The Sacred Tree midst the fair orchard grew;
The Phænix Truth did on it rest,
And built his perfumed nest,—
That right Porphyrian tree, which did true
logic shew.
Each leaf did learned notions give,
And the apples were demonstrative.
So clear their color, and divine,
The very shades they cast, did other lights
outshine.
"Taste not," said God, "'tis Mine and angels'
meat;
A certain Death doth sit,
Like an ill worm, i' the core of it.
Ye cannot know and live, nor live or know,
and eat."
Thus spoke God; yet man did go,
Ignorantly, on to know;
Grew so, more blind, and she
Who tempted him to this, grew yet more
blind than he.
The only Science man by this did get,
Was but to know he nothing knew.
He straight his nakedness did view,
His ignorant, poor estate, and was ashamed
of it;
Yet searches probabilities
And rhetoric and fallacies;
And seeks, by useless pride,
With slight and withering leaves, that naked
ness to hide.
