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 older times held forth
By shadows, types, and metaphors? Yet loath
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 full happy 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 shew, 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 inclose the gold.
The prophets us'd much by metaphors To set forth truth; yea, who so considers Christ, his apostles too, shall plainly see, That truths to this day in such mantles be.
I'm not afraid to say, That Holy Writ,
Which for its style and phrase, puts down all wit,
Is every where so full of all these things,
(Dark 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 swaddling clouts, 1 find,
Informs the judgment, rectifies the mind:
Pleases the understanding, makes the will
Submit, the memory also, 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 no where 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?
To those that are my betters (as is fit,)
Three things let me propound, then I submit.
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 breathes now-a-days,)
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare,
Things unto thee that most excellent arc.
2. I find that men (as high as trees) will write
Dialogue-ways; yet no man doth 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 who taught us first to plough,
To guide our minds and pens for this 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 cases
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 shew 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 shews you whence he comes, whither be goes:
What he leaves undone, also what he does;
It shews you how he runs, and runs,
Till he unto the Gate of Glory comes.
It shews, 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 wilt ruled be;
It will direct thee to the Holy Land,
If thou wilt 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?
Or would'st thou see a truth within a fable?
Art thou forgetful? or 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.
Would'st thou divert thyself from melancholy?
Would'st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Would'st thou read riddles and their explanation ?
Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
Dost thou love picking meat? Or would'st thou see
A man i' th' clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
Would'st thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or, would'st thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Or, would'st thou lose thyself, and catch no harm?
And find thyself again without a charm?
Would'st read thyself, and read thou know'st 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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