Remains, Poem 11
A Petition for a proſpect of Immortalities.
HUmbly, my God! I beg of thee I might
Diſcharg'd a while from priſon take my flight
Into thoſe regions where I may converſe
With naked Spirits; let my conceptions dreſs,
Sit cloſe and comely to each thing, that I
With a clean mind ſhall venture to deſcry;
While Earths dull off ſpring, children of the night,
To coop their thoughts in ſhades of ſenſe delight:
While Owls and Bats are flut'ring with their wings
About this groſs dark world for earthly things.
Oh! let me ſnatch a glimpſe of that above,
And ſteal a glance of thee, thou God of love!
Why is my half a ſpirit, if that I
May not converſe with Spirits till I die?
May I converſe with thee, thou dazling Sun!
Father of Spirits, why not, when I've done,
May not I look upon the Stars and take
A view of their leſs brightneſs? while I 'wake
Why ſhould my Taper ſweal away for nought,
But me to gaze on things ſcarce worth a thought?
Scarce worth a thought, if but compar'd to thee,
And that retinue that in Heaven be.
O charge me not of niceneſs that I fain
Of other worlds would ſome ſmall knowledg gain.
Paſs me not home, if thou a Pilgrim find
Me in my travels, alas! my wearied mind
Is tir'd with this world; this muddy ſmoke
From Earth doth ev'n my languid ſpirits choak:
Let me but take a little air, that I
May be refreſht, then home again I'le hie.
I do conceive a vaſt extended Sphere,
Farther above the Stars than we are here
Repleat with matter; ſome thick, ſome thin and light,
In which are bodies, ſome opake and bright,
Tumbling about; ſo doth our earth where we
As on a float ſwim round the world we ſee.
In th' center of which orb, as in a Throne,
Sits the adored Triad all alone,
Shooting their Omnipreſent beams about,
Filling the Sphere within, and ſpace without:
Without I dare not ſay, they idle are,
For God is pleas'd not only here but there,
Yet we are ſure throughout this golden ring
His beams have been faecund in ev'ry thing.
And do continue chearing as a Hen
Her Chicks does nouriſh in her father'd den;
But their productions vary, ſome opake,
That eyes may ſee, noſe ſmell, and hands may take;
Others ſo fine, ſo rare, that no ſenſe can
Grope out a touch; ſuch is the ſp'rit in man
Such are the Angels, ſpirits more refin'd
From earthly tincture than the humane mind.
Such that no razor, knife, or ſword can wound.
Where was the carcaſs of an Angel found?
As glaſſie Sciſſers would clip off a ray,
Juſt ſo keen ſteel may cut a ſpirit in tway.
Spirits through ſteel can freelier paſs than light,
Can through that Sciſſer that it takes its flight.
In fire they burn not, having no fleſh to fry,
Where did you ſee an Angel Martyr die?
They ſport about the belly of the deep,
And yet their ſides no briny-tears do weep.
Juſt as I've ſeen the Sun paſs through her beams,
And pierce the boſom of clear cryſtal ſtreams,
Yet have they liv'd unquench'd, nor have they been
Moiſtned with th' cold dampy parts within.
Caſt them in pits, ram them up faſt with earth,
From theſe dark wombs they'l find a paſs for birth.
Clap them in dungeons, lock them up in cheſt,
Stop up each chink, or cranny, you had beſt:
Yet that is vain, through brazen walls they'l paſs
As eaſie as a Sun-beam through a glaſs.
Thus when proud Pharoah ſcorn'd his ſail to ſtrike
To th' Crown of Heaven, proudly did diſlike
To own an equal; God his warrant gave
To bring th' Egyptians firſt-born to the grave.
In th' dead or night when all their doors were faſt,
Faſt lockt and bolted, through his Angel's paſt,
Stifles them round, no bars, bolts, doors could keep
The infant ſafe in th' mothers arms aſleep.
Thus when ſweet ſlumber ſeiz'd the pris'ners eyes,
Whilſt Peter 'twixt two Soldiers fleeping lies;
Cloſely confin'd within cloſe priſon walls,
Angels whip in, and up the pris'ner calls,
Opens the doors, ſets free the ſhackled man;
Thus walls, doors, windows, penetrate they can.
