Nor is this sleep casual, but even connatural to our present state, the necessary result of so strict an union, and commerce with the body, which is, to the in-dwelling Spirit, as a dormitory or charnel-house, rather than a mansion. A soul drenched in sensuality (a Le••e that hath too little of fiction in it) and immured in a slothful putid flesh, sleeps, as it were, by fate▪ not by chance; and is only capable of full relief, by suffering a Dissolution; which it hath reason to welcome as a jubilee, and in the instant of departure to sacrifice as he did* (with that easy and warrantable change, to make a Heathen expression Scriptural, Jehovae ⟨p. 168⟩liberatori) to adore and praise its great Deliverer. At least (accounts being once made up, and a meetness in any measure attained for the heavenly inheritance, &c.) hath no reason to regret, or dread the approaches of the eternal day, more than we do the return of the Sun after a dark and long-some night. But, as the sluggard doth nothing more unwillingly than forsake his bed, nor bears any thing with more regret, than to be awak't out of his sweet sleep, though you should entice him, with the pleasures of a Paradise, to quit a smoky loathsome Cottage; so fares it with the sluggish soul, as if it were lodged in an enchanted Bed; 'tis so fast held by the charms of the body, all the glory of the other world is little enough to tempt it out, than which there is not a more deplorable Symptom of this sluggish slumbering state. So deep an oblivion (which you know is also naturally incident to sleep) hath seized it of its own Country, of its alliances above, its relation to the Father and world of Spirits, It takes this earth for its home, where 'tis both in exile and captivity at once. And (as a Prince, stolen away in his infancy, and bred up in a beggars shed) so little seeks, that it declines a better state. This is the degenerous torpid disposition of a soul lost in flesh, and inwrapped in stupefying clay; which hath been deeply resented by some Heathens. So one brings in Socrates pathetically bewailing this oblivious dreaming temper of his soul which (saith he) had seen that pulchritude (you must pardon him, here, the ⟨p. 169⟩conceit of its pre-existence) that neither.
Nor is this sleep casual, but even connatural to our present state, the necessary result of so strict an union, and commerce with the body, which is, to the in-dwelling Spirit, as a dormitory or charnel-house, rather than a mansion. A soul drench't in sensuality (a Le••e that hath too little of fiction in it) and immur'd in a sloathful putid slesh, sleeps, as it were, by fate▪ not by chance; and is only capable of full relief, by suffering a Dissolution; which it hath reason to welcome as a jubilee, and in the instant of departure to sacrifice as he did* (with that easie and warrantable change, to make a Heathen expression Scriptural, Jehovae ⟨p. 168⟩liberatori) to adore and praise its great Deliverer. At least (accounts being once made up, and a meetness in any measure attained for the heavenly inheritance, &c.) hath no reason to regret, or dread the approaches of the eternal day, more than we do the return of the Sun after a dark and long-some night. But, as the sluggard doth nothing more unwillingly than forsake his bed, nor bears any thing with more regret, than to be awak't out of his sweet sleep, though you should intice him, with the pleasures of a Paradise, to quit a smoky loathsome Cottage; so fares it with the sluggish soul, as if it were lodg'd in an inchanted Bed; 'tis so fast held by the charms of the body, all the glory of the other world is little enough to tempt it out, than which there is not a more deplorable Symptome of this sluggish slumbring state. So deep an oblivion (which you know is also naturally incident to sleep) hath seiz'd it of its own Countrey, of its alliances above, its relation to the Father and world of Spirits, It takes this earth for its home, where 'tis both in exile and captivity at once. And (as a Prince, stoln away in his infancy, and bred up in a beggers shed) so little seeks, that it declines a better state. This is the degenerous torpid disposition of a soul lost in flesh, and inwrapt in stupifying clay; which hath been deeply resented by some Heathens. So one brings in Socrates pathetically bewailing this oblivious dreaming temper of his soul which (saith he) had seen that pulchritude (you must pardon him, here, the ⟨p. 169⟩conceit of its pre-existence) that neither.
- *Viz. […]. Who at the time of his death sprinkled water upon the servants about him, addita vo•e see liquorem ill•m libare Jo•i l•beratori. Tacit▪ Annal.Viz. 〈…〉. Who at the time of his death sprinkled water upon the servants about him, addita vo•e se liquorem ill•m libare Jo•i l•beratori. Tacit▪ Annal.
