[Footnote 6: shee is hee, _1633_, _A18_, _G_, _N_, _TC:_ shee is shee, _1635-69_] THE PROGRESSE OF THE SOULE. _First Song._ I. I sing the progresse of a deathlesse soule, Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not controule, Plac'd in most shapes; all times before the law Yoak'd us, and when, and since, in this I sing. And the great world to his aged evening; 5 From infant morne, through manly noone I draw. What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw, Greeke brasse, or Roman iron, is in this one; A worke t'outweare _Seths_ pillars, bricke and stone, And (holy writt excepted) made to yeeld to none. 10 II. Thee, eye of heaven, this great Soule envies not, By thy male force, is all wee have, begot. In the first East, thou now beginst to shine, Suck'st early balme, and Iland spices there, And wilt anon in thy loose-rein'd careere 15 At Tagus, Po, Sene, Thames, and Danow dine, And see at night thy Westerne land of Myne, Yet hast thou not more nations seene then shee, That before thee, one day beganne to bee, And thy fraile light being quench'd, shall long, long out live thee. 20 III. Nor, holy _Ianus_, in whose soveraigne boate The Church, and all the Monarchies did floate; That swimming Colledge, and free Hospitall Of all mankinde, that cage and vivarie Of fowles, and beasts, in whose wombe, Destinie 25 Us, and our latest nephewes did install (From thence are all deriv'd, that fill this All,) Did'st thou in that great stewardship embarke So diverse shapes into that floating parke, As have beene moved, and inform'd by this heavenly sparke. 30 IV. Great Destiny the Commissary of God, That hast mark'd out a path and period For every thing; who, where wee of-spring tooke, Our wayes and ends seest at one instant; Thou Knot of all causes, thou whose changelesse brow 35 Ne'r smiles nor frownes, O vouch thou safe to looke And shew my story, in thy eternall booke: That (if my prayer be fit) I may'understand So much my selfe, as to know with what hand, How scant, or liberall this my lifes race is spand. 40 V. To my sixe lustres almost now outwore, Except thy booke owe mee so many more, Except my legend be free from the letts Of steepe ambition, sleepie povertie, Spirit-quenching sicknesse, dull captivitie, 45 Distracting businesse, and from beauties nets, And all that calls from this, and to others whets, O let me not launch out, but let mee save Th'expense of braine and spirit; that my grave His right and due, a whole unwasted man may have. 50 VI.