She that should all parts to reunion bow, 220 She that had all Magnetique force alone, To draw, and fasten sundred parts in one; She whom wise nature had invented then When she observ'd that every sort of men Did in their voyage in this worlds Sea stray, 225 And needed a new compasse for their way; She that was best, and first originall Of all faire copies, and the generall Steward to Fate; she whose rich eyes, and brest Guilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East; 230 Whose having breath'd in this world, did bestow Spice on those Iles, and bad them still smell so, And that rich Indie which doth gold interre, Is but as single money, coyn'd from her: She to whom this world must it selfe refer, 235 As Suburbs, or the Microcosme of her, Shee, shee is dead; shee's dead: when thou knowst this, Thou knowst how lame a cripple this world is. And learn'st thus much by our Anatomy, That this worlds generall sickenesse doth not lie 240 In any humour, or one certaine part; But as thou sawest it rotten at the heart, Thou seest a Hectique feaver hath got hold Of the whole substance, not to be contrould, And that thou hast but one way, not t'admit 245 The worlds infection, to be none of it. For the worlds subtilst immateriall parts Feele this consuming wound, and ages darts. For the worlds beauty is decai'd, or gone, [Sidenote: _Disformity of parts._] Beauty, that's colour, and proportion. 250 We thinke the heavens enjoy their Sphericall, Their round proportion embracing all. But yet their various and perplexed course, Observ'd in divers ages, doth enforce Men to finde out so many Eccentrique parts, 255 Such divers downe-right lines, such overthwarts, As disproportion that pure forme: It teares The Firmament in eight and forty sheires, And in these Constellations then arise New starres, and old doe vanish from our eyes: 260 As though heav'n suffered earthquakes, peace or war, When new Towers rise, and old demolish't are. They have impal'd within a Zodiake The free-borne Sun, and keepe twelve Signes awake To watch his steps; the Goat and Crab controule, 265 And fright him backe, who else to either Pole (Did not these Tropiques fetter him) might runne: For his course is not round; nor can the Sunne Perfit a Circle, or maintaine his way One inch direct; but where he rose to-day 270 He comes no more, but with a couzening line, Steales by that point, and so is Serpentine: And seeming weary with his reeling thus, He meanes to sleepe, being now falne nearer us. So, of the Starres which boast that they doe runne 275 In Circle still, none ends where he begun. All their proportion's lame, it sinkes, it swels.