p.
| |
Our teares are due because wee are not such. Some teares, that knott of friends, her death mvst cost, Because the chaine is broke, but no linke lost. Looke to mee fayth; and looke to my fayth God; For both my centers feele this Period: Of waight one center, one of greatnes is; And reason is that centre, fayth is this; For into our reason flow, and there do end, All that this naturall world doth comprehend: Quotidian things, and equidistant hence Shutt in for man, in one circumference. Butt for the enormous greatnesses, which are So disproportiond, and so angulare, As is Gods Essence place and prouidence Where, how, when, what Soules doe departed hence; These thinges (eccentrique els) on fayth doe strike, Yett neither all, nor vppon all alike; For reason put to her best Extention Allmost meetes fayth, and makes both Centers one. And nothinge ever came soe neere to this As contemplation of that Prince, wee misse. For all that fayth might credit, mankinde could, Reason still seconded, that this Prince would. If then least movinges of the Center make More, then if whole Hell belchd the world to shake: What mvst this doe; Centers distracted so That wee see not, whatt to beleeue or knowe? Was it not well beleeud till now that hee |
 |