The Works of Sir Thomas Browne, Volume 1. Browne Thomas

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      Fierce Nemesis, mother of fate and change,

      Sword-bearer of th' eternal providence,

      Turns her stern look at last into the West,

      As griev'd to see on Earth such happy rest;

      And for Pandora calleth presently,

      Pandora Jove's fair gift that first deceived

      Poor Epimetheus in his imbecility.

      That though he had a wondrous boon received,

      By means whereof curious mortality

      Was of all former quiet quite bereaved.

      To whom being come deckt with all qualities,

      The wrathful goddess breaks out in this wise:

      Dost thou not see in what secure estate,

      Those flourishing fair Western parts remain?

      As if they had made covenant with fate,

      To be exempted free from others pain,

      At one with their desires, friends with debate,

      In peace with Pride, content with their own gain.

      Their bounds contain their mindes, their mindes applyed

      To have their bonds with plenty beautified.

      Devotion (Mother of Obedience)

      Bears such a hand on their credulity,

      That it abates the spirit of eminence,

      And busies them with humble piety:

      For see what works, what infinite expence,

      What Monuments of zeal they edifie,

      As if they would, so that no stop were found,

      Fill all with Temples, make all holy ground.

      But we must cool this all-believing zeal,

      That hath enjoy'd so fair a turn so long, etc.

      Dislike of this first by degrees shall steal,

      As upon souls of men perswaded wrong;

      And that the sacred power which thus hath wrought,

      Shall give her self the sword to cut her throat.

      Go therefore thou with all thy stirring train

      Of swelling Sciences (the gifts of grief)

      Go loose the links of that soul-binding chain,

      Enlarge this uninquisitive Belief:

      Call up mens spirits, that simpleness retain,

      Enter their hearts, and knowledge make the Thief

      To open all the Doors to let in Light,

      That all may all things see but what is right.

      Opinion arm against opinion (grown)

      Make new-born contradictions still arise,

      As if Thebes Founder (Cadmus) tongues had sown

      Indent of teeth, for greater mutinies:

      Bring new defended faith against faith known,

      Weary the soul with contrarieties,

      Till all Religion become Retrograde,

      And that fair lye the mask of sin be made:

      And better to effect a speedy end,

      Let there be found two fatal Instruments,

      The one to publish, th' other to defendPrinting

      Impious contention, and proud discontents:

      Make that instamped characters may send

      Abroad to thousands, thousand mens intents;

      And in a moment may dispatch much more,

      Than could a world of pens perform before;

      Whereby all quarrels, titles, secrecies,

      May unto all be presently made known,

      Factions prepar'd, parties allur'd to rise,

      Seditions under fair pretences sown;

      Whereby the vulgar may become so wise

      That with a self-presumption overgrown,

      They may of deepest mysteries debate,

      Controul their betters, censure acts of State.

      And then when this dispersed mischief shall

      Have brought confusion in each mystery,

      Call'd up contempts of State in general,

      And ripen'd the humour of impiety,

      Then take the other engine wherewithalGuns

      They may torment their self-wrought misery;

      And scourge each other in so strange a wise,

      As time or tyrants never could devise, etc.