As you yourself. Then, friend, I doubt You go the farthest way about. Your modern Indian magician Makes but a hole in th' earth to piss in, 610 And straight resolves all questions by 't, And seldom fails to be i' th' right. The Rosycrucian way's more sure To bring the devil to the lure; Some by the nose with fumes trepan 'em, Catch 'em as men in nets do birds; 615 620 And some with symbols, signs, and tricks, Engrav'd in planetary nicks, With their own influences will fetch 'em Down from their orbs, arrest, and catch 'em : Make 'em depose and answer to 625 All questions ere they let them go. Bumbastus kept a devil's bird Shut in the pummel of his sword, That taught him all the cunning pranks Of past and future mountebanks. 630 Kelly did all his feats upon I' th' garb and habit of a dog, And taught him subt'ly to maintain All other sciences are vain. To this, quoth Sidrophello, Sir, Agrippa was no conjurer, Nor Paracelsus, no, nor Behmen ; 635 640 Nor was the dog a cacodæmon, But a true dog, that would shew tricks 645 He went the self-same way we go. 650 As for the Rosycross philosophers, Whom you will have to be but sorcerers, What they pretend to is no more Than Trismegistus did before, 655 Pythagoras, old Zoroaster, And Apollonius their master, To whom they do confess they owe All that they do, and all they know. Quoth Hudibras, Alas! what is't t'us 660 That makes truth Truth, altho Time's daughter Twas he that put her in the pit Before he pull'd her out of it; And as he eats his sons, just so 1665 He feeds upon his daughters too. This Fals up Nor does it follow, 'cause a herald Can make a gentleman, scarce a year old, To be descended of a race Of ancient kings in a small space, Quoth Sidrophel, It is no part 670 675 (As Averrhois play'd but a mean trick, To damn our whole art for eccentric); But on their sides or rising's seat; So 'tis with knowledge's vast height. Do not the hist❜ries of all ages Relate miraculous presages Of strange turns in the world's affairs, And some that have writ almanacks? The Median Emp'rour dream'd his daughter Had piss'd all Asia under water, And that a vine sprung from her haunches, + 680 685 690 695 700 Had like to have been slain that day Are there not myriads of this sort 705 Which stories of all times report ? Is it not ominous in all countries When crows and ravens croak upon trees? And if an owl have so much pow'r, Why should not planets have much more, That in a region far above 715 Inferior fowls of the air move, And should see further, and foreknow More than their augury below? 720 Though that once serv'd the polity And this is what we take in hand By pow'rful Art to understand; Which how we have perform'd, all ages 725 |