Amazing Natures! ſomewhere you exiſt,
Now here, now there, yea where ſo e're you liſt;
Yet in no place, no circumſcribing air
Can fit you with a garb that you can wear:
Your ſpungy parts ſometimes ſo puff and ſwell,
That what wo'ld ſhroud a mountain, can't you well.
Again you bend and fold up every joint
Into the compaſs of a Needles point.
Like to the candle beams that can emit.
Yet can again themſelves ſo cloſely croud,
That in dark lanthorn they themſelves can ſhrowd,
Or like a ſilken robe we can command,
Into the hollow of a Ladies hand:
Yet long and wide enough to cover o're
The body of that ſhe I nam'd before.
Or take a ſhadow from another thing,
The glove that … …ine hand can paſs my ring.
Witneſs the various Spectres that have been
The ſport and maygame of the Magick ſin:
Sometimes they flirt and caper here and there
In ſhapes of flies about the flexile air:
Then ſhifting coats, they make a Mouſes skin
The utmoſt confines of their room within;
Diſlodging thence, the next-made randevow
Is in a figur'd Hog, a wanton Goat, or Cow:
Or elſe that ſpirit within a Fly contract,
Can the dimenſion of Giant act,
And turn a weavers-beam about the sky,
As nimbly as it did the wings of th' fly.
Speak Holy Pen-man! how many ſpirits can
Crowd in the body of one living man:
More than ſix thouſand as his name doth tell,
Being called Legion; that ſum's known full well.
Thus they contract and ſqueeze themſelves together,
Thus they dilate and ſpread I know not whither.
Now for ſelf-motion to them propriate,
My winged quill doth fly to explicate.
Source of all action! and the genuine ſpring
Of motion lodg'd in th' center of each thing!
Matter's too dull, too lumpiſh for to raiſe
It ſelf, or ſtir. When I with wonder gaze
On th' foaming Planets, that do ſwiftly fly,
Prancing their rounds on th' pavement of the sky.
My thoughts do riſe, and inly ask my mind,
Whence is that motion that outſtrips the wind?
When I a ſtone, mountain, or rock behold,
I find them to all motion ſtark and cold.
Yet have they limbs as able for to move
As Luna, Mars, or elſe triumphant Jove.
Whence ſhould it come? ſurely it cannot be
That from themſelves comes that ability:
Then from ſome other 't muſt, but tell what is't?
Not other matter; that h'as little liſt
To move as they; what then may we it call?
What is the ſpring, or the original
Of all this ſwiftneſs? ſure it was ſome ſp'rite,
That put this world firſt in this moving plight.
Caſting mine eye now downward, I behold
Mine animate fleſh, ſtrange motions t' infold.
Whence ſo ſpontaneouſly have I the skill,
To move my flexile members where I will?
Whence move my ſinews, muſcles? I command
My joints to bend, and then again to ſtand.
Is't from my ſpirits that in purple-flood
Now ebbs, now flows in them as they think good?
But what moves them? is it from Chance, or is't
From deep conſults? Or tell me do they wiſt
What they are doing? By Chance! fain I'de know
Why only when I need them, they do flow?
Is chance ſo conſtant? can it their forces bend,
And ſtedily direct to th' thing I intend?
The Clock may well count th' hours of the day;
But can I think that ſturdy iron may
Direct it ſelf? or elſe by chance may ſtrike
This hour one, next two? our caſe is like.
When I believe I run, when I do ſet;
That water dries, and the fire it is wet;
That with mine eyes I hear, or with my Toes
… ſee, and that my taſte lies in my noſe;
Then I'le conceive that leſs than a ſp'rite can
Point out the motion that I ſee in man.
But how can that which is without extenſion,
As ſpirits are, perform the thing I mention?
Having no parts but ſuch are penetrable,
How to unite with matter are they able?
How can they thruſt or force dull matter on,
And yet themſelves want parts to faſten 'pon
The parts they move! who can then this avouch,
That this move that, yet neither of them touch?
Anſwer me this, and I will that, What ſight
So pierceth, that ſees matter to unite
With matter? how do they cleave together,
That hammers, chiſſels, axes, cannot ſever?
