of heavens, in all probability, reach no higher then the clouds. For let's read the whole verse together, To him that rideth upon the heaven of heavens that were of old; Lo, he doth send out his voice, and that a mighty voice: what's that
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but thunder? and whence is thunder but out of the clouds? and where then doth God ride but on the clouds? The following verse makes all plain: Ascribe ye strength unto God; His excellency is over Israel, and his strength is in the clouds, which doth nota∣bly confirm, that the Extent of the Heavens, accord∣ing to the letter of Moses and David too, are but a∣bout the height of the clouds. For here the heaven of heavens is the seat of thunder, and Gods strength and power is said to be in the clouds. Nor doth this expression of this height, to wit, the heaven of hea∣vens of old, imply any distance higher. For sith all the Firmament from the lower to the upper waters is called Heaven; it is not a whit unreasonable that the highest part of this Heaven or Firmament, be called the Heaven of Heavens. And this is my first argu∣ment that the heaven or firmaments Extent is but from the Sea to the Clouds, because God is sea•ed no higher in the outward phrase of Scripture.

My second argument is taken from the adjoyning the heavens with the clouds exegetically, one with ano∣ther, for the setting out of that which is exceeding high as high as we can expresse. And this the Psalmist doth often, Psalme 36. 5. Thy mercy, O Lord, is in the Heavens, and thy faithfulnesse reacheth unto the Cloud•. And Psalme 57.10. For thy mercy is great unto the Heavens, and thy truth unto the Clouds. And Psalme 108. 4. For thy mercy is great above the Heavens, and thy truth reacheth above the Clouds. Where heaven and clouds set off one and the same height, that which is exceeding high, the mercie and truth of God.

My last argument is from the Psalmists placing the Sunne, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉in the clouds, or in the cloudy heaven. For the word must so signifie as I did above prove
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both from Testimony, and might also from the Ety∣mon of the word. For 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 signifies comminuere, contundere, to beat to dust: and what are clouds but the dust of heaven, as I may so speak. Psalme 89. v. 36, 37. His seed shall endure for ever, and his throne as the Sunne before me. It shall be established for ever as the Moon, and as the faithfull witnesse 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 in heaven: that is, in the sky, the place where the clouds are. The drawing down therefore of the Sun, that faithfull witnesse in heaven, so low as the clouds, implies that the letter of the Scripture takes no notice of any considerable part of the firmament above the clouds, it terminating its expressions alwayes at that Extent. And this sutes very well with Moses his cal∣ling the Sun and the Moon the great lights, and ma∣king nothing as it were of the starres, as is manifest out of the 16 verse of the first of Genesis. And God made two great lights, the greater light to rule the day, and the lesse to rule the night; He made the stars also. But they come as cast into the bargain, as not so considerable, when as indeed a Starre of the first magnitude is (according to the calculation of the A∣stronomers) twenty thousand times bigger then the earth, and the earth five and fourty times bigger then the Moon; so that one starre of the first magnitude will prove about nine hundred thousand times bigger then the Moon. Which notwithstanding, accord∣ing to the letter of Moses, is one of the two great lights, the sole Empresse of the night. But here the letter of Moses is very consistent with it self. For sith that the Extent of heaven is not acknowledged any higher then the clouds, or thereabout wherein, (as I shewed you) the Sun is, and consequently the Moon, aud it will not be more harsh to mak the stars stoop so low too; nay, they must indeed of necessity
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all of them be so low, they having no where else to be higher, according to the usuall phrase of Scri∣pture) the appearances of the starres will then to our sight sufficiently set out their proportions one to ano∣ther, and the Sun and the Moon (according to this Hypothesis) will prove the two great lights, and the starres but scatter'd sky-pebbles. Wherefore from all this harmony and correspondency of things, I think I may safely conclude, that the Extent of the Firma∣ment according to Moses, is but the distance from the sea to the clouds, or thereabouts, as well as it is to our sight, which cannot discern any intervall of alti∣tudes betwixt the clouds and the Moon, the Moon and the Sunne, and lastly, betwixt the Sunne and the fixed Starres. Which interpretation I am confident any man will admit of, that can bring down the tu∣mour of his Philosophick fancy unto a vulgar consi∣stency, and fit compliance with the sweetnesse and sim∣plicity of Moses his style.

And thus, Philalethes, have I proved that there is no room for thy interstellar waters within the com∣passe of Moses his Creation, unlesse they run into one, and mingle with the rain or clouds.

SECT. VII.
Eugenius his ignorance in the English tongue. His grosse mistakes concerning the Epicycles of Ptole∣mie. That Aire is an Element of our body. That the vulgar notion of Rarefaction and Condensation implies a contradiction. Of Eugenius his Mag∣net. That Temperance and Charity is of more consequence to man-kinde then his Philosophers stone. His misapplication of S. Johns Prophe∣cie
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for the proving of a Vitrification of the Earth.

Observation 13.
HEre I called the Ptolemaick Systeme a rumbling confused Labyrinth. So you did Philalethes, and I perceive you will do so again. But prethee tell me, dost thou mean the Heavens rumble? and so understandest or rather hearest the rumbling harmony of the Sphears? or dost thou mean the Labyrin•h rumbles? I tell thee; Philaleth•s, a wheel-barrow may be said to rumble, for to rumble is to make an ill-favour'd ungratefull noise; but no body will say the heavens or a labyrinth doth rumble, but such as are no Englishmen, as you say somewhere you are not, and so do not understand the language.

Pag. 53. A confused wheel-barrow is a bull. Is a wheel-barrow a bull? what a bull is that? But con∣fused, I added not confused to wheel-barrow, that's thy doing thou authour of confusion•

Line 18. The Epicycles in respect of their orb••re but as a Mite in•• cheese. Do yo• say so, Mr. Lilly? No. Do you say so, Mr. Booker? No. Look thee now, Phil. how thy confident ignorance hath abused those two learned Artists as thou callest them. They are ashamed to utter such loud nonsense. And now they have denied it, darest thou venture to say it, Anthro∣posophus? Tell me then how little and diminutive those Epicycles will prove in respect of their orbs, that have their diameters equall to the diameter of the orbit of the earth, or which is all one of the sun. Thou wilt answer me with the Cyclops in Erasmus, Istiusmodi subtilitates non capio. I do not be∣lieve thou understandest the Question, though it
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be plainly propounded, and so I shall expect no an∣swer.

But come thy wayes hither again, Phil. thou shalt not scape thus. I will not let thee go till I have cal∣led thee to an account for thy great bull of Basan as thou wouldst call it. Thou sayest, That the Epicycles of Ptolomy though they are too bigge to be true, yet that they are very diminutive things in respect of their orbs that sustain them; as little and diminutive as mites in a cheese in respect of the cheese. To speak the most favourably of this assertion of thine that may be, it is sublime Astronomicall Nonsense. And if we could find any Nonsense sublunary to parallel it, it would be some such stuff as this: Although the cannon bullets in the tower be as bigge as mount A∣thos, yet they are so little that they will not fill the compasse of a walnut. This is a bundle of falsities and so is that. That is, Both the parts of these com∣pound Axioms are false, and the composition it self also illegitimate. These are Discrete Axioms, Eu∣genius, and both the parts ought to be true, but they are both false here. And there ought also, especial∣ly these notes Quamvis and tamen being in them, to be onely a Discretion of parts, but here is an impla∣cable Opposition: things put together that imply a contradiction. In the latter of these Axioms it is manifest; but I will shew you, it is so also, in that former of yours.

For first, the Epicyoles of Ptolemy, are not too bigge to be true. For they do not suppose them big∣ger then will be contained within the thicknesse of their own orbs. And you your self say that they are but as mites in a cheese in respect of their orbs. So that it is plain according to what you your self grant, as well as according to the Hypo∣thesis
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of Ptolemy, that they are not too bigge to be true.

But secondly, I say they are not as little as Mites in respect of the cheese they are in. For the semi-di∣ameter of Saturns Epicycle is to the semi-diameter of h•s Eccentrick, at least as 1 to 10. and the semi-dia∣meter of Iupiters Epicycle to the semi-diameter of his Eccentrick more then as 1 to 6. but Mars his as 2 to 3, or thereabout, and the semidiameter of the E∣picycle of Venus to the semidiameter of her eccen∣trick more then as 2 to 3 by a good deal. And is it not plain hence Eugenius, that thy mite in a cheese must swell up at least to the bignesse of a Mouse in a cheese, though thy cheese were almost as little as a trundle bed wheel, or a box of Marmalade? and what a vast difference is there betwixt a Mite and a Mouse, but thy ignorance emboldens thee to speak any thing.

But now in the last place, the putting these two fal∣sities together is contradiction, as well as they are se∣verally false. For it is evident, that if the Epicycles be too bigge to be true, they cannot be so little as Mites in a cheese, in respect of their orbs. For then would they be easily contain'd within the crassities or thicknesse of their orbs. But their not being able to be contained within the Crassities of their orbs, that's the thing that must make them too bigge to be true.

And questionlesse if we will joyn the Epicycle with its right office, which is to bring down the Pla∣net to its lowest Perigee, then the Epicycles of the planets will be too bigge to be true. For there will be of them that are half as big again as their Deferents, nay five times if not ten times as big. And of these Epicycles I said (and Ptolemies ought to have been
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such, unlesse they did desert their office) that they were too bigge to be true. But thou pronouncest con∣cerning these things thou knowst not what, and there∣fore art easily tost up and down like a shittle cock thou knowst not whither, How do I blow thee about as the dust or the down of thistles?

—ut plumas avium pappósque volantes.
Observation 16.
Thou Moore à〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. As much as à〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. Thou art so drunk and intoxicated with thine own bloud (as Aristotle saith of all young men that they are 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉) that thou seest double, two O's in my name for one.

Observation 19.
See what I answer at observation the 23.

Observation 20.
Phy, Phy, some rose-water. Who speaks like a Puritan now, Phil? but why some rose water? hast thou devoured an Orenge like an apple, pulp and pill and all, and so made thy mouth bitter, O thou man of Wales! But it is to wash hur mouth from baw∣dry. Why wilt thou be so bold then as to name the Lawyers phrase rem in re! Or hast thou a purpose to call all the Lawyers, bawdy Gentlemen, by craft? I tell thee, Phil. To the pure all things are pure; but thy venerious fancy which I rebuked in this passage thou exceptedst against, doth soyl and corrupt what is chast and pure.

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Observation 21.
I do, Mastix. I do. Why doest thou not then ex∣plain it, thou little Mastigia?

Observation 23.
Here I have you fast, Philalethes, for all your wrigling. For if our vitall and animal spirits, which are as much a part of us, as any other part of our bo∣dy is, be fed and nourished by the Aire, then the Aire is an Element of our body. But here he would fain save himself, by saying that the Aire is rather a Com∣pound then an Element: but let any man judge how much more it is compounded then the Earth, and then Water which nourisheth by drinking, as well as the Aire can do by breathing.

Observation 24.
Page 59. line 1. How can darknesse be called a Masse? &c. No it cannot. Nor a thin vaporous matter neither. Thy blindnesse cannot distinguish Abstracts from Concrets. Thy soul sits in the dark, Philalethes, and nibbles on words as a mouse in a hole on cheese •arings. But to slight thy injudicious cavil at Masse, and to fall to the Matter. I charged thee here to have spoke such stuff as implies a Contra∣diction. Thou saidest that this Masse (be it black or white, dark or bright, that's nothing to the Contro∣versie here) did contain in a farre less compass all that was after extracted. I say this implies a Con∣tradiction. But you answer, this is nothing but Rare∣faction and Condensation according to the common notion of the Schools. I but that Notion it self im∣plies
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a Contradiction, for in Rarefaction and Conden∣sation there is the generation or deperdition of no new Matter, but all matter hath impenetrable dimensions. Therefore if that large expansion of the heavens lay within the compass of the Mass, that matter occupyed the same space that the masse did, and so dimensions lay in dimensions, and thus that which is impenetra∣ble was penetrated, which is a contradiction. What thou alledgest of the rarefaction of water into clouds or vapours, is nothing to the purpose. For these clouds and vapours are not one continued substance, but are the particles of the water put upon motion, and playing at some distance one from another, but do re∣ally take up no more place then before.

Observation 26.
To say nothing at thy fond cavil at words in the former Observation• and thy false accusation that I called thee dog (for I would not dishonour Diogenes•o much as to call thee so) and leaving it to the cen∣sure of the world, how plain and reall thy principles are, I am come now to my 26 Observation on the 23 page of thy Anthroposophia, where thou tellest us, That there is a threefold Earth, viz. Elementary, Celestiall, Spirituall. Now let us see what an ex∣cellent layer of the fundamentalls of Science thou wil• prove thy self. And here he begins to divide be∣fore he defines. Thou shouldest fi•st have told us what Earth is in generall before thou divide it. This is like a creature with a cloven foot, and never a head. But when thou didst venture to define these Mem∣bers, where was thy Logick? Ought not every defi∣nition, nay, ought not every Precept of Art to be 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉? but I will not vex thy head with
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these severities. The Magnet is the second member, the object of this 26 Observation. Here you say, I condemn this Magnet, but I do not offer to confute it. But I answer, I have as substantially confuted it as merrily; but thou dost not take notice of it. I have intimated that this precept of art is not 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, nay, that it is plainly false: For it affirms that which hath no discovery by reason or experience, viz. That there is a certain earth which you call the Magnet, that will draw all things to it at what distance so ever.

Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi.
So farre am I from approving thy Magnet, O Magi∣cus. Nor do the pages thou here citest, of which I give a favourable censure, prove any such thing. Let the Reader peruse them, and judge. Indeed certain operations of the Soul are highly and Hyperbolical∣ly there set out by thee; but the Magnet came drop∣ping in at the latter end of the story. I gave no al∣lowance to that. I will not have my soul so ill taught, as to attract metall out of mens purses at any di∣stance whatsoever.
Page 64. line 12. Didst thou ever hear or know that I was a pick-pocket? If I had had the least suspicion of thee that thou wer• so, I would not have called thee so, for it had been an unmercifull jest. But if thou wert as full of candour and urbanity, as I deem thee clear of that crime, thou wouldst not have interpreted it malice but mirth. For such jests as these are not uncivill nor abusive to the person, when the materiality of them are plainly and confessed∣ly incompatible to the party on whom they are •ast.

Page 237
Observation 27.
Page 65. line 14. Prethee why a Galileo's tube, were there more Galileo's then one? Certainly, Phil. thou dost not look through a Galileo's glasse, but through a multiplying glasse, that seest in my En∣glish more Galileos then one. Go thy wayes for the oddest correctour of English that ever I met with in all my dayes.

Observation 28.
Page 67. line 1. For I fear God. The devils also believe and tremble: But do'st thou love God, my Philalethes? If thou didst, thou wouldst love thy brother also. But shall I tell thee truly what I fear? Truly I fear, that thou hast no such precious medi∣cine to publish, which thou makest so nice of; and that thou dost onely make Religion a cover for thine ignorance. But let me tell thee this sober truth, That Temperance will prevent more diseases by farre, then thy medicine is like to cure; and Christian Love would relieve more by many thousands, then thy Phi∣losophers stone that should convert baser mettals into gold. There is gold enough in the world, and all ne∣cessaries else for outward happiness; but the generati∣ons of men make themselves miserable by neglecting the inward. This is palpably true, and it would a∣stonish a man to see how they run madding after the noise of every pompous difficulty, and how stupid and sottish they are to those things which God has more uni∣versally put in their power, and which would (if they made use of them) redound to their more generall and effectuall good.

