Coelum Terrae

one Common house, and there is no Familie so numerous, as that of the Grave. Doe but look on the Dally sports of Nature, her Clouds and mists, the Scæne, and Pageantrie of the Aire, Even these Momentary Things retreat to the Closet of the Earth. If the Sun makes her drie, shee can drink as fast, what gets up in Cloudes, comes down in Water, the Earth swallows up all, and like that Philosophicall Dragon eats her own Tayle. The wise Poets saw this, and in their mysticall language call'd the Earth Saturne, telling us withall, shee did feed on her own Children. Verily there is more Truth in their stately Verse, than in Aristotle's dull Prose, for hee was a blinde beast, and Malice made him so. But to proceed a little further with you, I wish you to concoct what you reade, to dwell a little upon Earth, not to fly up presently, and admire the Meteors of your own Braines. The Earth you know in the Winter time is a dull, dark, dead Thing. a contemptible frozen phlegmatick Lump. But towards the Spring, and Fomentations of the Sun, what rare Pearles are there in this Dung-hill? what glorious Colours, and tinctures doth she discover? a pure eternall green overspreads her, and this attended with innumerable other Beauties; Roses red and white, golden Lilies, Azure Violets, the Bleeding Hyacinths, with their severall