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To the Reader.
IT's my hard fate to be still deprived of that seces∣sum & otia scribendi, which in things of this na∣ture are required, and the Nasonian Poet much complained for, in his not much-worse then my pre∣sens status: he all••dges the cause of his condition to crimen only, if it were so much, and not culpa; and that but crimen ingenii neither: as it seems then and now in this Beacon firing age, it is by some accounted, mens tamen non scelerata fuit: mine was, and still is, Crimen indulgentiae minis, fidem adhibendi viris nulla fide, as dear-bought experience mani∣fests; yet to revive the everlasting fame of Para∣celsus, and that the English Tyroes may hereafter reap the benefit of his admired and experienced la∣bours, I have reduced another part of his works, viz. this ensuing Treatise, into the English Tongue; and the rather, because his sleeping ashes have been igno∣miniously unraked out of their silent grave, by one whose scribbling pen was Fuller of scandals then mo∣desty: his head seemed Owl-like Fuller of folly then wit, and his words Fuller of falshood then truth; else certainly he would not have fallen so foul upon the dead whom he never knew; and if he had, was not ca∣pable of making him an answer: but dwarf-like, tram∣ples on a dead Giant.
His Works, Reader, I freely offer to you, wishing your benefit herein: but those flashing boasters, of which this age affords plenty, whose brains are made