Who ere thou beest that read'st this sullen Writ,
Which just so much courts thee, as thou dost it,
Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with mee,
Why plowing, building, ruling and the rest,
Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest, 515
By cursed _Cains_ race invented be,
And blest _Seth_ vext us with Astronomie.
Ther's nothing simply good, nor ill alone,
Of every quality comparison,
The onely measure is, and judge, opinion. 520
_The end of the Progresse of the Soule._
[7 gold] cold _1635-54_]
[10 writt _1635-69_, _G:_ writs _1633_, _A18_, _N_, _TC:_
Writ's _Chambers_]
[12 begot.] begot, _1633_]
[13 East] east _1633 some copies_
beginst] begins _1633_]
[16 Danow dine,] Danon dine, _1633_]
[17 Myne, _1633_ (_but_ mine, _in some copies_): Mine,
_1635-69_]
[19 one day before thee _O'F_]
[21 Nor, holy _Ianus_, _Ed:_ Nor holy _Ianus_ _1633-69_]
[27 From thence] For, thence _G_