The Prince doth languish, or the Prince is dead: So mankinde feeling now a generall thaw, A strong example gone, equall to law, The Cyment which did faithfully compact, And glue all vertues, now resolv'd, and slack'd, 50 Thought it some blasphemy to say sh'was dead, Or that our weaknesse was discovered In that confession; therefore spoke no more Then tongues, the Soule being gone, the losse deplore. But though it be too late to succour thee, 55 Sicke World, yea, dead, yea putrified, since shee Thy'intrinsique balme, and thy preservative, Can never be renew'd, thou never live, I (since no man can make thee live) will try, What wee may gaine by thy Anatomy. 60 Her death hath taught us dearely, that thou art Corrupt and mortall in thy purest part. Let no man say, the world it selfe being dead, 'Tis labour lost to have discovered The worlds infirmities, since there is none 65 Alive to study this dissection; [Sidenote: _What life the world hath stil._] For there's a kinde of World remaining still, Though shee which did inanimate and fill The world, be gone, yet in this last long night, Her Ghost doth walke; that is, a glimmering light, 70 A faint weake love of vertue, and of good, Reflects from her, on them which understood Her worth; and though she have shut in all day, The twilight of her memory doth stay; Which, from the carcasse of the old world, free, 75 Creates a new world, and new creatures bee Produc'd: the matter and the stuffe of this, Her vertue, and the forme our practice is: And though to be thus elemented, arme These creatures, from home-borne intrinsique harme, 80 (For all assum'd unto this dignitie, So many weedlesse Paradises bee, Which of themselves produce no venemous sinne, Except some forraine Serpent bring it in) Yet, because outward stormes the strongest breake, 85 And strength it selfe by confidence growes weake, This new world may be safer, being told [Sidenote: _The sicknesses of the World._] The dangers and diseases of the old: For with due temper men doe then forgoe, Or covet things, when they their true worth know. 90 [Sidenote: _Impossibility of health._] There is no health; Physitians say that wee, At best, enjoy but a neutralitie. And can there bee worse sicknesse, then to know That we are never well, nor can be so? Wee are borne ruinous: poore mothers cry, 95 That children come not right, nor orderly; Except they headlong come and fall upon An ominous precipitation. How witty's ruine! how importunate Upon mankinde! it labour'd to frustrate 100 Even Gods purpose; and made woman, sent For mans reliefe, cause of his languishment. They were to good ends, and they are so still,