Page 238
Observation 29.
So doth S. Iohn prophesie too. But Magicus is too wise to understand him. S. Iohn tells us of a new Heaven, and of a new Earth. Here, Magicus having recourse to his Chymistrie, in the height of his imagination prefigures to himself not onely Crystal∣line Heavens, but also a Vitrifide Earth. But I con∣sulting with Scripture, and with the simplicity of mine own plain Spirit, think of a new Heaven and a new Earth wherein dwels righteousness• He's for an Eden with flowry walks, and pleasant trees; I am for a Paradise,

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
Where Virtue, Wisdome, and good Order meet,
As the Chalde• Oracles describe it. He is for a pure clear place, I place my happinesse in a clear and pure mind, which is the holy place or temple of God.
Observation 30.
Tecum habita. I will not urge that Precept too strictly upon thy self, because I wish thee a better com∣panion.

Observation 31.
For thy ho! sounds like the noise of a S•w-gelder. As much as the celestiall orbs or labyrinth rumble like a wheel-barrow. This is but the crowing of thine own brain to the tune of the Sow-gelders horn.

Page 239
SECT. VIII.
The useless mysterie of the Souls being an Herma∣phrodite. Of the uncleannesse of Aristotle. That the shame of lust is an argument that something better then the condition of this mortall body be∣longs to the Soul. That the Soul of man is not propagated as light from light. That though she perceive nothing but her own energie, yet the di∣stinction of the inward and outward sense is not without its use. That Eugenius asserts that blinde men do see in their sleep. That there is but one Sentient spirit in a man which is the Rationall soul her self. Of understanding without Phantasmes. Mastix takes notice of Eugenius his vain boasting of his quick parts. That a bad man cannot be so much as a friend to himself. The great satisfacti∣on of the plain Truths of Christianitie above the Zeal and intricacie of sects. Eugenius his injudi∣cious Poetry wherein intending to praise the Vni∣versity of Oxford he plainly abuses it. That com∣parison implies not alwayes a Positive. That Ma∣stix affects not to confute every thing but what he can plainly show to be false.

Observation 32.
HEre in answer to my objection thou tellest me that Ruac and Nephesh, the parts whereof the Soul of man consists, differ as male and female. All the mysterie then is to make mans soul an Herma∣phrodite. Thou shouldst have told us here what o∣perations were proper to Ruach, what to Nephesh, whether vegetation belong to the one• reason and
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sense to the other: or whether in this the divine life were seated, in that the animal and fleshly reason, and the like. But the subtiltie of thy wit reacheth no further then the discrimination of sexes, and the grossely pointing out of Male and Female.

Page 69. line 9. For your Sodomite Patron Ari∣stotle allows of it in his Politicks. More wretched beast he if it be so: but I do not remember any such passage in his Politicks, and yet have read them through, but long since; and it is sufficient for me if I remember the best things in Authours I read, I can willingly let go the worst. But what thou sayest of Aristotle is not unlikely; for he is tax'd for this un∣naturall practise in Diogenes Laertius, with one Her∣mias a foul friend of his, in the praise of whom not∣withstanding he hath wrote a very fair and elegant Hymne, which begins thus,

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉,
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉,
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
To this sense,

Virtue! that putst humane race
Vpon so hard toyl and pains;
Lifes fairest prize! Thy lovely face
Bright Virgin, the brave Greek constrains
To undergo with an unwearied mind
Long wasting labours, and in high desire
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To throng through many deaths to find
Thee; that dost fire
Mans soul with hopes of such immortall fruit
No gold can sute,
Nor love of Parents equalize,
Nor slumbers sweet that softly seize the eyes.
So easie a thing is it for bad men to speak good words.
It is recorded by the same authour out of Aristip∣pus, that the same Philosopher was also so much taken with the conversation of Hermias's whore, that in lieu of that pleasure he reap'd by her, he did the same cere∣monies and holy rites to her, that the Athenians were wont to do to their goddesse Ceres Eleusinia. From whence it seems that his soul did consist of two parts, Male and Female, he having to do with both. So that he is more like to prove thy Patrone then mine, Philalethes! for I have to do with neither.

Page 69. line 10. But I am tickled say you. Yes, I say you are so tickled and do so tickle it up in your style with expressions fetched from the Gynaeceum, that you are ridiculous in it, and I thought good to shew you to be such as you are. But for mine own part I am moved neither one way nor another with any such things, but think good to affix here this sober con∣sideration. That there being generally in Men and Women that are not either Heroically good, or stu∣pidly and beastly naught, a kind of shame and aver∣sation in the very naming of these things; that it is a signe that the Soul of man doth in its own judge∣ment find it self here in this condition of the body, as I may so speak, in a wrong box and hath a kind of presage and conscience that better and more noble things belong unto it, else why should it be troubled at its own proclivity to that which is the height, and
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flower of the pleasure of the body, as they that are given to this folly do professe.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉,
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
To this sense.

What life? what sweet without the golden tie
Of Venus? dead to this, streight let me die.
But that there is a naturall shame of these acts and the propension to them, that story of Typhon in Dio∣dorus Siculus is no obscure argument. For when he had murdered his brother Osiris, that he might more sacramentally bind to him, for his future help and se∣curity, his twenty foure Accomplices in this act, he hew'd the body of his brother into so many pieces, but was fain to fling the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 his Pudendum into the river, they every one being unwilling to take that for their share. So much aversation is there naturally from these obscenities, that even those that are other∣wise execrably wicked, have some sense of it. But I do not speak this as if Marriage it self were a sinne as well as whoredome and adultery, for questionlesse it is permitted to the soul in this case shee's in. But if she be not monstrous and degenerate, she cannot but be mindfull that she is made for something farre better.
Observation 33.
To this observation thou answerest like a man with reason and generosity and with a well beseeming wit, how unlike to thy self art thou here, Anthroposophos?

Observation 34.
I perceive by thy answer to this observation thou
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art not at all ocquaitted with Ramus what ere thou art with the Schoolmen, bnt I passe over this and come to what is of more moment.

Page 71. line 19. This is one of your three de∣signes. Yes, it is one of those three designs I tax'd you for in the beginning of my Observations. And here I make it good out of your own text Anthroposophia pag. 33. line 1. These are your words. And now Rea∣der, Arrige aures, come on without prejudice and I will tell thee that, which never hitherto hath been dis∣covered. What can be more plain if you will but prick up your eares and attend to what you say your self. But now I have discovered that this is but a boast of yours concerning a known Notion among the Christian Platonists, you begin to pluck in your eares and confesse your self a Plagiary. In the rest of your answer you do but teach your Grannam to crack nuts, I go on Magicus to the next.

Observation 35.
As a flame of one candle can light a thousand candles more. Your answer then to this Observation is this. That the Soul is propagated as light is from light; That there is a multiplication without decision or division. But for thine and the Readers fuller sa∣tisfaction I shall answer thee here, as thou somewhere demandest, in the verse of Spencer but in the reason and sense of More, out of these four Stanzaes in my Canto of the Preexistency of the Soul.

Wherefore who thinks from Souls new Souls to bring,
The same let presse the sunne beams in his fist,
And squeeze out drops of Light, or strongly wring
The Rain-bow, till it die his hands well prest;
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Or with uncessant industry persist
Th' intentionall species to mash and bray
In marble morter, till he has exprest
A Soveraine eye-salve to discern a Fay.
As easily as the first all these effect you may.
Ne may queint Similes this fury damp,
Which say that our souls propagation
Is, as when lamp we lighten from a lamp,
Which done withouten diminution
Of the first light, shews how the soul of man
Though indivisible may another rear
Imparting life. But if we rightly scan
This argument, it cometh nothing near.
To light the lamp's to kindle the sulphureous gear.
No substance new that act doth then produce.
Onely the oyly atomes 't doth excite
And wake into a flame. But no such use
There is of humane Sperm. For our free sprite
Is not the kindled seed, but substance quite
Distinct there from. If not: Then bodies may
So changed be by Nature and Stiffe fight
Of hungry stomachs, that what earst was clay
Then hearbs, in time it self in sence may well display.
For then our Soul can nothing be but bloud,
Or nerves, or brains, or body modifyde;
Whence it will follow that cold stopping crud
Hard mouldy cheese, dry nuts, when they have rid
Due circuits through the heart, at last shall speed
Of life and sense, look thorough our thin eyes,
And view the Close wherein the Cow did feed
Whence they were milk'd; grosse Py-crust will grow wise,
And pickled Cucumbers sans doubt Philosophize.
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Observation 37.
Bid adiew to thy reputation Mastix. Well, now I perceive that thou thinkest that thou hast hit the nail on the head indeed: But all that thou dost or canst collect from what is in my Preface to the Canto con∣cerning the sleep of the Soul, is but this: that whe∣ther we see or imagine, that both of these are but the very E•ergie of the Soul, and that the Soul doth not, nor can perceive any thing immediately but her own Energie. But what of all this? It doth not thence follow that the inward and outward sense is all one, but onely unitate genericâ. no more then if I should say, that to be an Animal is but to have, corporeall substance, life, and sense, it would thence follow that an horse and a man are all one. Look thee now, Magicus, how I have passed through this huge Mound and Bulwark of thine, with as much ease and stilnesse as a gliding Spirit through a Mud-wall. I will onely look back and laugh at thee Magicus, for a man of no Logick. But if any man doubt whe∣ther thou saist blind men see in their sleep, it is appa∣rent thou doest. For in thy Anthroposophia, Page 40. line 1. thou saist, That the visible power is not de∣stroyd as is plain in the dreams of blind men. Here if thou knowst what thou saist, thou arguest from the effect to the cause, from the operation to the faculty, but is the operation of the Visive faculty (for thou dost barbarously call it visible) any thing else but seeing? therefore thou dost plainly assert that blind men see in their sleep. It would be well if they could walk in their sleep too: for then they would scarce have any losse of their eyes.

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Observation 38.
Magicus, I do not altogether contemn the Sym∣boles and Signatures of Nature, but I believe that Euphrasia or Eye-bright that hath the signature of the Eye, sees or feels no more, then the pulp of a wal∣nut that hath the signature of the brain, doth under∣stand or imagine.

Observation 39.
What a pittifull account dost thou give me here of the difficulties I urged thee with. My Queres were these, You making two Spirits in a man, the Ratio∣nall and Sensitive. First, Whether the Rationall Spi∣rit doth not hear and see in a man? Here you di∣stinguish. The Sensitive Spirit sees the Object (say you) and the Rationall the Species. But I say unto thee, that Sensation is nothing else, but the perceiving of some present corporeall object; and that the Ra∣tionall soul doth. For when two men discourse, that in them that reasons, hears the words, and sees the par∣ty with whom it reasoneth, does it not? Therefore they both see the object: But you will say, One sees by a species, the other without. I say nothing can be discerned without a species, that is, without an actu∣all representation of the thing discerned: So that that distinction is in vain. And I would adde this further, That every sentient spirit must perceive by its own species, and not by anothers. But thou sayest, This sensitive Spirit like a glasse represents the species of externall objects. Then it seems the Sensitive spirits office is to be the glasse of the Soul to see things in; but glasses themselves, Magicus, are not sentient, nor
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need this Spirit be so, that is the souls glasse; and it is plain it is not. For if these two were two different sensitive spirits, then they would have two different Animadversions; but there is but one Animadversive spirit in a man, and therefore but one Sensitve. And that there is but one Animadversive spirit in a Man, is plain from hence, that if the Rationall animadver∣sive bestow its animadversion fully elsewhere, the Sensitive in man cannot perform the thousandth part of that which is performed in brutes. We should lose our selves in the most triviall matters, when not∣withstanding this sensitive spirit in man would have as quick a vehicle as in most brutes. Besides, this Sensitive spirit having this animadversion, would have also a Memory apart, and would be able while the Rationall is busied about something else, to lay up ob∣servations such as Beasts do by it self; and then long after to shew them to the Rationall, to its sudden a∣mazement and astonishment. But none of these things are. And in my apprehension it is in a very grosse and palpable way sensible to me, that there is but one A∣nimadversive in me, and I think I am no monster; If I be, it is (it seems) in that I am all rationall spi∣rit, and have had the luck to misse of the sensitive, the beast.

Page 77. line 3. If this be true, then there be two hearing and seeing souls in a man. This is my se∣cond Quere; I ask'd if there be. To this you answer, Ha ha he! A very profound answer. This is no laugh∣ing matter, my friend. Have I not already shew'd you some difficulties, this asserting two sensitive Spirits in a man, is laden with? Answer them, Phil. I should gladly heare thee use thy tongue as well as see thee shew thy teeth by laughing. For that slender faint reason that follows thy loud laughing, viz. The ob∣jects
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are different, and the senses are different, that is taken a way already. For the sting of my Argument is not this, that there would be two sensitive souls of the same nature in the body of a man; but that there should be two sensitive souls at all. And indeed, con∣sidering that the superiour soul contains the faculties of the inferiour, it is altogether needlesse. And that is a very sober truth, Entia non sunt multiplicanda sine necessitate: Which is to the same sense with that so often repeated in Aristotle and Theophrastus, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, God and Nature do nothing in vain. And the right organization of parts, and due tempe∣rature of the body, and proportion of animal spirits, this is all the glasse the Soul of man wants in this life to see by, or receive species from. But his glasse hath no more sense it self, then an urinall or looking-glasse hath. Where are you now, Phil. with your Ha ha he?

Line 10. I could, Mastix, teach thee an higher truth. Yes truly, Magicus, you are best of all at those truths which dwell the highest. You love to soar aloft out of the ken of sense and reason, that you may securely Raunt it there in words of a strange sound and no signification. But though thou fliest up so high, like a Crow that hath both his eyes bor'd out, yet I have thee in a string, and can pluck thee down for all thy fluttering. Thou sayest that a Soul may understand all things, sine conversione ad Phantasmata: this I suppose thou wouldst say to con∣tradict Aristotle; but I do not suspect thee of so much learning as to have read him. He tells us in his book De Anima,〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. that there is no understanding without Phantasmes. Yon say that we may understand all things without them. What think you of Individualls, Magicus? of
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which it is controverted amongst the Platonists, whe∣ther there be any Idea's of them or no. But be∣ing you are so confident an assertor, let's heare how stout a prover you are of your assertions. Know you this you have spoken by Sense, Reason, or divine Re∣velation? By this string I have pluck'd this blind Crow down; I have him as tame in my hand as a Tit∣mouse: look how he pants, and gapes, and shews the white tip of his tongue, but sayes nothing. Go thy wayes, Phil. for a pure Philosophick Thraso.

Observation 41.
Three quarters of a year hast thou spent, &c. O Magicus, Magicus! thou art youthfull and vain-glorious, and tellest thy Tutour that this hasty cookery thou entertainest him with, was dispatch'd and dress'd up some ten daies after the Presse was de∣liver'd of my Observations. How many ten dayes doest thou mean, by thy some ten dayes? Thou wouldst have thy Tutour to stroke thee on the head for a quick-parted lad, I perceive, Eugenius. But hadst thou not better have staid longer, and writ better sense, more reason, and with lesse rayling? But I poore slow beast! how long dost tho• think I was viewing and observing that other excellent piece of thine? I confesse, Magicus, because thou forcest me to play the fool as well as thy self, I was almost three quarters of a Moneth about it; and how much more is that then some ten dayes, though but twice told o∣ver? and I will not be so curiously vain-glorious, as to tell thee how great a share of this time was daily taken from me by necessary imployments. This is to answer thy folly with folly. But I thank God that I glory in nothing, but that I feel my self an Instru∣ment
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in the hand of God, to work the good of Men. The greatest strength of a man is weaknesse, and the power of Reason, while we are in this state, depends so much of the organs of the body, that its force is very uncertain and fickle. Is not the whole consi∣stency of the body of Man, as a crudled cloud or co∣agulated vapour? and his Personality a walking sha∣dow and dark imposture? All flesh is grasse, and the glory thereof as the flower of the field: but the word of the Lord endureth for ever. Verily the people are as grasse.

