NORTHERN MEMOIRS. 357 



ARNOLDUS. 



The slippery womb of earth, in time sent out 

 A thing uncapable to walk about : 

 Till God in love, out of a pure compassion, 

 Made man the margin of this great creation. 



THEOPHILUS. 



Why then do mortals fight against superiours ; 

 And pull down angels to advance inferiours ? 



ARNOLDUS. 



Man may attempt it ; but his slender arm 

 Has hardly warmth in't for to keep him warm. 



THEOPHILUS. 



No, why then presumes he by force to raise 

 His fires so high to make the heavens blaze ? 



ARNOLDUS. 



That's a mistake, man's but a minute's breath, 

 Blown out of doors but with one puff of death. 



THEOPHILUS. 



And yet immortal too ! strange prodigy, 

 That man the lord of all, should live to die ! 



ARNOLDUS. 



'Tis true, a star fell on a shrine of earth, 

 That touch'd mortality, and gave it birth, 

 Conduct, and reason, and a soul immortal, 

 Lit by the lamp of Heaven's glorious portal. 

 Made all miraculous, yet this won't please : 

 Heaven must die, to cure the world's disease. 



