Enthusiasmus triumphatus, or, A discourse of the nature, causes, kinds, and cure, of enthusiasme; written by Philophilus Parresiastes, and prefixed to Alazonomastix his observations and reply: whereunto is added a letter of his to a private friend, wherein certain passages in his reply are vindicated, and severall matters relating to enthusiasme more fully cleared.

Upon the Authors generous designe, in his Observations, of discovering and discounte∣nancing all mysteriously masked non-sense, and imposturous fancy; the sworn Enemies of Sound-Reason and Truth.

NObly design'd! let not a Sunday sute Make us my Gaffer for my Lord salute: Nor his Saints cloathes deceive, O comely dresse! Like to a Long-lane Doublets wide excesse. How like a Sack it sits? Less far would fit, Did he proportion but his garb and Wit. The Wight mistakes his size, each wiseman sees His mens Fourteens shrink to a childrens Threes. Fill out thy Title, man! think'st thou canst daunt By pointing to the sword of Iohn of Gaun••? Thou canst not wield it yet; an emptie name Do's no more feats then a meer painted flame. Rare Soul! whose words refin'd from flesh and blood Are neither to be felt nor understood: But if they sacred be, because not sense; To Bedlam, Sirs! the best Divines come thence. Your new-found Lights may like a falling Starre, Seem heavenly Lamps, when they but Gellies are. An high swoln Wombs bid fair, but time grown nigh The promis••d birth proves but a Tympanie.

Should Superstition, what it most doth fly, Seek to take shelter in Philosophy? And Sacred Writ, sole image of sure Truth, Be pull'd by th'nose by every idle youth? And made to bend as seeming to incline To all the fooleries hee'l call Divine? Find out the Word in Scripture, all is found Swarms of Conceits buzze up from this one ground. As if the Cobler all his trade would show From mention made of Gibeon's clouted shooe: Or Bakers their whole Art at large would read From the short record of the mouldy Bread. Is this the spirit? thus confus'dly mad? Antipodal to him the Chaos had? Fell boistrous blast •• that with one Magick puff Turns the Schools Glory to a Farthing snuff•• And 'gainst that ancient Sage the World adores, Like to a Lapland whirlewind loudly roares. Yet from thy travels in the search of things, Ridiculous Swain! what shallow stuff thou bring'st! What cloaths they wear, Vails, Tiff'nies, dost relate, Thou art Philosophies Tom Coriat. Else brave Des Cartes, whom fools cannot admire, Had nere been sindg'd by thy wild Whimzie fire. Poor Galen's Antichrist•• though one Purge of his Might so unmagick thee as make thee wise. Physick cures phrenzie, knows inspired wit O••t proves a meer Hypochondriack fit. Agrippa's Cur sure kennels in thy weamb, Thou yelpest so and barkest in a dream; Or if awake, thou dost on him so fawn, And bite all else that hence his Dog th'art known. But I will spare the lash, t'was my friends task Who rescuing Truth engag'd put on this mask. Thus do's some careful Prince disguised goe,

To keep his Subjects from the intended blow; Nor could his lofty soul so low descend, But to uncheat the World; a noble end! And now the night is gone, we plainly find 'Twas not a Light but rotten Wood that shin'd. We owe this day (my dearest friend) to thee, All eyes but Night-birds now th' Imposture see.

I. F.

FINIS.