How do they faſten? is't by certain glew?
But that hath parts. What then? why fain I knew.
Is't from their reſt or ſtillneſs as they lie?
Why doth not then each ſtick or ſtone faſt tye
It ſelf to th' ground, when there it's caſt?
Would not all things incruſtate hard at laſt?
Should not we need a Chiſſel for to pick
Up what with eaſe we take, be't ſtone or ſtick?
Yet this we know that parts of bodies bind
And tye themſelves moſt faſt, and yet our mind
Spies not the manner how: what if then
Union of ſp'rits to body's hard to men?
Oh! my brains ſweat ſome gentle breathing wind
Of finer fancies, chear up a tir'd mind!
Polliſh this rug'd diſcourſe, make it ſo bright,
That it may ſparkle in the darkeſt night.
I know no motion but from ſp'rits ariſe,
And moſtly from their preſence lives or dies:
The wheels of Heav'n now working, we'd ſeen ſtand
If not been turn'd firſt by th' Almighty's hand.
What is't that hoiſts the feather'd ſails of birds,
And nimbly waſts them through the airy floods?
What rudder turns thoſe Pinnaces around,
Steers them now upwards, then ſlopes to the ground?
What can it be that ſports and plays within
The center of the ſcaly peoples skin,
With bended tails, when they do skip above
Their glaſſie ceilings that they moſtly love?
The Fox, Horſe, Hare, and Greyhound, ſee them run,
Obſerve their jerks how they proceed and turn:
Tell me if ſluggiſh matter could produce,
Such pretty freaks, or any purple ſluce
Of blood that opens, and now ſhuts again,
Could make theſe machins poſt the way amain
O're hedg and ditch, buſhes of briar and thorn,
And mend their pace by ſwitch or wind of horn?
Tell me in July it doth fiercely freez,
I will believe't as ſoon as I can theſe.
Yet more prodigious motions I can tell,
Acted by ſp'rits on matter ſprung from Hell.
A cloud is ſeen by many to ariſe
Out of a pit by which a Beldam lies,
Stirring her urine, thence doth darkneſs fleet,
Baffling the light, making the day retreat;
Clouds in the air ingender, double charge
Themſelves with thunder, then themſelves enlarge
In ſheets of flame, thence follow winds
That ſtrike amazement to the hearers minds.
What ſhall I ſay of Wizards that are whirl'd,
In cloudy chariots round the airy world;
What of Amantius and Rotarius ſet
Perched on tops of Oaks bemir'd and wet,
Whence in a trice from out the ſhepherds ſight;
A wind them ſnatches, and then take their flight,
Like two cock-ſparrows 't length were ſeen to hop
Upon a towring lofty houſes top,
One trembling, th' other laughing bid him cheer,
It was as ſafe to be in th' air as there.
Thus was Mag. Warrin hackned on the back
Of ſome foul Fien that made the welkin crack
With ſtorms and tempeſts, as he her did rear
A loft jolting along, yet void of fear,
Lighting at laſt on th' top of a tall oak,
Was ſeen condemn'd, and in a rope did choak.
Wondrous! is't eaſie, tell me, to conceive,
That air ſhould thus condenſe it ſelf, then heave
Such weighty bodies upward, or bare words,
Or ceremonious charms make them as birds
To courſe about the air? ma'n't we with eaſe
Rather imagin ſp'rits t' produce all theſe?
Strike ſail my muſe! thou 'rt now in ſight of ſhore,
Laden with traffick hath inricht me more
Than Indian voyage, knowledg of ſp'rits to me
Is far more ſweet than Arab ſpices be.
They may embalm the body, what care I?
Let body rot and ſtink, my ſoul can't die.
Spirits are all immortal, ſo's my ſoul,
It cannot waſt nor die: Bells they may toul
Their mortal knells for Bodies, but I have
What the Father of Sp'rits alive will ſave.
Welcome ye Angels then, 'tis for your ſake
That I in part this tedious voyage make;
My undiſturbed reaſon free from doubt,
Spirits hath ſeen in fleſh, and ſome without.
Lord! when this priſon falls, and I am free,
Let me i'th' number of juſt ſpirits be.
FINIS.