Observation 42.
Have at you my friends the Independents. The Independents indeed may be thy friends, Magicus; but I dare say thou art not in a capacitie to be theirs, as having not yet wit and morality enough to be a friend unto thy self. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. A bad man cannot be friendly disposed towards him∣self, as having nothing in himself amiable and friend∣ly, Aristot. Eth. ad Nicom. lib. 9. cap. 4.

Observation 43.
Mastix, You denied formerly the Scripture was intended for Philosophie. But you contending that it was, how fondly do you preferre Agrippa before Moses and Christ. This you would have called blasphemy; but I have learned no such hard lan∣guage.

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Observation 44.
For the naturall Queres I put to thee here con∣cerning the nature of Light, the Rainbow, the Flux and Reflux of the Sea, and the Load-stone; I tell thee thou wilt never be able to answer sense to them, un∣lesse thou turn Cartesian, and explain them out of that Philosophy. But in the Generall. I mean, That the heats which the Soul takes from personall admi∣ration, make her neither wise, nor just, nor good; but onely disturbe the spirits, and disadvantage Reason.

Observation 45.
Page 81. line 2. Mastix would gladly put those asunder, whom God hath put together. You mean then that a Protestant and Christian, are termini con∣vertibiles. What a rare Independent is Magicus! he is an Independent of the Church of England; which is as good sense as if he should say, he is a Protestant of the Church of Rome. Truly, Magicus, I think thou art an Independent in nothing but in thy Rea∣sons and speeches; for in them indeed there is no de∣pendency at all. They are Arena sine •alce, and hang together like thum-ropes of sand. But before I be merry with thee; and I fore-see I shall be when I come to thy verses, hear this sober Aphorisme from me. If that those things which are confessedly true in Christianity were closely kept to by men, it would so fill and satisfie their souls with an inward glorious light and spirituall joy, that all those things that are with destroying zeal and unchristian bitternesse pro∣secuted by this and that Church, would look all of
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them as contemptibly, as so many rush-candles in the light of the Sun.

Line 15. You fall on my person. Well, I'le let your person go now, and fall on your Poetry. Where I believe, I shall prove you a notable wagge indeed, and one that ha's abused your mother Oxford and all her children very slyly and dryly.

Dry Punick statues. You make your own bro∣thers of Oxford then so many dry Pumices, things that have no sap or juice in them at all. I wish you had been so too Phil, for you have been to me a foul wet Spunge, and have squeazed all your filth upon my person, as you call it. But if thou knewest how reall a friend I am to thy person, excesse of kindnesse would make thee lick it all off again.

Might make a marble weep to bear your verse. It seems then by you that those of Oxford make such dull heavy verses, that it would make a Monument of Marble like an overladen Asse, weep to bear the bur∣den of them.

Shee heav'd your fancies. What heavy leaden fancies are these that want such heaving. Up heavy heels. But how high did she heave them, Phil? As high as the other lead was heaved that covers the roof of your Churches and Chappels? Nay higher. Above the very Pinacles, Mastix! She heaved your fancies higher then the pride of all her pinnacles. A marvellous height, but the Jack-Daws of our Uni∣versity sit higher then thus, so it seems that the souls of the sonnes of your Mother Oxford are elevated, according to your Poetry, as high as the bodies of the Jack-daws in the University of Cambridge. What large elevated fancies have your Academicks that reach almost as •arre as the eye and sense of an ordi∣nary Rustick! Your phansie's higher then the Pinna∣cles,
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his sight higher then the Clouds, for he may see the Sunne and the Starres too, if he be not blind.

Go thy wayes Phil, for an unmercifull wit. I per∣ceive thou wilt not spare neither Father Presbyter as thou callest him, nor thy Mother, nor thine own Bro∣thers, but thou wilt break thy jest upon them. Well I now forgive thee heartily for all thy abuses upon me, I perceive thou wilt not spare thy dearest friends.

Observation 47.
Thou art not well acquainted with Gold, thou art not a man of that Mettall. Here, Magicus, thy want of Logick hath made thee a little witty. For if thou hadst understood that Comparison doth not alwayes imply any positive degree in the things com∣pared, this conceit had been stifled before the birth. Thou saist somewhere, that I am a thin, lean Philoso∣pher; but I say, I am as fat as a hen is on the fore∣head. Whether do I professe my self lean or fat now? As lean as thou dost. Now when I say as Orient as false gold, do I say that false gold is Orient. Thou art a meer Auceps syllabarum, Magicus, or to look lower, a Mouse-catcher in Philosophy.

Observation 48.
Philalethes, say you, writ this book to revenge his death. No, Now I think you mention his death, onely to bring this latine sentence into your Book. Et quis didicit scribere in lucta lacrymarum & A∣tramenti.

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Observation 49.
I excluded not thy censure but thy mercy. Thy words are, I expose it not to the mercy of man but of God. But it is no exposall or hardship at all to be ex∣posed to mercy, therefore by mercy thou must needs understand censure.

Page 86. line 2. You skud like a dogge by Nilus. Here your fancy is handsome and apposite to what you would expresse, but that which you would ex∣presse is false. For I fear no Crocodile, but the fate of AEsops dog who catching at the shadow lost the sub∣stance. Because I more then suspect that there is no∣thing reall in those places I passed by, but onely tre∣mulous shadows of an unsettled fancy.

Page 87. line 21. Did not I bid thee proceed to the censure of each part? What is your meaning, Phila∣lethes! That you would have me confute all, right or wrong? No, Phil, I have done as S. George in his combate with the Drogon, thrust my spear under the Monsters wing, into the parts which are most weak or least scaly. What I have excepted against was with judgement and reason, and so good, that all that I have said hitherto, stands as strong and unshaken of thy weak reasonings and impotent raylings, as rocks of Adamant and Pillars of Brasse at the shooting off of a Childes Eldern-Gunne against them. Let's now see how like a Man thou hast quit thy self in the ensuing Discourse.

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Anima Magica Abscondita. SECT. IX.
The shrimpishnesse of the second part of Eugenius his Answer. His maim•d definition of Nature. That Form is not known otherwise then by its operations. Of the union of the Soul with the Body. That the Soul is not Intelligent Fire prov'd by sundry ar∣guments.

WEll, Eugenius, I have now perused this se∣cond part of thy Answer, which doth not answer at all in proportion to thy first. How lank! how little is it! Thou hast even wearyed thy self with scolding, and now thou art so good natured as to draw to an end. Faint, Phil, Faint? let me feel thy pulse. Assuredly it strikes a Myurus, which is a signe thou art languid at the heart. Or is thy book troubled with the Cramp, and so hath its leggs twitch'd up to its breech? or hath it been on Procrustes his bed and had the lower parts of it cut off? Whatever the Cause is, the Effect is apparent; that thou art wrinkled up at the end like a Pigs tayl, and shriveled on heaps like a shred of parchment. How many sober passages of Morality? How many weighty Arguments of Rea∣son? How many Froli•ks of wit hast thou slipt over and not so much as mentioned, much lesse applyed any sutable answer? But I hope thou wilt make good use of them silently with thy self, and rectifie thy fancy hereafter by my judgement, though thou think∣est it as harsh, as standing on the Presbyteriall stool, to give me publick thanks. In the mean time, Rea∣der, be contented, that I onely reply to what he hath
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thought good to oppose. But what he runnes away from so cowardly, I will not run after him with it, nor be so cruel as to force him to abide.

Observation 1.
Page 91. line 9. It is plain then, that the body and substance of the definition is contained in these few words, Principium motûs & quietis. Why, Magicus, because you make up the rest with thinking? Suppose thy Picture were drawn to the waste, & thou thought∣est of the rest of thy body. Doth that picture there∣fore contain the full draught of thy body? Away, thou Bird of Athens.

Observation 2.
You tell me a form cannot be known otherwise then by what it can do or operate. I told thee so Phil, and do tell thee so again. And thou onely deniest it, thou dost not disprove it; wherefore Phyllis is mine yet, and not the willow Garland; but the willow Rod is thine, for not learning this plain lesson any better all this while. For, (to speak to thy own sense and conceit of the Soul, that it is an Intelligent Fire, or Light) thou canst not frame any notion of Intelligent, but from intellectuall operations; nor of Light, but from what it operates upon thy sense, thy sight; which is a truth most evidently plain to any man that is not stark blind.

Page 92. line 5. You say Mastix, I have not con∣sidered the difference added in the definition of Na∣ture. No, You had not when you cavilled at the Ge∣nus, as angry at it, because it did not monopolize the whole office of the definition to it self, and supply also
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the place of a Difference. Fond Cavil! But thou supposed'st, it seems, that I would never deigne to an∣swer so unclean an Adversary as thou hast shown thy self, and that thy Readers would never take the pains to see whether thou spoke true or false; and that hath made thee say any thing, & that with undaunted confidence and foulest insultations, that the simple might be sure to belieue thee, without any more ado. Eugenius, enjoy thou the applause of the simple.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.—
But one wise man to me is as much as ten thousands of such, and infinite swarms of them not so much as one. I am fully of Heraclitus his mind for that, Phi∣lalethes.
Observation 3.
Here, Philalethes, you contemning Definitions made from the proper Operations of the things defi∣ned, I intimate to you, that you necessarily imply, that you look after the knowledge of a stark-naked sub∣stance, which is impossible ever to be had. What do you answer to this? Nothing. Let the Reader judge else.

Observation 4.
Let any body compare thy Finihabia with the ex∣positions of those terms 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, made by Iulius Scaliger (for it is he that is more cun∣ning at nonsense then the devil, not I) and he shall find that thou hast spent a page and an half here to no purpose, but onely to shew some few faint flashes of wit. For at last thou dost acknowledge the apt∣nesse and significancie of the words, but still com∣plainest
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that there is no news of the substance of the soul in them. To which I answer again, A substance is a thing impossible to be kno•n otherwise then by its proper operations, or peculiar relations to this or that, as I have often inculcated. But how do you take a∣way this answer? Onely by making a wry mouth, Away! away! Have I not already demonstrated un∣to thee, that it is impossible to know substances them∣selves, but onely by their operations? Here he an∣swers again, that that cannot be; For then a Plowman would be as wise as himself, and mother Bunch as his mother Oxenford. But to satisfie this inconvenience, (if it be any, to grant a Plow-man wiser then thou art) I say, Thou and thy mother may be wiser then a Plow-man in other things, though not in this; and in this, if your notion be more adequate and precise then his is, that is, If you are able, according to the Rules of Logick, to examine whether your assertion may go for an axiome, that is, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, or 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, and are able to rest fatisfied, by find∣ing your selves to know according to the capacity of the subject. But now, Phil. you indeavour to go so far beyond the Plow-man, that you fall short of him, and reach at so high strains, that you have strain'd your self till you seem half crackt to the sober. For this truth, That a Substance is not to be known, but by its proper operations, is a truth so clear, that it is clear that he is destitute of sight and judgement, that doth not discern it even at the first proposall.

Observation 5, 6, 7.
What thou answerest to these 5th, 6th, and 7th Ob∣servations is nothing at all to the purpose, and therefore to no purpose at all to answer any thing to them, as I
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have already said in the like case, and I must leave something to the candour and judgement of the Reader.

Observation 8.
Page 97. line 1. Mastix, you place the difficulty in the Rudiments or Sperms, because they are lax and fluid. No, Magicus, but I do not. For I think they are alwayes so, or else the Ratio Seminalis would have a hard task of it. But when thou sayest, That the A∣nima in the Matter missing a vent, &c. the difficul∣ty is, how a thing so subtile as a Soul is, should misse a vent in so lax a matter as the first Rudiments of life. This is the difficulty, Magicus. But thou under∣standest not the force of any thing I propound to thee, thy apprehension is so out of tune with straining at high things nothing to the purpose. But I perceive, though thou wouldst dissemble it, Magicus, that I have beat thee from the Bung-hole, and that rude ex∣pression borrowed thence. And now thou art as bu∣sie as a Moth about a candle, to fetch a Metaphor thence. For thou tellest us, that this union is like that betwixt the candle and the flame. This indeed for some Poeticall illustration may do well: but what Philosophicall satisfaction is there in it, Philalethes? For first, the flame is w•thout the candle, not in it; but the Soul within the body, not without it. Secondly, the flame is •n effect of the candle, but the Soul is not an effect of the body, the body is not the pabu∣lum thereof, and the very substance of which it is made, by superinducing a new modification. Thirdly, and lastly, the Soul is still the same individuall soul; but the flame is no more the same flame, then the wa∣ter betwixt such and such banks of the river, is still the
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same water, If thou hadst put thy finger into thy nose, and said, Lo the mystery of the union of the Soul and Body; it had been as much Philosophicall satis∣faction as this, from the union of flame and candle. Thou pitifull puzled thing! thou are not yet able to weigh what thou sayest. And now I have drove thee from the flame of the candle, thou hast scudded away quite into the dark, flown to I know not what strange obscure expressions, a story, of old grand-dame Na∣ture, with a set Ruff and a gold chain about her neck, which thou callest propinquity of Complexions, and I know not what. I prethee how much doth this dif∣fer from Sympathy and Antipathy, which all know∣ing men call Asylum ignorantiae: and now I have drove thee thither, I will leave thee in that Sanctuary of fools, What I have said, I have already made good, That the Souls union with the Body is more Theomagicall then Magicus himself is aware of.

Observation 9.
Page 98. line 16. This aethereall sense and Fire of simple Aire, both which he makes to be one and the same thing. All that I say there is, That those ver∣ses are understood of the vehicle of the soul, not of the soul it self; and it is Theupolus his opinion as well as mine, who cites those verses of Virgil, and gives that sense of them; to wit, that the two-fold vehicle of the soul is there meant, the AEthereall and Spiritu∣ous, not the Soul it self, Academic. Contemplat. lib. 4. So that Virgil doth not at all patronize thy grosse conceit of making the Soul consist of fire and aire.

Page 99. line 10. I grant the soul to be a hodily substance that hath dimensions too. Why Phil? Is there any bodily Substances without dimensions? I could
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very willingly grant thee a mere body without a soul, thou hast so little reason and sense in thee; or if thou hast a soul, that it is a corporeall one, and it may well be so: But my question is meant of souls that have Sense and Reason in them, whether they be corpore∣all substances or no? Yes, say you, they are. They are intelligent Fire and Light. I say, Phil. thou art all fire, but no light, nor intelligent at all. Thou art the hottest fellow that ever I met with in all my dayes, as hot as a Taylours Goose when it hisseth, and yet as dark. But let's endeavour (if it be possible) to vi∣trifie thy opake carcase, and transmit a little light into th•e. Doest thou know then what fire is? how it is a very fluid body, whose particles rest not one by a∣nother, but fridge one against another, being very swiftly and variously agitated. In this condition is the matter of fire. But now I demand of thee; Is there any substance in this fire thou speakest of, (for thou sayest it is really fire, and usest no Metaphor) which we may call the essentiall Form thereof, or no? If there be, I ask thee whe•her that Form be Intelli∣gent or no? If it be, then that is the soul, and this subtile agitated matter is •ut the vehicle. But if thou wilt say, that the subtile fiery matter is the Intelligent Soul, see what inconveniencies thou intanglest thy self in. For Fire being as homogeneall a body as water is, and having all the parts much what alike agitated; how can this fire do those offices that commonly are attributed to the soul? First, how can it organize the body into so wise a structure and contrivement, the parts of this fire tending as much this way as that way, or at least tending onely one way, suppose up∣ward. Secondly, how can it inform the whole body of an Embryo in the wombe, and of a grown man? For if it was but big enough for the first, it will be too
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little for the latter; unlesse you suppose it to grow, and to be nourished. But thus, you will not have the same Indiuiduall Soul you was Christened with, and must be forced to turn not onely Independent, but A∣nabaptist, that your new soul may be baptized; for it is not now the same that you was Christened with before. For I say, that ten spoonfulls of water added to one should rather individuate the whole, then that one of that whole number should individuate the ten. Thirdly, how can it move it self, or the body in a spontaneous way? For all the particles of this fiery matter wriggling and playing on their own centers, or joyntly endeavouring to tend upwards, makes no∣thing to a spontaneous motion, no more then the A∣tomes of dust that are seen playing in the Sun beams, striking through a chink of a wall into a dark room, can conspire into one spontaneous motion, and go which way they please.

