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The other silently doth make no toyl,Like the still voice which to Eliah came,About which Work thou needest not to broyl,Nor wantst thou fiery Vulcan’s parching flame,A far more gentle heat begins and ends this Game.But if thou canst each Work perform apart,And knowst them afterward to reconcile,Then art thou Master of a Princely Art,The very success will thy hopes beguile;Thou hast all Natures Works ranks in a File,And all her Treasures at command dost keep,On thee the Fate shall never dare but smile,No Mystery is now for thee too deep,Th’ art Natures Darling, whether thou dost wake or sleep.Pardon my plainness, if the Art thou knowst,‘Twas the fruit of my untamed desireTo profit many; and without a boast,No man above my Candour shall aspire:My zeal was kindled with Minerva’s Fire,And thou who to this Art wilt now apply,My Book in Natures way shall lead thee higher,Then ever thou alone mayst hope to fly,If only thou shalt favour’d be by Destiny.Peruse these lines, and being read, reviewAnd read again, and on them meditate,Each reading shall fresh Mysteries and newDiscover, which are scatter’d in each Gate;For they so linked are, that all relateTo each, and we our words have woven so,That thou mayst soon erre by misleading Fate,Unless for to distinguish thou do know;Remember that ‘mongst Briars thick, sweet Roses grow.173