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THE
PROGRESS
OF THE SOUL.
First Song.
I.
I Sing the progress of a deathless soul,
Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not
controul,
Plac'd in most shapes; all times before the law
Yoak'd us, and when, and since, in this I sing,
And the great world t'his aged evening,
From infant morn, through manly noon I draw,
What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw,
Greek brass, or Roman iron, 'is in this one;
A work to out-wear Seths pillars, brick and stone,
And (holy writ excepted) made to yeeld to none.
II.
Thee, eye of Heaven, this great Soul envies not,
By thy male force, is all we have begot.
In the first East, thou now beginst to shine,
Suck'st early balm, and Iland spices there,
And wilt anon in thy loose-rein'd careere
At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danow dine,
And see at night thy Western land of Mine,

[CW: Yet]