Wherefore I say, there ought to be some superin∣tendent Form that takes hold of all these fiery particles and commands them as one body, and guides them this way or that way, and must be the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 of this fiery substance, that is, There must be such an essence in this fiery matter (and that is noted by the preposition 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉) as doth 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 that doth hold together, that doth drive this way, according to its nature or will, and yet thus driving doth keep pos∣session of this fiery Matter; and what is this but •Soul? not the indument, the smock or peticote of the Soul as thou call'st it. Eugenius, thou art old excel∣lent at finding out naked essences, it seems, that takest the garment for the body. Thou art so young that thou canst not distinguish betwixt a living barn, and a baby made of clouts. But this is not all that I have to say Phil. Fourthly, I say that this Fire cannot be the
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Soul, because fire is devoid of sense. I but you say you understand an Intelligent fire. Learnedly an∣swered, and to as much purpose as if you should say, that a Soul is a Post or a Pillar, and then you should distinguish and tell me; you meant an Intelligent Post or Pillar, but I say Fire hath no more sense then a Post or Pillar has reason. For if it have sense, it must have that which the Schools call Sensus communis. And now tell me Phil, to which of all the playing particles of this Ignis fatuus of thine thou wilt ap∣point the office of the Sensus communis, or why to any one more then to the rest? But if thou appoint all, there will be as many severall sensations, as there are particles: Indeed so many distinct living things. And thou wilt become more numerous within, then the possessed in the Gospel, whose name was Legion, because they were many. But if thou wilt pitch upon any one particle above the rest, tell me where it is? In the middle or at the out-side of this fire? I will in∣terpret thee the most favourably, and answer for thee; In the middle. But I demand of thee, Why shall this in the middle have the priviledge of being the Sensus Communis rather then any other, or how will it be able to keep it self in the middle in so fluid a bo∣dy? And if it were kept there, what priviledge hath it but what the most of the rest have, as well as it, to make it fit for the office of a Sensus Communis? For it must be, either because it is otherwise moved on its Center, then the other are on theirs, which you can not prove either to be, or if it were, to be to any pur∣pose: Or it must be, because it hath some advantage in consideration of the joynt motion of the particles. Let the joynt motion therefore of the particles be ei∣ther rectilinear or circular. If rectilinear, as sup∣pose in a square, let the processe of motion be from
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side to side parallel. Hath not then any particle in a right line that is drawn through the center of this Square figure, parallel to two of the sides, equal advan∣tage for this office (the transmission of outward sense being perpendicular to the said right line) that the middle particle hath? For thus it can receive but what comes in one line, transmission of sense being parallel, as is supposed. Nay, the points of any other inward line parallel to this, will do as well as the points of this middle line, which is as plainly true, as two and two is four, if thou understandest sense when it is propounded to thee. Well, but it may be you may think you can mend your self by supposing the joynt motion of this fiery matter to be circular. I say no. For then that of this motion, that respects externall objects is from the Center to the Circumference, as it is plain in that ordinary experiment of a Sling. And thus motion is from the middle particle, not towards it. But you should say here, if you could answer so wisely, that motion bearing forward from this center toward the object, that reciprocally the object will bear against it; and so there will be a transmission of sense round about from all the circumferentiall parts of this fiery Orb which thou calledst the naked soul. But I say, Magicus, if the middle point of this Orb get the place of the Sensus Communis, because there is a common transmission of motion from sensible Ob∣jects thereunto: I say then that there be more Sensus Communes in this Orb then One, because such trans∣missions as are not perpendicular to this Orb, will meet in severall points distant from the middle point or center of this Orb, and there are enough such ex∣ternall transmissions as these. I might adde also, that the middle point or particle being though a minute one, yet a body, and consequently divisible, that that
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will also bid fair for a multiplicity of Common Senses. But I will adde onely this, That I hope to see the day wherein thou wilt be so wise as to be able to confesse, that the Authour of Anthroposophia Theomagica, &c. was the most confident Ignaro that ever wet pa∣per with ink. But before I leave this fourth argument, let me onely cast in one thing more which equally re∣spects both Hypotheses, either of rectilinear or cir∣cular motion. And that's this, If any one particle of this fiery substance be the Common sense, it must be also the principle of spontaneous motion to the whole substance. For we see plainly that that which hath the Animadversive faculty in man, or the office of Com∣mon sense, moves the whole man, or that the motion of him is directed at the beck of this. But I prethee Phil, tell me if thou canst possibly imagine, that any one particle in this fiery substance should be able to impresse spontaneous Motion upon the whole; I know thou canst not but think it impossible. Fifthly, if the Soul be fire (fire being so fluid and unsteddy a sub∣stance) how can there be any memory in it? You re∣member that expression in Catullus, whereby he would set forth sudden obl•teration and forgetfulness of things, that it is like writing in the Water or in the Aire,

In vento aut rapidâ scribere oportet aquâ.
But what think you of fire then, will that consisten∣cy bear more durable characters? The perpetuall fridging and toying of the fiery particles dorh forth∣with cancell whatever is impressed, and now there is neither Common sense nor Memory to be found in your fire, we may be secure there is no Reason to be found there. For the Discursive Faculty requires some 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, something fixt to tread upon as well as the Progressive: But in your fire all is aflote, nothing fixt.
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Sixthly and lastly, If the Soul of man be either fire or aire, or both, I do not see that it will prove immor∣tall; but that its consistency will be dispersed and scat∣tered like the clouds. It will not be able to conflict with the boistrous winds, or scape blowing out, or be∣ing lost in the thinne aire, as other flames are, it once being uncased of the armature of the body. And these Vehicles which you will have to be the very Soul it self, they being so changeable and passive within the body, it will not be absurd with Lucretius to inferre that they will be utterly dissolved when they are without:
Haec igitur tantis ubi morbis corpore in ipso
Iactentur, miserísque modis distracta laborent,
Cur eadem credis sine corpore, in aere aperto,
Cum validis ventis aetatem degere posse?
To this sense,

If in the body rack'd with tort'rous pain
And tost with dire disease they're wearied so;
This shelter lost, how can they then sustain
The strong assaults of stormy winds that blow?
I tell thee Phil, such a Soul as thou fanciest would be no more able to withstand the winds, then the dissi∣pable clouds, nor to understand any more sense then a Soul of clouts, or thy own Soul doth.
But now I have so fully confuted thy grosse opini∣on of the Soul, it may be happily expected that I would declare mine own. But Phil, I onely will de∣clare so much, that I do not look on the Soul as a Pe∣ripateticall atome, but as on a spirituall substance, without corporeall dimensions, but not destitute of an immateriall amplitude of Essence, dilatable and contractible. But for further satisfaction in this point, I referre to my Philosophicall Poems. And do professe that I have as distinct, determinate, and clear appre∣hension
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of these things, and as wary and coherent, as I have of any corporeall thing in the world. But Heat and Fantastry to suddled minds are as good com∣panions as Caution and Reason to the sober. But the durablenesse of that satisfaction is uncertain, whereas solid Reason is lasting and immutable.

SECT. X.
The Confutation of Eugenius his Magicall Chain explained and confirmed. His arguments for know∣ledge or understanding in the Seminall Forms of things utterly subverted. The fondnesse of his de∣finition of the first principle of his Clavis: A de∣monstration that the starres receive not any light from the Sun. Eugenius taxed of Enormous incivi∣lity. Mastix his friend vindicated. His Conje∣cture of Magia Adamica. His censure of the pre∣sent ill temper of Eugenius.

Observation 10. Pag. 101.
MY Book also informes you that this Descent of light proceeds not from any weight, but from a similitude and Symbole of Nature. You are indeed very good at similitudes Phil. as I have proved here∣tofore out of your skill in Zoography. But this is ano∣ther businesse. For here you professe to speak of the symbolizing and sympathizing of things one with an∣other in Nature, and so mutually moving to union, by a kind of attractive power, according to that saying

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
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Well be it so that there is a mutuall attractive power in things that symbolize one with another (for the attraction is mutuall as well as the similitude mutu∣all) What is this to take away what I have objected? Nothing. But I will shew you how you are hang'd in your own chain. For it is as plain, as one of the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, that where two things of the same na∣ture act, the greater is stronger, and the stronger pre∣vails. Wherefore three portions of light should fetch up two, or five one; rather then one should fetch down three, or five, or two. This is the bare point of my reason which I covered with a double compa∣rison. viz. from the greater number of the lincks of a Chain preponderating the lesse number, and from the greater portion of Earth prevailing over the lesse; as in that instance, when a clod taken from the earth and let go in the free aire, the earth commands it back to it self again, according to that conceit of Magne∣tisme. And here the argument was à pari, not à specie, and there may be a collation of parity even in contraries. And your ignorance of that Logicall Notion, hath inabled you to rayl so much, and speak so little to the purpose on this Observation, as any Logician may very easily discern.
Observation 13.
Page 103. line 14. Answer if thou darest to any one of these Questions. Assure thy self, Eugenius, I can give a very rationall answer to every one of them. But for thy sake I think fit to answer none of them. But what is in my Philosophicall Poems will salve them all.

I will now rather examine what force of Arguments you have to prove that that which orders Matter in∣to
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shape and form, is Animadversive and Intelli∣gent.

Your first Argument is; that if there were no A∣nimadversion in the Ratio Seminalis, (or call it what you will) that shapes the Matter into Form, the A∣gent would mistake in his work.

Secondly, That he would work he knew not what, nor wherefore, and that therefore all Generations would be blind Casualties.

Thirdly, there would not be that Method, infalli∣bility of Action nor proportion and Symmetry of parts in the work.

Fourthly and Lastly, That there would be no End nor Impulsive cause to make him to work.

To all these unsound Reasons, I have already an∣swered very solidly and truly; That the force of them reached no further then thus: That the Ratio Semi∣nalis must at least proceed from something that is knowing, and be in some sense Rationall, but not have reason and animadversion in it self. And this is the opinion of Plotinus, Marsilius Ficinus, and all the Platonists that I have met with. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, &c. Ennead. 2. lib. 3. To this sense. For the Ratio Seminalis acts in the Mat∣ter, and that which acts thus naturally, neither under∣stands nor sees, but hath onely a power to transform the Matter, not knowing any thing, but making onely as it were a form or shape in the water. And Ficinus compares this Ratio Seminalis, to an Artifice cut off from the mind of the Artificer and made self-sub∣sistent, and able to work upon prepared matter, but without knowledge, as being disjoyned from all ani∣madversive essence. This is the right notion of the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
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And this fully takes away the force of all your Arguments. For these being divine art imbodied in Nature and Matter, and working natu∣rally, they will

First, Mistake no more, then a Stone will in its journey downwards, or the Fire in its course upward; which go alwayes right, if no externall obstacle hin∣der them. And these will work right, if the Matter be duly prepared.

Secondly, Though they work they know not what, yet they work right in virtue of that cause from whence they came, the divine Intellect: and their o∣peration is no more casuall then the ascent of Fire, and descent of Earth; for it is naturall.

Thirdly, This third falls in with the second, and the same answer will serve both.

Fourthly, There is an Impulsive cause and End of their working, though unknown to them, yet not un∣known to the Authour of them. As in the orderly motion of a Watch the Spring knows not the end of its Motion, but the Artificer doth. Yet the watch moves, and orderly too, and to a good End. But this fourth falls in also with the second or first. And you see now that they are indeed all fallen to nothing at all. So easily is Confidence overcome when unbacked with solid Reason.

Observation 16, 19.
Page 107. line 5. Did ever man scribble such ri∣diculous impertinencies? Never any man before Eu∣genius Philalethes. But why will you scribble such stuff, Phil. that will put you to the pains of reproach∣ing of it when you have done? My exception against your definition of the first principle of your Clavis
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was as solid as merry. For, One in one, and One from one, is no definition of any one thing in the world. For definitio, or 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, is a bounding and limiting what you define. But here is no bounds nor limits at all. For every thing that is, is One in one, and One from one, viz. in one world and from one God. And then in your other attempt this way, to define it, A pure white Virgin walking in shades and Tiffanies, is a meer foolery in Philosophy, and teacheth no∣thing but that your fancy is very feminine. Now in answer to all this, you contrive two ridiculous para∣logisines, and then laugh at them when you have done.

Page 108. line 8. Made their God Iupiter an A∣dulterer. And you Eugenius, bestow a wife on the God of Israel, and make her after an Adulteresse, and then call me blasphemous for deriding your folly.

Page 109. line 14. Which thou dost blasphemously call pitifull services. Yes, Philalethes, And I ought to call them so, in comparison of that high good that is intended to us by Scripture. They are pitiful things indeed in comparison of that. And thou art a pitifull fellow to make an Independent of, that hast no more wit nor Christianity in thee then to call this blasphe∣my. But a man may easily discern how religious thou art, though by Moon light, at the latter end of the 110 page, where thou dost display thine own Immo∣modesty, by talking of displaying of Petticotes.

Observation 20.
Line 5. The Starres could not receive any light from the Sunne. Now you shew how wise you are, in straining at so high a Philosophicall notion. I tell
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thee, Phil. the Starres cannot receive any light from the Sun, no more then this earth can from one single starre. For the Sunne to our sight at the distance he is from the fixed stars, would seem no bigger then they, if so big. For according to the computation of Astro∣nomers, the stars of the first magnitude are really far bigger then the sunne: yet you see how little light they impart to the earth, and how very small they appear to us. And yet the lively vibration of their light shews plainly that it is their own, not borrowed. So that it is plain, that if the Sun and Starres be Man and Wife, this immense distance makes them live in a perpetuall divorce.

Observation 26.
Line 17. Now at last Reader, he perceives his er∣rour, and grants it no death but a change. Therefore there needed none of your Correction. And I wish you could of your self perceive yours too, that you may need none of mine. But I perceive by what fol∣lows here, thou dost not know my meaning by Spi∣ritus Medicus. Which I pardon in thee, thou dost so seldome understand thy own.

Observation 42. 46.
Line 12. Otherwise grasse could not grow on the banks of it all the yeare long. I said the fringes of Reeds and Flags, and those gayer ornaments of herbs and flowers, could not grow all the yeare long on the banks of Yska, if it were a river in Great Britain or Ireland. What is now become of thy faint Ha ha he?

Line 14. He thinks Yska runnes to heaven. Do I
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so, Phil? why then I gave thee friendly counsel when I bid thee fling thy self into its stream. For then thou wouldst with ease have gone along with the stream to heaven, when others are fain to row hard against the stream, and scarce arive thither when they have done all they can. I knew thy meaning by thy mumping, Phil. but thou expressedst it so disadvantagiously, that thou gavest me good occasion to be merry with thee. But thou hast no mirth nor urbanity at all in thee, but wrath and foul language, which without any heed or discretion thou flingest upon every one that comes in thy way. And here in this 114 page, thou bidst fair for the calling of that noble Philosopher Des-Cartes, knave, as heretofore thou didst call him fool. What Wit, Civility, or Judgement is there in this Philale∣thes? Thou art resolved to be recorded to posterity the most immortall and ignorant man that ever ap∣peared yet in publick. But thou hast as much confu∣ted his Philosophy, by saying it is a Whim and a Wham, as thou hast solidly answered thy Observa∣tour. I have made it apparent, that thou hast not spoke sense scarce to any one thing I objected against thee. But hast discovered thy grosse ignorance in Logick and Philosophy so farre, that I professe I did not suspect thou hadst been any thing near so weak as I have found thee: but I willingly leave the censure of it to the Judicious. I will onely speak thus much in favour to thee and for thy excuse, that the strength of thy passion may very well have more then ordinarily weakened thy reason.

