69 How long would God be forming of a flie? Or the small wandring moats that play i’ th’ sun? Least moment well will serve none can denie, His _Fiat_ spoke and streight the thing is done. And cannot He make all the World as soon? For in each Atom of the matter wide The totall Deitie doth entirely won, His infinite presence doth therein reside, And in this presence infinite powers do ever abide. 70 Wherefore at once from all eternitie The infinite number of these Worlds He made, And will conserve to all infinitie, And still drive on their ever-moving trade, And steddy hold what ever must be staid; Ne must one mite be minish’d of the summe, Ne must the smallest atom ever fade, But still remain though it may change its room; This truth abideth strong from everlasting doom. 71 Ne fear I what hard sequel after-wit Will draw upon me; that the number’s one Of years, moneths, dayes, houres, and of minutes fleet Which from eternitie have still run on. I plainly did confesse awhile agone That be it what it will that’s infinite More infinites will follow thereupon, But that all infinites do justly fit And equall be, my reason did not yet admit. 72 But as my emboldened mind, I know not how, In empty Space and pregnant Deitie Endlesse infinitude dares to allow, Though it begets the like perplexitie: So now my soul drunk with Divinitie, And born away above her usuall bounds With confidence concludes infinitie Of Time of Worlds, of firie flaming Rounds; Which sight in sober mood my spirits quite confounds. 73 And now I do awhile but interspire A torrent of objections ’gainst me beat, My boldnesse to represse and strength to tire. But I will wipe them off like summer sweat, And make their streams streight back again retreat. If that these worlds, say they, were ever made From infinite time, how comes ’t to passe that yet Art is not perfected, nor metalls fade, Nor mines of grimie coal low-hid in griesly shade. 74 But the remembrance of the ancient Floud With ease will wash such arguments away. Wherefore with greater might I am withstood. The strongest stroke wherewith they can assay To vanquish me is this; The Date or Day Of the created World, which all admit; Nor may my modest Muse this truth gainsay In holy Oracles so plainly writ. Wherefore the Worlds continuance is not infinite. 75 Now lend me, _Origen_! a little wit This sturdy stroke right fairly to avoid, Lest that my rasher rymes, while they ill fit With _Moses_ pen, men justly may deride And well accuse of ignorance or pride. But thou, O holy Sage! with piercing sight Who readst those sacred rolls, and hast well tride With searching eye thereto what fitteth right Thy self of former Worlds right learnedly dost write: 76