Excerpt from The Journal of Speculative Philosophy, Vol. 9 Nothing has got so far But he hath caught and kept it as his prey. His eyes dismount the highest star: He is in little all the sphere. Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they Find their acquaintance there. For us the winds do blow, The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains Nothing we see but means our good As our delight, or as our treasure The whole is either our cupboard of food, Or cabinet of pleasure. The stars have us to bed; Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws Music and light attend our head, All things unto our flesh are kind In their descent and being; to our mind In their ascent and cause. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.