Now for that Ingenuous young Gentleman, the smartnesse of whose Poetry hath so wrung thee, and vext thy guts, that it hath brought upon thee the Pas∣sio Iliaca, and made thee so foul mouthed, I will one∣ly say so much, Phil. and speak within compasse,
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that he hath more wit and Philosophy in one hair of his head, then thou hast in thy whole noddle. And that his verse was not obedient to my prose; but the Muses were very obsequious to his wit and humour of representing thee such as thou art. And in this one∣ly he was no Poet, in that he doth not write Fictions as thou doest in prose. But it seems he hath so paid thee home, that the sense of my gentle strokes are struck out by his quicker lash. For thou sayest I am a good harmlesse sneaking Observatour, thy Ala•. that is, thy, thou knowst not what, but no Mastix by no means, but onely one that gave thee a flap with a fox-tail. Verily, thou sayest true, I did not intend to hurt thee, and thou makest me so weak as if I were not able. Why doest thou raise then so mighty Tro∣phies upon the victory of so harmlesse and unable an enemy? For as inconsiderable as I am, to make himself considerable to the world, he makes a Co∣losse, a Gyant, a Monster of nine acres long of me. But how can this consist with thy putting me up into a little box. Parturiunt montes— or rather, Debis∣cunt montes, tandem intrat ridiculus mus. The Co∣losse falls, the Mountains gape, and at length enters in the merry Mouse. An excellent jest my Masters! But why into a box with wire grates, rather then into an iron cage, as Tamberlain us'd Bajazeth, and so car∣ried him up and down in triumph? I wonder thou didst not take this jest by the Turkish Mustachoes, rather then that. But this it is, to have a wit no larger then a Mouse-catchers; or a fancy heav'd up no higher then the pinacles of Oxenford. Thou wilt in time, Phil. make a fellow of a fit size to shew the Lions and Rattoon at the Tower; and I suppose thou fawnest upon the Independents so as thou doest, to get their good will for the next reversion of that office. But
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enough my Philalethes, of levity and folly. I will not abuse my liberty to excesse, onely let me in some way answer the expectation of those that may happily ex∣pect my censure of thy Magia Adamica. But I shall not so much answer it, as frustrate it: for I professe, I take no pleasure in the censuring of any mans wri∣tings; I can imploy my self better. I was in a very merry frolick when I ventur'd upon this; yet the Judi∣cious may discern that there was sobriety enough at the bottome of all that mirth. But as for this Ma∣gia Adamica, I confesse I have not read it; but I do favourably conjecture, that the Authour thereof is as well skilled in those books of Magick that Adam read by the fire-side in winter nights, while Eve held to him the candle, as any young man is in these Eu∣ropean parts. I let Adamicus alo•e, my businesse is onely with Anthroposophus, over whom now I ha∣ving so full a victory, it will be expected, perhaps, that I lead him about in triumph. But I must an∣swer my friends in Christian sobernesse, that I am the right Philalethes, a lover of truth more then a lover of victory, and of victory more then of triumph;

—satis est prostrásse leoni.
Onely I will say, not of his Person, but of that Dis∣pensation and Genius in which he is in for the present; Lo, there lies the contagious spectrum of Ephesus, which I have discovered to be the pest of the Com∣mon-wealth of learning, and of humane and divine reason, as much as that demoniacall imposture was the walking plague of that famous city: and now he hath been pelted a little with hard language, as Apol∣lonius commanded the Ephesians to stone that hypo∣criticall old Mendicant with stones, he appears in the very same shape with him at the uncovering of the heap, that is, an uggly huge black Mastife sprawling
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for life, and foaming forth a•undance of filthy stink∣ing scum, after the manner of mad dogs. And thus have I approv'd my self wise as Apollonius, in disco∣vering imposture; and valiant as Hercules, who o∣ver-mastered that 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as Dionysius calls him, that brazen-barking Cerberus.
SECT. XI.
Mastix his Oration to the men of Ephesus. A thre∣fold dispensation under which Christians are. The way to be delivered from the Impostures and Foo∣leries of the second Dispensation. The nature of the third Dispensation or second Covenant. In what sense Mastix is Puritane or Independent. That he is above all Sects whatsoever as Sects. The Transfiguration of his inward man into a breath∣ing Colosse, speaking from Heaven, and what he thence utters. That Mastix is no Enthusiast for all this. His friendly and faithfull Monitions to Eu∣genius, freely discovering to him the true causes of his being defeated in his great designes upon Fame, and Knowledge. That a wise man will not onely not be hurt but be profited by his Enemy.

ANd now, O men of Ephesus! I mean all you that reap the fruit of this noble exploit of mine, rear me up my deserved Trophey, and inscribe this Tetrastich upon it, for an everlasting monument of your gratitude to me, and love to the truth:

Religions Heat as yet unpurged quite
From fleshly sense and self, when't makes a stir
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About high Myst•ries above Reasons light,
Is at the bottome but a rabid Curre.
But that I may conceal nothing from you, O men of Ephesus, I must tell you, that whether you rear up this monument, or whether you forbear all is one. For the truth of these verses is already written in the corner stones of the Universe, and engraven on the lasting pillars of Eternity. Heaven and earth may passe away, but no• one tittle of this truth shall passe away. High and windy Notions do but blow up and kindle more fiercely the fire of Hel in the hearts of men, from whence is Pride, and Contention, and bitter Zeal. This is the pest and plague of Mankind, and the succeeding torture of the sons of Adam. For while the mind of man catcheth at high things, of which she is uncapable till she be refined and purged, she doth but fire the frame of her little world by her overbusie Motion, which burning in grosse fewel, fills all with smoke. And thus the Soul is even smothered and stifled in her narrow mansion. Her first enlarge∣ment here must therefore be, by Temperance and Ab∣stemiousnesse: For without this breathing-hole for fresh aire, Devotion it self will choak her still more and more, heating her thick and polluted spirits in such sort, that they cannot be sufficiently rectified by the power of the brain. But in this Dispensation e∣specially is lodged a strong voice, weak sense, and a rude contempt of any thing that will trouble the head, as Reason, Philosophy, or any but ordinary subtilty in learning. But they love Christ very hearti∣ly after their grosse way, as their Protectour and Se∣curer from what outward evil naturally attends so bad an inward condition. But being so immersed in brutish sense, and yet with conscience of sinne; if any
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body have but the trick to perswade them that Sinne is but a name, he will be a very welcome Apostle to them, and they will find more ease to their beastly nature, in fancying nothing to be sinne, then they did in making their Hypocriticall addresses to an offended Saviour. And then (poore souls) through the foul∣nesse of the flesh, are they easily inveigled into A∣theisme it self. In so great danger are we of the most mischievous miscarriages, by contemning of tho•• known and confessed virtues of Temperance, Conti∣nence, and Chastity.

But we'le suppose Men in a great measure tempe∣rate; yet how farre off are they still from reall hap∣pinesse in themselves, or from not disturbing the hap∣pinesse of others, so long as Envy, Ambition, Cove∣tousnesse, and Self-respect doth still lodge in them? Here indeed Reason may happily get a little more el∣bow-room; but it will be but to be Patron to those vices, and to make good by Argument harsh opinions of God, and peremptorily to conclude the power of Christ weaker then the force of sinne. And the Fan∣cy in these something more refined Spirits, will be more easily figurable into various conceits, but very little to the purpose. Of which some must go for so∣ber Truths, and those that are more fully shining, in the midst of a shadowy Melancholiz'd imagination, must bid fair for Diuine Inspiration, though neither Miracle nor Reason countenance them. But you, O men of Ephesus! if any one tell you strange devises, and forbid you the use of your Reason, or the de∣manding of a Miracle; you will be so wise as to look upon him as one that would bid you wink with your eyes, that he might the more easily give you a box of the Eare, or put his hand into your Pockets.

Now out of this Second Dispensation, innumerable
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swarms of Sects rise in all the world. For Falsehood and Imagination is infinite, but Truth is one. And the benignitie of the Divine Spirit, having no harbour in all this varietie of religious Pageantry; Envy, Co∣vetousnesse, and Ambition must needs make them bustle, and tear all the word in pieces, if the hand of Providence did not hold them in some limits:

Quin laniant mundum; tanta est discordia fra∣trum:
as he saith of the winds. In this Dispensation lodgeth Anger and active Zeal concerning Opinions and Ce∣remonies, Uncertainty and Anxiety touching the pur∣poses of God, and a rigid injudicious Austerity, of which little comes but the frighting men off from Re∣ligion: which notwithstanding if it be had in the truth thereof, is the most chearfull and lovely thing in the world. These men having not reached to the Second Covenant, will also thank any body that could release them from the First, For whereas true Reli∣gion is the great joy and delight of them that attain to it, theirs is but their burden. And so it is not im∣possible that these may be also wound off to the depth of wickednesse, and sink also in time even to Atheisme it self. For what is reall in them will work, but what is imaginary will prove it self ineffectuall. Wherefore, is it not farre better for men to busie all their strength in destroying those things which are so evidently destructive of humane felicity, then to edge their spirits with fiery notions and strange Fantasmes, which pretend indeed to the semblance of deep my∣sterious knowledge and divine speculation; but do no∣thing hinder but that the black dog may be at the bot∣tome, as I said before?
But you will ask me, How shall we be rid of the Importunity of the impostures and fooleries of this
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Second Dispensation. But I demand of you, Is there any way imaginable but this? viz. To adhere to those things that are uncontrovertedly good and true, and to bestow all that zeal, and all that heat, and all that pains for the acquiring of the simplicity of the life of God, that we do in promoting our own Interest, or needlesse and doubtfull Opinions. And I think it is without controversie true to any that are not degene∣rate below men, that Temperance is better then In∣temperance, Justice then Injustice; Humility then Pride, Love then Hatred, and Me•cifulnesse then Cru∣elty. It is also uncontrovertedly true, that God loves his own Image, and that the propagation of it is the most true dispreading of his glory; as the Light which is the Image of the Sunne, is the glory of the Sunne. Wherefore it is as plainly true, that God is as well willing, as able to restore this Image in men, that his glory may shine in the world. This there∣fore is the true Faith, to believe that by the power of God in Christ we may reach to the participation of Divine Nature: Which is a simple, mild, benigne light, that seeks nothing for it self as it self; but doth tender∣ly and cordially endeavour the good of All, and re∣joyceth in the good of All, and will assuredly meet them that keep close to what they plainly in their consciences are convinced is the leading to it. And I say, that sober Morality, conscienciously kept to, is like the morning light reflected from the higher clouds, and a certain Prodrome of the Sunne of Righteousnesse it self. But when he is risen above the Horizon, the same virtues then stream immedi∣ately from his visible body, and they are the very members of Christ according to the Spirit. And he that is come hither, is a pillar in the Temple of God for ever and ever; for he teacheth the Second Cove∣nant,
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whic he can in no more likelihood break, then lay violent hands on himself to the taking away of his naturall life. Nay, that will be farre more easie then this; for a man may kill himself in a trice, but he cannot extinguish this Divine life without long and miserable torture. If this be to be a Puritane, Eu∣genius, I am a Puritane. But I must tell thee, that by how much more a man precisely takes this way, the more Independent he will prove. And the pure simplicity of the life of God revealed in Iesus Christ, will shine with so amiable a lustre in his inward mind, that all the most valuable Opinions that are contro∣verted amongst Churches and Sects, will seem no more comely then a Fools coat compared with the uni∣form Splendour of the Sunne. But if thou meanest by either Puritane or Independent, one in the second Dispensation, I should dissemble in the presence of Heaven, if I should not say I am above them; as I am above all Sects whatsoever as Sects. For I am a true and free Christian; and what I write and speak is for the Interest of Christ, and in the behalf of the life of the Lamb which is contemned. And his In∣terest is the Interest of the sonnes of men; for he hath no Interest but their good and welfare. But because they will not have him to rule, the Nations of the world (by a Divine Nemesis) are given up into the hands of Wolves, Foxes, and Lions: The earth is full of darknesse and cruell habitations. Wherefore, Eugenius, thou doest very unskilfully, in endeavour∣ing to tumble me off from the Independents, to cast me amongst the Puritanes, as thou callest them. For it is not in thy power to cast me so low as any Sect whatsoever; God hath placed me in a Dispensation above them, and wilt thou throw me down? No, Eugenius, I shine upon them both as the Sunne in the Fir∣mament,
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who doth not wink on one side, or with∣draw his Rayes, but looks openly upon all, impart∣ing warmth and light. Thou hast encountred with a Colosse indeed (though thou callest me so but in sport and scorn) farre bigger then that stradling Statue at Rhodes, and that reacheth far higher. And yet no Sta∣tue neither, but one that will speak what nothing but Ignorance and Hypocrisie can deny. Wherefore with my feet wading amidst the Sects of the earth and with my head stooping down out of the Clouds, I will venture to trie the world with this sober question. Tell me therefore, O all ye Nations, People, and Kindreds of the earth, what is the reason that the world is such a stage of misery to the Sonnes of Men? Is it not from hence, That that which should be their great Guidance, their Religion and highest Lights of their minds, is but Heat and squabbling about subtile uncertain points, and foolish affectation of high my∣steries; while the uncontroverted sober truths of Vir∣tue and Piety are neglected, and the simplicity of the life of God despised, as a most contemptible thing. And I had no sooner uttered these words in my mind, but me thought I heard an Answer from all the Quar∣ters of the World, from East, West, North and South, like the noise of many waters, or the voice of Thunder, saying, Amen. Halelujah. This is true.

Nor is this any vain Enthusiasme, Philalethes, but the triumph of the Divine Light in my Rationall Spirit, striking out to my exteriour faculties, my Ima∣gination and Sense. For my head was so filled with the noise, that it felt to me as bound and straitened, as being not able to contain it, and coldnesse and trem∣bling seised upon my flesh. But you will say, All this is but a triviall Truth that you are so zealous and trium∣phant
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in. But verily, Eugenius, is it not better to be zealous about those things that are plainly true, then those that are either uncertain or false? 'Tis true, what I have said to thy soaring minde may seem contem∣ptible. But if thou once hadst the sight of that Principle from whence it came, thou wouldest be suddenly asha∣med of that patched clothing of thy soul, stitch'd up of so many unfutable and heedlesse sigurations of thy unpurged fancy, and wouldst endeavour to put on that simple uniform light.

And now, Eugenius, that I find my self in an ad∣vantagious temper to conuerse with thee, come a little nearer me, or rather I will come a little nearer to thee. Hitherto I have play'd the part of a personated Enemy with thee, give me leave now to do the office of an open Friend. I perceive there is in you, as you have made it manifest to all the world, an eager desire after Knowledge, and as insatiable thirst after Fame: both which are to be reputed farre above that dull and earthy pronenesse of the mind of some men, whose thoughts are bent upon little else but the Bed and the Board. But I tell thee, that this desire of thine being kindled so high in thy melancholy complexion, there arise these three inconveniences from this inordinate heat.

First, Thy spirits are so agitated, that thou canst not soberly and cautiously consider the Objects of thy mind, to see what is truly consequent, what not; and so thy reason goes much to wrack.

