Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops, Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either, But treasures up the fruit they yield together; Yea, so commixes both, that in her fruit None can distinguish this from that: they suit Her well when hungry; but, if she be full, She spews out both, and makes their blessings null
You see the ways the fisherman doth take To catch the fish; what engines doth he make! Behold how he engageth all his wits; Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets: Yet fish there be, that neither hook, nor line, Nor snare, nor net, nor engine, can make thine; They must be groped for, and be tickled too, Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do.
How does the fowler seek to catch his game By divers means! all which one cannot name: His guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell; He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell Of all his postures? Yet there's none of these Will make him master of what fowls he please. Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this; Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss.
If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell, And may be found too in an oyster-shell; If things that promise nothing do contain What better is than gold; who will disdain, That have an inkling of it, there to look, That they may find it? Now, my little book (Though void of all these paintings that may make It with this or the other man to take) Is not without those things that do excel What do in brave but empty notions dwell.
Well, yet I am not fully satisfied That this your book will stand when soundly tried. Why, what's the matter? It is dark. What though?
But it is feigned. What of that? I trow Some men, by feigned words, as dark as mine, Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine.
But they want solidness. Speak, man, thy mind. They drown the weak; metaphors make us blind. Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen Of him that writeth things divine to men; But must I needs want solidness, because By metaphors I speak? Were not God's laws, His gospel laws, in olden times held forth By types, shadows, and metaphors? Will any sober man be to find fault With them, lest he be found for to assault The highest wisdom. No: he rather stoops, And seeks to find out what by pins and loops, By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams, By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs, God speaketh to him; and happy is he That finds the light and grace that in them be.
Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude That I want solidness, - that I am rude: All things solid in show, not solid be; All things in parables despise not we, Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive, And things that good are of our souls bereave. My dark and cloudy words, they do but hold The truth, as cabinets enclose the gold.
The prophets used much by metaphors To set forth truth; yea, whoso considers Christ, his apostles too, shall plainly see That truths to this day in such mantles be.
Am I afraid to say, that holy writ, Which for its style and phrase puts down all wit, Is everywhere so full of all these thingsDark figures, allegories? Yet there springs From that same book that lustre, and those rays, Of light, that turn our darkest nights to days.
Come, let my carper to his life now look, And find there darker lines than in my book He findeth any; yea, and let him know, That in his best things there are worse lines too. May we but stand before impartial men, To his poor one I dare adventure ten,
That they will take my meaning in these lines Far better than his lies in silver shrines. Come, truth, although in swadding clouts I find, Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind; Pleases the understanding, makes the will Submit: the memory too it doth fill With what doth our imaginations please; Likewise it tends our troubles to appease.
Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use, And old wives' fables he is to refuse; But yet grave Paul him nowhere did forbid The use of parables; in which lay hid That gold, those pearls, and precious stones, that were Worth digging for, and that with greatest care.
Let me add one word more: O man of God, Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had Put forth my matter in another dress; Or, that I had in things been more express; Three things let me propound, then I submit To those that are my betters, as is fit.
1. I find not that I am denied the use Of this my method, so I no abuse Put on the words, things, readers; or be rude In handling figure or similitude, In application; but, all that I may, Seek the advance of truth, this or that way. Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave (Examples too, and that from them that have God better pleased, by their words or ways, Than any man that breatheth now-a-days) Thus to express my mind, thus to declare Things unto thee that excellentest are.
2. I find that men (as high as trees) will write Dialogue-wise; yet no man coth them slight For writing so: indeed, if they abuse Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use To that intent; but yet let Truth be free To make her sallies upon thee and me, Which way it pleases God; for who knows how, Better than he that taught us first to plough,
To guide our mind and pens for his design! And he makes base things usher in divine,
3. I find that holy writ, in many places, Hath semblance with this method, where the cascs Do call for one thing to set forth another: Use it I may, then, and yet nothing smother Truth's golden beams; nay, by this method may Make it cast forth its rays as light as day.
And now, before I do put up my pen, I'll show the profit of my book, and then Commit both thee and it unto that Hand That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand
This book, it chalketh out before thine eyes The man that seeks the everlasting prize : It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes; What he leaves undone, also what he does : It also shows you how he runs and runs, Till he unto the gate of glory comes. It shows, too, who set out for life amain, As if the lasting crown they would obtain : Here also you may see the reason why They lose their labour, and like fools do die.
This book will make a traveller of thee, If by its counsel thou will ruled be; It will direct thee to the Holy Land, If thou will its directions understand; Yea, it will make the slothful active be; The blind also delightful things to see.
Art thou for something rare and profitable? Wouldest thou see a truth within a fable? Art thou forgetful? Wouldest thou remember From New-year's day to the last of December? Then read my fancies; they will stick like burs, And may be, to the helpless, comforters.
This book is writ in such a dialect As may the minds of listless men affect; It seems a novelty, and yet contains Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains.
Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy? Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Wouldst thou read riddles, and their explanation? Or else be drowned in thy contemplation? Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee ? Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep? Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep ? Wouldst thou lose thyself and catch no harm, And find thyself again without a charm ? Wouldst read thyself, and read thou knowest not what, And yet know whether thou art blest or not, By reading the same lines ? O then come hither, And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.
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