Magia Adamica

What? is't not lawfull for my (learned) friend T'improve his Reason to his greatest end? Or shall wee envie him, 'cause hee hath more Of Nature's favours set upon his Score? Tell mee in earnest do'st thou think 'tis fit To believe all that Aristotle writ? Though he was blinded, yet Experience can Sever the Clouds, and make a Clearer man. If Digbie once but view thy rayling Ueine, Hee'l think th'art Atoms, not yet form'd to braine; Then to the Pot thou go'st: Oh there's the Losse! There's no Elixir in Thee, th'art all Drosse. Then sing another Song, thou that controules Our Metempsychosis of Bodi'ed Soules: Yet Platonist thou art, but canst not tell Where these mysterious spirits have their Cell. Thus Ambrose flung dark Persius on the ground, A blind Contempt! because he was profound. Look neerer man, can'st not distinguish yet Betwixt the highest, and the lowest wit. When Cynthia to the watrie Tethis hies Wee know not there what Treasures she espies, What Margarits in Chrystall streames; she sends Onely to us her Influence, and lends A kind, large Light. But thou poore, trapt Rattoon! Like Scythian Dogs, do'st bark against the Moon. Great, rare Eugenius! doe not thou delay Thy Course, because his Dirt lyes in thy way. Stain thy white skin for once, and bee thou not Surpris'd like Ermins, by the dawbing Plot. Mount to thy full Meridian, let thy Star Create a Rubric to our Calendar, And wee will offer Anthems to thy shrine So long as Date can give a Name to Time.