Secondly, Thy melancholy being so highly heated, it makes thee think confidently thou hast a Phantasme or Idea of a thing belonging to this or that word, when thou hast not; which is a kind of inward Phrensie, and answers to the seeing of outward apparitions when there is nothing before the sight. Thus art thou
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defeated in thy designe of knowledge in divine and naturall things by this distemper.

But thirdly, The same untamed Heat causeth Bold∣nesse, Confidence and Pride. And hence ariseth thy Imprudence. For I tell thee, Eugenius, there is no such imprudent thing in the world as Pride. Wot'st thou not what the humour of all men is; how they think themselves no inconsiderable things in the world? You know the story in Herodotus, how when the Greeks had overcome the Persians and after it was debated amongst them, to whom the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 belonged, who should have the honour of being re∣puted most valiant in that service, every one did ac∣knowledge that next to himself Themistocles did best. Wherefore it is plain that he that will not let any man go before him, provokes all men. Here there∣fore was thy imprudence, Eugenius, that thou wouldst take the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 to thy self without so much as any de∣bate or asking leave, when every Galenist, Aristote∣lean, Cartesian, and Theosophist, thinks it belongs to him as much as to thee. Thus hast thou provoked all men against thee, and made ship-wrack of thy fame, as well as fallen short of Learning. But you'le say, why? what would you have me to have done as some others do, who (though they be proud, yet) put on a handsome dresse of Modesty and squeamish Hu∣mility? That I tell thee had been indeed something more like Prudence, which thy raised heat could not stoop to, but I must confesse it had been but a kind of Morall Sneaking. For as the bending down of the upper parts of the Body, so that the talnesse of the stature thereof is concealed, is the Sneaking of the Body: so to make a mans self more humble then he is, or lesse high-minded, is the Sneaking of the Soul. But the first point of wisdome is to be really humble
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indeed. For an Humble mind is as still as the night, and as clear as the noon-day. So that it is able with∣out any impatiency or prejudice to discern all things, and rightly to judge of all things. This Christian temper is so sober, and wise, that no Imposture can surprize it, nor ever will it hurt it self by rashnesse and imprudency. This is the heir of God, the trea∣sury of all humane, divine, and naturall knowledge, and the delight and praise of men where ever it ap∣pears. But the inseparable companions of haughti∣nesse, are Ignorance, Shame, and Enmity. But be∣lieve it, Eugenius, as this divine Humility is of more worth, so is it of more labour then to find the Phi∣losophers stone, or the famous Medicine you talk of; I am certain of more consequence by ten thousand times. And me thinks now at length through all those waves and rufflings of thy disordered mind, I see something at the bottome in thee, O Eugenius, that begins to assent to what I say, that begins to shine and smile, and look upon me as a very pleasant Apo∣stle, sent (not without providence) to toy and sport thee into a more sober temper, and advertise thee of the highest good that the Soul of man is capable of; and thou wilt I am confident very suddenly say, and that from thy heart, that better are the wounds of a friend, then the kisses of an enemy. Or if thou canst not yet fancy him a friend that hath worn the vizard of a foe so long, yet I do not mistrust but that thou wilt be so wise, as, according to Xenophons Principle, not onely not to be hurt, but also to be profited by thine enemy.

An enemy indeed is not a thing to be embosomed and embraced, as the Satyr would have done the fire when he first saw it, and therefore was forewarned by Prometheus to abstain,

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〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉,
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
But in the, mean time, that which it would pain or consume, may by observing the right laws of using it, receive kindly warmth and vigour from it, and work excellent things in virtue of its heat or light.
Did not Telephus heal his wound by his enemies spear? And had not Iason his impostume cured by that weapon that was meant for his deadly dispatch? You know also the story of Hiero, Eugenius, who when his enemy had upbraided him with his stinking breath, chid his wife when he came home, because she never had it discovered to him all• that time of their living to∣gether: But she being very honest and simple, told her husband that she thought all mens breaths smelt so. You see then how much more easie it is, to hear what is true concerning us, of our professed Adversaries, then of our bosome Friends.

But methinks I hear thee answer that neither a bo∣some Friend nor an embittered Enemy can be compe∣tent judges of a mans vices or virtues: for the one would be too favourable, and the other too severe. What then? wouldst thou have some Third thing, a mean betwixt both, (according to that known A∣phorisme 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉) whom thou mightest hope would prove an impartiall judge? why, that's I, Phil. whom, I dare say thou art confident to be no friend to thee; and I dare swear I am no enemy. And there∣fore why should I despair, but that my fitnesse and skill may prove as successefull in allaying of Eugenius his tumour, as that unskilfull hand was lucky in lan∣cing Iasons impostume.

And being once cured, do not then repine, that there was a time wherein thou wast unsound, no more then Alexander the great, that he was once so little as to
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be lodged within the narrow compasse of his mo∣thers wombe; or Milo who at length could lift an ox, that he was once so weak that he could not stirre a lamb.

And what think'st thou Phil. of Plato, Empedo∣cles, Democritus, Socrates, and other profound sages of the World, can you imagine that when they had arrived to that pitch of knowledge, that it was any shame or regret to them, that there was once a time when they knew not one letter of the Alphabet. Why then should my Eugenius be troubled, that he was once Childish, Ignorant, Proud and Passionate, when he is well cured of those distempers. We are what we are, and what is past is not, and therefore is not to afflict us. But he that is more anxious concerning Fame then Virtue, and seeks onely to seem a gallant and invincible thing to the whole world, when in the mean time his mind is very weak and vulnerable. I know my Eugenius is so wise, that such a man as this, will seem as irrationall to him, as if one having by ill chance cut his shinne, he should be lesse solicitous a∣bout healing of his legge then mending of his stocken.

FINIS.


The Contents of Mastix his Letter.
1. THe reason why he permitted his Observations and Reply to be reprinted.
2. Of David George and Jacob Behmen.
3. That there are two main wayes of assenting to truth viz. The Evidence of Reason, or the Vigour of Fancy, and to which of these two Jacob Behmens com∣plexion carried him.
4. The great use of that Consideration, and a vin∣dication of Jacob Behmen from the calumnie of his Adversaries.
5. Mastix suspects the objections here propounded to be his friends own, though he dissemble it, but the willinglier answers to them for his sake.
6. A generall Apologie for the mirth of his Ob∣servations.
7. An Apologie for the whole second Section of his Reply.
8. The Faith of the Platonists and of Christians in reference to a blessed immortality in what they a∣gree and in what they differ, and the preheminence of the one above the other.
9. That God is not united after the same manner with every Christian, that he is with Christ himself, and yet that God is communicated to every true Chri∣stian.
10. Deification what it is, and how warrantable a term, and yet discountenanced by Mastix, and the rea∣son why.
11. That the Wise and Virtuous are truly Kings and Priests according to the suffrage both of Christi∣ans

and Heathen Philosophers, and the reason why Mastix put on so gorgeous a Scheme of grandiloquence towards his Antagonist.
12. That it is not Enthusiasme but thankfulnesse to professe what knowledge we have, to have received it from God.
13. The vast difference betwixt Articles of Faith and Opinions, and the great price Mastix sets on the one, though he slights the other.
14. That he is a professed friend to all Sects what∣soever, provided that they revolt not from the Essen∣tialls of Christianity.
15. Bertius his partiality against the Calvinists taxed, and that a conscientious Christian that keeps to the plain truths of the Gospel, sits free and secure from the Distraction of Sects.
16. Mastix his Opinion concerning the Quakers.
17. What may be the most dangerous designe of the devil in that Sect.
18. How to defeat this designe of his; with an in∣timation of the reason why God may permit this errour to spread.
19. Mastix his Dream of the beginning of the late commotions in England.
20. The interpretation of his Dream.
21, The occasion of his Dream, and the comparing thereof with the Figuration of his phansie by day into a breathing Colosse.
22. That that fit was not properly Enthusiasme, but ordinary (though very vehement) Devotion; and that there was nothing divine therein, but that truth which was there uttered, viz. That the Christian life is farre to be preserred before conformity of Opi∣nions.
23. What happened to Mastix nearest to the nature

of Vision or Enthusiasme of any thing that ever befell him, and his Descant thereupon.
24. That the guidance of Dreams is more proper for Action then Speculation, and more fit to deter∣mine us (when we are plainly at a losse) what to do, then what to conceive in points of Philosophy or Reli∣gion.
25. Mastix apologizeth for taking the liberty of telling his own Dreams, excusing himself from the ex∣ample of Cardan.
26. The reason why he sets himself so zealously and professedly against Enthusiasme.
27. The exceeding great advantage the staid and sad mind has above the light and merry.
28. Why Melancholy men may become more holy and illuminate then others, and the great danger of miscarriage in that Complexion.

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Mastix his letter to a private Friend concerning his Reply.
SIR,
I Received yours •ome three weeks or a moneth after the date thereof. I suppose the tedious length of the way and many digressions, and by-visits of the Bearer, made it to come so late; but it is not the more unwelcome or lesse seasonable. Your good opinion of what I have wrote against Atheisme is no small satisfaction to me for my pains therein. For that men of so exquisite judgement as your self al∣low of a Performance, it is to me a plain argument, that if others do not concurre• that the fault is more to be suspected in him that reades, then in him that writes the Discourse.

1. If my Observations and Reply be shortly re∣printed, as you hear, it is through the importunity of our friend Parresiastes, who would not let me be quiet till I had given him leave to do it. The strongest Engine that he had to move me to it, was the consi∣deration, that if I would not let them be reprinted while I might amend such things as I thought fit, that they might hereafter be republished whether I would or no, with what ever disadvantages hang upon them.

That you wish they were as effectuall an Antidote against Enthusiasme, as That other is against Athe∣isme, it does imply that you think they are not; and I thank you for your freedome in declaring your opi∣nion; to which I willingly subscribe. But Parresia∣stes will prefix a Treatise concerning the Nature, Cau∣ses, Kindes, and Cure of Enthusiasme, that in my
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judgement will strike home to the purpose• so that mingling all together they may happily prove as so∣veraign a Medicine against Enthusiasme as you con∣ceive that other to be against Atheisme•

2. Methinks he is something bold with some Au∣thours that considerable men set no small price upon. But let him look to that; You know the man and the manner of his disposition, how free and exert he is, and what a sincere zeal he has to the Truth. What he writes concerning David George and that other so near akin to him, I must confesse I dare not blame his boldnesse therein, they seeming to me (so farre as I can possibly fathome them) at the best but Enthusi∣astick Sadduces. But as for Iacob Behmen I do not see but that he holds firm the Fundamentalls of the Christian Religion, and that his minde was de∣voutly united to the head of the Church, the cruci∣fied Iesus, to whom he breathed out this short ejacu∣lation with much Fervency of spirit upon his death∣bed, Thou crucified Lord Iesus, have mercy on me, and take me into thy kingdome. But though I be ve∣ry well assured of the sanctity of the Man, and look upon him as one that is as much beyond the other two, as his boastings of his own person are lesse then theirs who either equalized themselves with, or set themselves above our Saviour, who is God blessed for ever; yet it is to me no argument at all, that whatsoe∣ver he writes is from an infallible spirit; But the case seems to me to stand thus.

3. There being two main wayes whereby our mind is wonne off to assent to things. viz. The gui∣dance of Reason, or The Strength and vigour of Fancy; and according to the complexion or constitu∣tion of the body we being led by this Faculty rather then by that, suppose, by the strength or fulnesse of
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Fancy rather then the closenesse of reason (neither of which Faculties are so sure guides that we never mis∣carry under their conduct; in so much that all men, e∣ven the very best of them that light upon truth, are to be deemed rather fortunate then wise) Iacob Beh∣men, I conceive, is to be reckoned in the number of those whose Imaginative facultie has the prehemi∣nence above the Rationall; and though he was an holy and good man, his naturall complexion notwith∣standing was not destroyed, but retained its property still; and therefore his imagination being very busie about divine things, he could not without a miracle fail of becoming an Enthusiast, and of receiving di∣vine truths upon the account of the strength and vi∣gour of his Phansie: Which being so well quallifi∣ed with holinesse and sanctity, proved not unsucces∣full in sundry apprehensions, but in others it fared with him after the manner of men, the sagacity of his imagination failing him, as well as the anxietie of reason does others of like integrity with himself.

4. Which things I think very worthy of noting, that no mans writings may be a snare to any ones minde, that none may be puzled in making that true which of it self is certainly false; nor yet contemne the hearty and powerfull exhortations of a zealous soul to the indispensable duties of a Christian by any supposed deviations from the truth in speculations that are not so materiall nor indispensable. Nay though something should fall from him in an Enthusiastick Hurricano that seems neither sutable to what he writes elsewhere, nor to some grand Theorie that all men in their wits hitherto have allowed for truth, yet it were to be imputed rather to that pardonable dis∣ease that his naturall complexion is obnoxious to, then to any diabolicall designe in the Writer; which rash
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and unchristian reproach is, as farre from the truth, if not further, as I conceive, then the credulitie of those that think him in every thing infallibly in∣spired.

5. I cannot but interpret it as an argument of the sincerity of your affection and friendship that you discover some measure of sollicitudes, what successe this second edition of the forenamed Pamphlets may have, and must give you many thanks for your so sea∣sonable and particular intimations of what you have observed most liable to the hasty censure, as you say, of either the heedlesse or malevolent Reader; but I suspect it is but an handsome Scheme of suggesting to me your own dissatisfaction in severall of those pas∣sages which you propound. And therefore I am the more willing for surenesse to answer to all, to ease you of that anxiety your mind may be any way burdened with on my behalf, when you shall understand that all is right at the bottome, let things appear at first sight as they will.

6. First then as for my Observations, let the mirth and humours therein be as wilde and exorbitant as they may, provided they be no other then may well be found in some angry Aristotelean that has taken pepper in the nose, upon the sleights and abuses put upon his Master Aristotle, the Dramatist has offend∣ed nothing in all this, having throughout kept the De∣corum of such a person as he intended to represent. And must confesse that on set purpose that the Wri∣ter might be the more certainly concealed, I gave my self leave to let slip sometimes such passages as were least likely to fall from my pen. But under∣standing what an enraged Antagonist I had got, that he might not adde injustice to wrathfulnesse, and dis∣charge his choler at randome where ever his suspicion
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and jealousie should carry him, I thought it better to be so courteous as to satisfie the inquisitive, and so just as to prevent that injury that might fall upon the fals∣ly suspected, then to shelter my self any longer by concealing the authour of that merry Exploit.

But as concerning my Reply, I cannot there give so succinct an account, the impatiency and fury of my Adversary having torn off our masks, and constraind us to act in our known persons, but must descend particularly to those severall Exceptions that you ob∣serve to have been made against sundry passages of that writing, and I shall take them in that order of Pages as they lie.

7. What you intimate concerning the whole second Section (according as Parresiastes has divided the Book) as if it smelt too much of pride and magnify∣ing my self, You are •irst to consider what a showre of dirt my Antagonist had powred upon me in his foul Answer, endeavouring to tread me down into a dunghill if he could; and therefore it is more par∣donable if I rise up with more courage and shake off all suspicion of being so pittifull a creature as he would make me; and truly I had a conceit that shew∣ing the inward frame of my mind so freely to him, it might have proved as successefull as the flying open of Prince Arthurs shield in his combate with the Gy∣ant Orgoglio; but it seems he had no eyes to behold that kind of lustre. But in the second place that which is more considerable, I magnifie my self in no∣thing, but in the common accomplishments of every sincere Christian, and that I set them off in so high and lofty a strain, is but a zealous profession that the ordinary Christian graces are farre to be preferred before all the miracles of Magick that my Antagonist hankers after, all the knowledge of Nature, and what
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ever else the world will afford; but I have apologi∣sed to this purpose already in my Preface to my An∣tidote.

