A10663:489
A treatise of the passions and faculties of the soul of man With the…A treatise of the passions and faculties of the soule of man With the…
A treatise of the passions and faculties of the soul of man With the several dignities and corruptions thereunto belonging. By Edward Reynolds, late preacher to the honourable society of Lincoln's Inn: and now rector of the Church of Braunston in Northamptonshire.A treatise of the passions and faculties of the soule of man With the severall dignities and corruptions thereunto belonging. By Edvvard Reynoldes, late preacher to the honorable society of Lincoln's Inne: and now rector of the Church of Braunston in Northamptonshire.
London: printed by R. Hearne and John Norton for Robert Bostock, 1640
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
As in the Sea when a storm is over, there remains still an inward working and volutation, which the Poet thus expresseth,
As in the Sea when a storme is over, there remaines still an inward working and volutation, which the Poet thus expresseth,
Ut si quando ruit, debell at asque reliquit Eurus aquas, pax ipsa tumet, pontumque jacentem, Exanimis jam voluit hyem•.— As when a mighty tempest doth now cease, To toss the roaring Billows, even that peace Doth swell and murmur, and the dying Wind On the calmed Sea leaves his own prints behind.
Vt si quando ruit, debell at asque reliquit Eurus aquas, pax ipsa tumet, pontumque jacentem, Exanimis jam voluit hyem•.— As when a mighty tempest doth now cease, To tosse the roaring Billowes, even that peace Doth swell and murmurre, and the dying Wind On the calm'd Sea leaves his owne prints behind.
Even so in the Mind of man, when it's fears are blown over, and there is a calm▪upon it, there is still á motus trepidationis, and a kind of solicitous jealousy of what it enjoys.1
Even so in the Minde of man, when it's feares are blowne over, and there is a calme▪upon it, there is still á motus trepidationis, and a kinde of sollicitous jealousie of what it enjoyes.1