8. Pag. 175. line 27. Sing of Platonick Faith. What you write as if some men conceited from this passage that I affected a Faith that was not Christian, I wonder much at their mistake. These verses are transcribed out of my Poems of the Immortality of the Soul, and contain a very considerable argument thereof, which is the Goodnesse or Benignity of God, on which the Platonists or better sort of the Heathen relyed, or reposed themselves upon, in their expecta∣tion of happinesse from him; that is, They had their Recumbency upon that principle in God which moved him in the fulnesse of time to send Iesus Christ in∣to the world, according as it is written, God so loved the world, that he gave his onely begotten Sonne, &c. which is a greater and more particular manifestation of the love of God, then the poore Heathen ever did enjoy. But yet so farre forth as they did rely on the goodnesse of God, they did not differ in their faith from us Christians, who also rely upon the same, though upon more explicite terms, and from a more certain and particular knowledge thereof re∣vealed in Christ Iesus, that noble pledge of the love of God towards us. Besides, the Resurrection and Ascension of Christ is a more palpable argument of a blessed Immortality then any the Philosophers could ever produce.

9. Pag. 177. l. 23. My glory, my joy, my com∣municated God. That some have been scandalised with this Passage I conceive is, because they have fan∣cied that I understood thereby a more mysterious union with God then is competible to any saving Christ himself. But for my own part I am so farre
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from thinking that the union of a Christian with God is hypostaticall, that I hold it utterly inconsistant with Christian Religion to think so. For if our uni∣on with God be the same that Christs union is, we are as much God as he, and as lawfull objects of adora∣tion: whith in my apprehension destroyes the whole frame of Christianity. But to those that have no mind to cavill, this place have been found void of all offence, it signifying no more then what is ex∣pressely in the Scripture if you compare S. Peters 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 with that of S. John, God is love, and he that abideth in love, abideth in God and God in him. But it is a riddle to me that God who is Love, should communicate himself so fully as to live and abide in a man, and yet that he should not be for all that communicated to him, which they do plainly imply that cavill at this Passage.

10. Pag. 180. l. 20. This is to be Godded with God and Christed with Christ. Those that repre∣hend this passage, they seem to me to be very repre∣hensible themselves, as having fallen into two errours: The one is, that they think it so enormous and extra∣vagant an expression of men being called Gods, when as very sober and holy writers have made use of the phrase, being warranted thereunto as they conceive from Scripture it self which expresly bestows upon us the title of sonnes of God, John 1. Filios Dei fieri, h•e. Deos, say they, Nam quis nisi Deus potest esse filius Dei, Isa. Cafaub. and the same Authour out of the Fathers. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. S. Au∣gustine speaks very roundly to the same purpose, Templum Dei aedificaxi ex iis quos facit non factus Deus, and Athanasius ad Adelphium,〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Christ became man, that he might make us Gods. But what this
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Deification is, he doth distinctly and judiciously set down thus, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, To be made God, sayes he, is to be united with the Deitie by the partaking of the Spirit of God. And for my own part I understand nothing else by Deification which is so often repeated in that excellent Manual Theologia Germanica, in which, though there be much of Melancholy, yet I think there is more true and savory Divinity then in thousands of other writings that make a greater noise in the world. The other errour my Reprehenders are reprehensible in is, in that they look upon me here as countenancing such phrases as these, when it is plain I check the users of them, for their affectation of such high language, especially they having abused it, not onely to an unmannerly usurpation of an equall estate or paritie with Christ, but to a wilde presumption that there is no other God but such as themselves are. Which abominable opinion of theirs presenting it self then so fully to my mind, carried me forth in that zeal and vehemencie you see, and therefore may be a sufficient excuse for so large an excursion, I keeping my self still so well within compasse, as not to let go my main designe, which was against Phantastrie and Enthusiasme, And do here plainly show that it may well lead a man at length to down right Ranting and Atheisme.

11. Pag. 183. l. 11. Lord of the foure Elements, and Emperour of the World. It is in my apprehen∣sion but an extravagant censure of those that say these expressions are so extravagant. If these words were to be literally understood, I confesse it were the voice rather of a Mad man, then of one in his right senses: but they being to be understood morally, they are not onely sober in themselves but contain in them a consi∣deration
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very proper and effectuall for the making others sober also, I mean such as by their naturall complexion, being hurried on too fast after high things, are liable to grow mad with excessive desire of being in some great place of honour and rule amongst men, or else of being admired for some strange Magi∣call power over Nature and externall Elements; we reminding them hereby, that there is a more noble Empire and more usefull Magick to be fought after, then what so pleases their mistaken fancies; in endea∣vouring after which they shall neither forfeit their Bodies to the soveraigne Power they ought to obey, nor yet their Souls to the Devil, nor squander away the use of their wits and reason upon meer lying de∣ceits and vanities. Besides, this inward command ouer a mans self, which the wisest have alwayes ac∣counted the highest piece of wisdome and power, has ever been by all good men compared with and preferred before scepters and kingdomes; so that I do but speak in the common Dialect of all those that have professed themselves to have had that right e∣steem of Wisdome and Virtue which it deserves. The Philosophers are very loud in their expressions con∣cerning this matter, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Laert. Zen. And Horace fol∣lowing their steps, or rather outgoing them, writes thus;

Ad summam sapiens uno minor est Iove, Dives,
Liber, honoratus, pulcher, rex denique regum.
Nay they are not onely content to set out the dignity of their Wise man as they call him by the title of a King, but will not allow any to be truely so called besides him. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. And Dem•∣philus addes that he is the onely priest also 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉:
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Christianity joynes both Titles together, the Scripture teaching us that all true Christians are both Kings and Priests: So sober and warrantable are those Me∣taphors taken from politicall dignities.
But is it not a piece of Pride to speak of a mans self in such high terms? I answer, is it not a piece of basenesse for a man to be ashamed to professe himself a Christian, and his high esteem he has of that cal∣ling, especially he being so fairly invited thereunto, partly to wipe off the foul calumnies of his Adver∣sary who would make the world believe, I wrote a∣gainst him out of envy, the poorest and most sneak∣ing of all passions, and utterly contrary to all magna∣nimity and true gallantry of Spirit; and partly to re∣commend to all generous Souls the love of Christi∣anity and Virtue. under the notion of a very Royall and magnificent State and condition (which I do in most parts of this present Section) and so to win o∣ver, if it were possible, my Antagonist himself, from the vain affectation of Magick to a more sa∣cred and more truly glorious power over his own Na∣ture.

Pag. 183. l. 24. I still the raging of the Sea, &c. Impera ventis & tempestatibus, dic mari, quiesce; & Aquiloni, ne flaveris, &c. is the very allegorie that that devout Soul Thomas à Kempis uses in his devo∣tions lib. 3. cap. 23. See also my Morall Cabbal• and the Defence thereof, and it will warrant to a syl∣lable every thing that I have wrote in this Section of this kind.

12. Pag. 115. l. 7. And impregnation of my un∣derstanding from the most High, &c. Here you say they demand of me if I take my self to be inspired. Yes, in such sort as other well meaning Christians are, that take a speciall care of venting any thing but what
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they can, or at least think they can, give a sufficient reason for. I suppose that every one that is wise, it is the gift of God to him: And Elihu is right in this, though much out in his censure of Iob, I said, dayes should speak, and multitude of yeares should teach wisdome. But there is a spirit in a man; and the in∣spiration of the Almighty gives them understanding. The Apostle also bids, that if any one lack wisdome, that he ask it of God, wherefore if any one find any measure of wisdome in himself, or at least think he does, he is to give him the glory of it: but whether Wisdome thus obtained of God be Inspiration, or no, I leave to those to dispute that love to bring all things into a form of controversie.

13. Pag. 281. l. 12. The most valuable Opini∣ons that are controverted amongst Churches and Sects, &c. That from this place and some others of my Re∣ply, some would gather that I make nothing of the Articles of the Christian faith, it is a signe to me that they either want Reason or Charity. For in my own thoughts I make a vast difference betwixt the Articles of the Christian faith and Opinions, and cannot for∣bear to professe that my judgement is, That if Sects differ in these, some of them will not fail to prove maimed or defective Christians; of which sort I con∣ceive are such Articles as these; namely, The existence of a God Omnipotent, Omniscient, and infinitely Good, together with the Trinity of the Godhead, The Divinity of Christ, That he is a sacrifice for sin. That he came into the world to root out the works of the Devil, and every plant that is not of his Fathers plant∣ing, that is, all manner of Idolatry and Wickednesse of either Flesh or Spirit. That he rose corporeally out of the grave. That he ascended up into heaven visibly in the sight of his Disciples. And that he will
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in due time return visibly from thence to take venge∣ance on the wicked, and recompence the good when he shall change their vile bodies into the similitude of his glorious body, crowning them with everlasting life and joy. These and such like Truths as these so plainly comprehended in the sacred Text, it never came into my mind to debase them so much as to cast them into the rank of Opinions, though of the best sort that can be imagined: For these are not the objects of Opi∣nion to any reall Christian but of Faith, by which I understand a steady and unshaken belief that they are true. And whosoever contradicts any of these, I make bold to pronounce (let him talk as sweetly and graciously as he will) that it is nothing but either puzzled Nature, obfuscating Melancholy, or some Diabolicall mysterie working in him, that imboldens him to contradict so holy a truth.

14. Pag. 281. l. 31. To cast me amongst the Pu∣ritans as thou callest them. It is also groundlesly spoken of those that vote me for a peculiar enemy to the Puritanes, from this passage and some others of like nature, when as if they read but on a little fur∣ther in this place, they may see I openly professe my self a Friend to all Sects whatsoever in the Christian world. For what warrant have I to be a foe to them that God himself is a friend to; as I make no question but he is to any, in any Sect that hold the Fundamen∣talls of Christianity with a conscionable endeavour of living accordingly, and does mercifully wink at their Childishnesse in the rest. But if in stead of Children they prove Bears and Lyons, and devour their Neigh∣bours out of a zeal to their own follies, or it may be out of a worse principle, Pride, Covetousnesse and Revenge; I must confesse I think they are not then Christians at all, but Wolves in sheeps clothing.

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15. And verily every Sect, as a Sect, is of this na∣ture and condition, and they want nothing but oppor∣tunity to show their fangs, and therefore I think Bertius has done very unjustly in laying all the load upon the Calvinists, as if that were peculiar to them that is the disease of all Opinionists whatsoever. But for my part my ambition is to be found rather a∣mongst them that are sound then those that are disea∣sed, containing my self within the sober limits of the Word of God for the Articles of my Faith, and shall be so civill to others, as to give them leave to believe what they will, so they do not believe against what is plainly and expresly contained in Scripture. For for a man to be hot for some Point that with a great deal of study and care he has hammered out of the Text, and imperiously to obtrude it up∣on others, seems to me as absurd, as if some con∣ceited Artisan should force another to buy some ela∣borate toy, that he has spent a great deal of time and pains upon, at his own rate, when the chapman pro∣fesses he has no need of any such impertinent curiosi∣ties. And I doubt not but that this is the condition of every man that has an hearty and favoury sense and firm belief of the grand Truths of Christianitie, such as are, That there is an all-seeing eye of Provi∣dence that takes notice of all our actions to reward or punish them. That if we sinne and unfainedly repent thereof, that we have a Mediatour Jesus Christ the righteous, who is a propitiation for our sins. That we may through him in time have a very considerable victory or conquest over them, we keeping as close to his precepts and example as we can, and earnestly imploring the aid of his Spirit for a further proficiency dayly in that life that has begun to appear in us, and to •each us; that denying all ungodlinesse and worldly
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lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world, looking for that blessed hope and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Savi∣our Iesus Christ, who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purifie unto himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works; I say, a constant endeavour after such a pitch of ho∣linesse as this, and a firm belief of His return to judgement whom we most affectionately love, adore, and to the utmost of our power imitate in our conver∣sations, is so warm and filling a cordiall to the sincere Soul, that he will either loath, or at least not much long for what ever humane invention can afford him as an overplus. For if a man stick to such plain things as these, and others of the same nature that are to be found and easily understood in Scripture, he has built his house on the Rock of ages, and all the Sectarian Gibberish in the world cannot distract him, nor dissettle or bring him into any diffidence but that he is safe and well.

16. Pag. 282. l. 32. Coldnesse and trembling seized upon my flesh. What you say some have collected from this place, is the most fair and probable calum∣niation of any. For for my own part I have so little esteem of any Sect whatsoever, that comparing their Title with that of a Christian, I conceive it little bet∣ter then a reproach or calumny. But to tell you my opinion of that Sect which are called Quakers, though I must allow that there may be some a∣mongst them good and sincere hearted men, and it may be nearer to the purity of Christianity for the life and power of it, then many others; yet I am well assured that the generality of them are prodigi∣ously Melancholy, and some few perhaps possessed with the Devil. And I conceive that he doth work
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more cunningly and despightfully against the king∣dome of Christ in that Sect then in any open Sect that has appeared in these latter times. For they in∣termingling so great severity and conspicuous signes of Mortification, the close keeping to the light with∣in, and the not offending in the least manner the di∣ctates of our consciences, but to walk evenly and sincerely before God and man, they intermingling, I say, these wholesome things with what is so abomi∣nable and dangerous, viz. the slighting of the histo∣ry of Christ and making a meer Allegory of it, there∣by voiding all that wisdome of God that is contained in the mysterie of Christianity, as it referres to the very person of Christ; this, I say, cannot proceed from any thing so likely as from the craft and watch∣full malice of Lucifer, who undoubtedly envies Christ his Throne both in Heaven and in Earth, and therefore would bring one of these two mischiefes up∣on his Church, that is, either the slurring of the per∣son of our Saviour, or else of that, without which he can take no complacency in his Church, and that is, true and reall Sanctity or Holinesse.

17. Wherefore this is the perverse Dilemma he thinks he has caught us in. That if this Leaven of the Quakers prevail, the person of Christ will be out∣ed and the mysterie thereupon depending cancelled, and all that advantage to Life and Godlinesse therein comprehended taken away; which he will be as able to effect as to pull the Sunne out of the Firmament. But though it succeeds not this way, yet he at least promises himself that these Instruments of his speak∣ing so loudly for and acting (so farre as many can discern) so earnestly and seriously according to the stricktest rules of a Christian life, and calling upon e∣very one so vehemently to do the like, to mortifie the
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old man with all his lusts and concupiscences, and to put on the new man which is created in righteousnesse and true holinesse, adding, that God will enable us to do all this if we will but cordially set our selves to it, and that unlesse we do this, all the rest of our Re∣ligion profits us nothing (which things are most true and precious) he hopes, I say, that this their so lavish profession of these duties will make them be still mo•e coldly entertained by them that otherwise are zealous enough in that other part of Christianity, they being thus blemisht and besmeared with the foul fingerings of such execrable persons as they must needs seem to be, and indeed are, that set so little by him whom God of a truth hath exalted above men and Angels: and so like Children they will forsake their meat because some ugly body has touched it, as Hucsters aud Victuallers in Turkie let go for nought what ever a slave, as he passes by, layes his hand on, no body after vouchsafing to eat thereof.

Now in as many as this Stratagem takes effect, the end of Christianity is supplanted as Christianity it self was endeavoured to be supplanted before. For Christ gave himself, that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purifie unto himself a peculiar peo∣ple, zealous of good works, as was above rehearsed out of the Apostle.

18. But the plot being discovered, the mischief may be certainly prevented viz. If besides all that honour we otherwise give Christ, we adde a faithfull and constant obedience to his will: which will of his is that we become perfect, as his Father which is in heaven is perfect: And we shall be the better spurred up to mend our pace towards these accomplishments, or be more forcibly driven thereunto, if we seriously set our selves to enquire into the true causes, why God
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permits such a Mysterie as this to work, that tends in very truth to the utter ouerthrow of that warrant∣able, though more externall, frame of Christianity that the Scripture it self points out to us, and which should be as a rich Cabinet wherein that Jewell the Diuine life is to be found, viz. whether it be not, that we hypocritically content our selves with this empty Tabernacle though the Presence and power of God abide not therein (as it does not unlesse we find our selves purified from all filthinesse of flesh and spirit, or at least hold our selves bound in duty with all earnestnesse possible to endeavour thereafter) whe∣ther, this I say, be not the cause that God threatens thus unto us the utter overthrow of that Religion under which, against the mind of our Law-giver we would shelter our selves with all our hypocrisies and abominations.

As for those that from this Passage of this aenigma∣ticall Colosse, that my Imagination was transfigured into, conceive me to affect divine Visions as you say, and extraordinary Revelations, and so to be sick of that Disease that I would pretend to cure others of; I must confesse I was transported so farre in this place, that it is pardonable if they do suspect me of some such distemper, they not knowing of what frame of spirit I am. But as for my self, there is nothing at all in this that happened to me, that seemed to me extra∣ordinary, and that onely I look upon as divine in it which such men as these in all likelihood would the least of all esteem as such, which I think I shall easily make you understand, by comparing what has hap∣ned to me in my sleep with this that befell me a∣wake.

19. At the beginning of the late commotions here in England I dream'd thus. Me thought I was at a
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friends house in the rode betwixt London and Scot∣land, where having gone out into the outward court in a bright Moon-shine night; a little before I return∣ed in again, I looked first towards the North, where I saw in the heavens a Woman with a child on her lap, holding her arm over it, with that care and ten∣dernesse that Mothers and Nurses usually do over young Children. I afterward turned me toward the South, and looking up I beheld the Effigies of a very old Man with a long beard, lying on his side all along stretcht parallel to the Horizon. This represen∣tation was, as I easily discerned, made of a very bright cloud, that had imbibed plentifully the light of the Moon. I looking steddily upon him, he be∣gan to move his right arm, but from the elbow onely, and that very leasurely, raising it but a little height, and then let it fall to the same posture it was before. He moved it thus, so farre as I can remember, some six or seven times, lifting this part of his arm every bout higher then other, and keeping the same distance of time in all; but the last stroke was struck by his whole arm from the very shoulder. When he had thus done, I turned my face, returning into the house; but before I had reached the door, he sent these words after me, with an hollow voice much like thun∣der afarre off, There is indeed love amongst you, but onely according to the flesh.

20. Not at all dismaid neither with the sight nor the voice I passed into the hall and told them what had hapned, expounding the generall meaning of my dream in my dream, advertising them that the Old man his manner of striking so gradually, was an Em∣bleme of the proceedings of God when he chastises a nation, adding certain reasons out of Aristotles Me∣chanicks, which I had very lately read, why those
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strokes must needs be one heavier then another and the last (which represented the hand of God striking to a more signall overthrow if not finall destruction) by farre the most heavy of all.

That this was the Method of God in plagueing a people, but that which provoked him to wrath or brought mischief upon them was the want of that life and spirit of Christianity which is the Divine love, whereby the eagernesse of the love of the world with all the honours and pleasures thereof is abated and all Christian duties, we owe one to another, there∣by the more easily performed. For whereas that car∣nall love will amount to no more then what is found in wilde Beasts and base Vermin, that rake and roven and tear away their prey where ever they can get it, pulling it into their own dens and dark holes to pro∣vide for themselves and their young ones; that bet∣ter Love which is the Spirit of God communicated to us, makes us more universally benigne and kinde, de∣siring and endeavouring the good of all, being as ill at ease at the calamity of our Neighbours, as if it had hapned to our selves; and rejoycing as much in their welfair as if it were our own; which assuredly is the indispensable condition of every true Christian; and therefore if we were such, Christendome could not be embroyled in such warres, disturbances and confu∣sions as it has been these many ages. To this pur∣pose I spake in my sleep, which being no more then I thought oftentimes before, while I was awake, could seem to me to have nothing in it extraordinary.

21. That which may seem most strange to others is the Vision (as I may so call it) in this dream, which would have amused my self, had I not remembred that over night I had looked upon the Frontispiece of Ptolomies Maps, where my fancy it seems having laid
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hold on his venerable beard, drew in thereby the whole scene of things that presented themselves to me in my sleep; And though some may think this dream to be more particularly applicable to what has hapned of late yeares here in England, yet no man can demonstrate but that the congruity may be onely casuall.

Now as occasionally from the Picture of Ptolomie my Fancy was carried into that dream by night, so was it also in the day time transfigured into this breathing and speaking Colosse, by Eugenius his men∣tioning of and comparing me with that enormous sta∣tue. For that the fancy will work of it self without any leave or direction from our superiour faculties, is very plain, and that as well by day as by night. But the difference is, that a man awake has ordinarily the power, if he think good, to curb such Fantasmes when they appear, and so I could have done this knowing right well it was but an occasionall fancy, but such as would serve my turn to set off that Truth I had to declare unto the World, with more force and vigour; and therefore I let it go on. Nor is there in all this any thing either extraordinary or divine, the naturall causes being so apparent to any mans capa∣city.

22. But that Truth which this breathing Colosse uttered to the world is not onely divine, but one of the most concerning divine Truths that Christiandome can take notice of. For it arises out of the height of that life that is truely and indispensably Christian, and without which those happy times, which the Prophets have prophecyed of and very good and precious men hope for, will never come upon the earth. And if that of the Deity that lies hid in men (〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, as the Philosopher speaks)
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raised it self up more then ordinarily at this bout, it producing nothing but a more quick and sensible gust of a truth, so sacred and evident to every one in whom the grace of God does abide, it cannot amount to that which men call Enthusiasme, but is to go onely for a sober and warrantable, though a very vehement and affectionate fit of Love and Devotion, upon a fuller and clearer impresse or manifestation of the ex∣cellency of that Life and Spirit which Christ came to communicate to the world. Of which by how much every one does partake, by so much the more he will slight the curiosities of Opinions, and in this light plainly see that the zeal after a conformity to them does more then any thing hinder the growth of Truth, and the advancement of the kingdome of Christ upon the earth. For while they have that whereby they may make a show of godlinesse before others, they are the more easily retain'd in the estate of Hy∣pocrisie, they fancying that they serve God well e∣nough in the promoting of their own conceits and in∣ventions which they shamefully call the Truth of God. And besides, they hinder that good which sin∣cere Christians may do in the world, who have so much the fear of God before their eyes, that they will not lie and dissemble for their own advantage, and therefore men of least conscience, carelesse what is true or false in Religion, but very crafty for them∣selves, and that will conform to any thing to mend their livelihood (and those that are the most Atheisti∣call, will be able to do this the most exquisitely) get into power and place in the Church, and so the Wolf having put on the Shepherds coat and taken his crook into his hand, very formally tends the flocks of Christ, and undoubtedly will give a wonderfull fair account of his office at the last to that great Pastour and Bi∣shop of our souls.

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This therefore that is so intelligible and rationall so manifest and commonly known to all that have made that due progresse in Christianity which they may, is not to be held as an extraordinary piece of Enthusiasme but a plain, though very zealous, de∣claration of an indispensable Truth.

23. That which came the nearest to Vision or En∣thusiasme that ever hapned to me, was about seven or eight and twenty yeares ago, when on a morning in my bed after break of day I heard, as I thought, a sound of a Trumpet very shrill and piercing, the longer it sounded, the more shrill and piercing it was, so that it pain'd my eare more and more. Methought I was then in an open place and in a free Horizon, saving that something a thick Mist hundred my pro∣spect, but it grew thinner and thinner, and an innu∣merable company of Angels, blew and purple co∣lour'd about the shoulders, filled the heavens round about, but the sight was obscure by reason of the mist. But according as the Trumpet sounded louder and louder, the Mist grew thinner and the Vision clearer: But the shrilnesse of the Trumpet did pierce my eare with such a great pain, that I could not go on till the sight was perfectly cleared up.

That which might perswade a man that there was something more then ordinary in it, is this, that where∣as I was really asleep; yet I did plainly find in my self a power of waking my self, if I would; which seems almost impossible for one that is asleep. But out of the great desire that I had to see the vision cleared up. I forbore the waking of my self so long as I could, and endured the great torture the shrill sound of the Trumpet put me to; but at last it growing intolerable, I was fain to awake my self out of this dream.

That a man should be in such intolerable torture
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may also seem to some to be beyond the causality of a dream: But to me it does not at all, who, upon the reading of Aristotle's Mechanicks, where he speaks of the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 and 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, and the power of re∣moving timber thereby, fell into a dream of moving a great piece of timber by this ordinary engine, that caused a pain unspeakable. For every time I pressed down the Lever with my body, I was in as great a torment, as if my bowells had been torn out, so that groaning very pitteously, my Chamberfellow called to me, thereby ridding me of my dream and pain at once. And in my apprehension that other circumstance of finding it in my own power to awake my self if I would, is not much unlike their case that are troubled with the Ephialtes, that perceive them∣selves in some sort asleep, and endeavour to waken themselves as well as they can.

That which seems most unanswerable to my self is what it is impossible to propound to another, as be∣ing unexpressable, and that is that admirable Temper and frame of spirit I found my self in upon my wa∣king, which, if it were in my power to relate, would seem to most men incredible; so that, for this passage sake, I should be prone to suspect something more then naturall in what preceded it, did I not consider that sometimes there may be of it self such a Tenour and Disposition of body, that may either suggest or imitate what is most holy and divine: So uncertain a guide shall we have of whatsoever offers it self to us, and would inform us of any thing that cannot be made good out of Reason or Scripture: And I know nothing worth the taking notice of in all Divinity that is not determinable by these two.

24. But for those Dreams or night-Visions that do not ptetend to instruct us in any generall Specula∣tion
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or Theoreticall Mysterie, but concern the ma∣nagement of our affairs, and particular negotiations, humane prudence being so lubricous a principle, when we are once really at a plunge; I think it not at all unwarrantable in a matter not unjust to follow such intimations as these, if they be offered, there being therein more of self-resignation and a fuller relyance upon that Providence which by such uncertain becks and nods (as they must needs seem to strangers) doth notwithstanding hereby sometimes most clearly and certainly communicate her mind and purpose to her own favourites, to their singular advantage and stu∣pendious successe.

25. Sir you will pardon my garrulitie, as you may be enduced to term it from Theophrastus his exam∣ple, who makes the telling of a mans dreams a cha∣racter of that vice: But the best is it must be then to a stranger, which will I hope excuse me that have told mine to an intimate friend; and I might further justi∣fie my self from the practice of Cardan, that publish∣ed severall of his to all the world, which I think are of as little consequence as these of mine.

26. I have now answered to the chief Exceptions made against any particular passage of my Reply. What you say of some that they much marvell at the whole designe in generall, that I do so zealously and industriously oppose Enthusiasme, they not seeing that it is worth the while so to do; Certainly this censure must come from such men as are either tainted with this disease themselves, or else such strangers to it, that they have not so much as observed the mischievous workings thereof. But for my own part I being so throughly perswaded in my judgement of the truth and solidity of Christian religion and that it is main∣tainable by Reason against all cavills and sophistries
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whatsoever (let the Adversary oppose as fiercely and cunningly as he can) and obseruing likewise that the whole businesse of Enthusiasts is to decry Reason as an impure and carnall thing, I could not but look upon Enthusiasme as the onely Sleight and most effe∣ctuall Engine (seem it to others as despicable as it will) to unhinge Christiandome, dethrone Christ and annull that great and precious Mysterie of Christia∣nity, in which the Wisedome and Goodnesse of God does more clearly shine forth, then in any Dispensa∣tion of his Providence that he ever set a foot as yet in the world. And what is to come, must be but the accomplishment of this Period. Wherefore it seemed to me very unjust and ignoble, not to endeavour to the utmost, by any means possible and lawfull, to hinder the progresse of so dangerous an evil, and to provide so well for the honour of that Religion I was born under and do professe; that it should not be basfled or dashed out of countenance by that which is nei∣ther Religion, solid Reason, nor any thing else lau∣dable, but merely a bold and wilde Distemper of a Melancholy spirit.

27. To what some particularly except against the Merriment of my Reply I have said enough else∣where, and therefore will onely adde this, That if that false Gravity, which is nothing else but a sower kinde of pride, take the chair of censure, Mirth ap∣pealing thence to any indifferent Judge, will need no Pleader; but if she stand in competition with that sedatenesse and benigne sadnesse of spirit wherein dwells true Gravity indeed, she will then deserve none. For assuredly this temper is beyond all com∣parison better then that merry Complexion. For whereas Mirth and Levity do often betray the Soul, so that she is surprised by what is foolish and vain,
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this Stayednesse and Gravity does not onely guard her from what is evil, but restrains her from what is tri∣viall, and makes her spend her pains upon no enter∣prise but what is worthy so noble a nature as her own; which is no Pride, but true Magnanimity and Gene∣rosity of Spirit. Besides, such as are of a light Ge∣nius that is alwayes so pleasant and well contented, e∣ven to a redoundancy of toyishnesse and sport; it is a signe that their desires are shallow, in that they are so easily and continuedly satisfied, and therefore in a present incapacity of valuing the representations of more weighty objects. Whence it is that the pro∣foundest & most concerning Mysteries of Philosophy and Religion are never infused into such slight & flue vessels. But the grave and sad minde that seldome ruminates on small matters, whose carriage being calme and quiet to the world, yet is full of workings within and strong breathings after the noblest Acqui∣sitions, does not fail in the conclusion to enjoy her con∣tentment secretly and apart from others, being fully compensated for her patience with all that wisdome and holinesse that the Spirit of God bestows on them that have long waited for him.

28. And in this I conceive, Melancholy men have their speciall advantage, that Complexion making their desires vast and vehement, and their resentments very deep and vivid, and therefore very fit for the highest communications, their desires, joy and thank∣fulnesse bearing a more answerable proportion to the weighty matters they receive. Hence it is they are more frequently blest with a greater share of illumi∣nation and extraordinary sanctification then others, if there be no Let by reason of some flaw in Nature, or some default in themselves. For then instead of prov∣ing better then others, they may prove farre worse, that
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Complexion exposing them to errours and mistakes proportionable to the greatnesse of their spirits and vastnesse of their desires, and so makes them often de∣generate from the state of men that seem'd to the World extraordinarily holy and illuminate, into meer Mock-prophets and ridiculous Enthusiasts; afterwards Ranters, Atheists, and what not.

Sir, I have now answered to all the intimations in your Letter, saving what is generally intimated, or ra∣ther fully expressed in them all, which is your faith∣fulnesse and unfained friendship, which cannot be an∣swered by words, but by an earnest endeavour of real∣ly approving as well as professing my self

Your affectionate friend to serve you,

M.

Errata Insigniora sic corrige.
Pag. 15. l. 4. for live sense reade lively sense. p. 25. l. 33. como∣•ion r. commotion. p. 29. l. 14. his spirit r. their spirit. p. 100. l. 2. And this r. And his. p. 107. l. 6. slea r. flea. p. 176. l. ult. then all-spreaden r. then an all-spreaden. p. 269. l. 24. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉r.〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉. p. 273. l. 17. immortall r. immorall. p. 276. l. 28. Religi∣ons r. Religious. p. 280. l. 21. Divine r. the Divine. p. 280. l. ult. reacheth r. hath reached to. p. 282. l. 16. Lights r. Light. p. 286. l. 13. it discovered reade discovered it. p. 296. l. 29. reade And I. p. 299. l. 32. r. ex Diis p. 302. l. 31. r. pag. 185. In the Epistle pag. 1. l. 24. r. How strangely. p. 2. l. 4. r. into this.