Nosce Teipsum: That the Soule is More then a Perfection or Reflection of the Sense

Are they not sencelesse then, that thinke the Soule
Nought but a fine perfection of the Sense;
Or of the formes which fancie doth enroule,
A quicke resulting, and a consequence?

What is it then that doth the Sense accuse,
Both of false judgements, and fond appetites?
What makes vs do what Sense doth most refuse?
Which oft in torment of the Sense delights?

Sense thinkes the planets, spheares not much asunder;
What tels vs then their distance is so farre?
Sense thinks the lightning borne before the thunder;
What tels vs then they both together are?

When men seem crows far off vpon a towre,
Sense saith, th'are crows; what makes vs think them men?
When we in agues, thinke all sweete things sowre,
What makes vs know our tongue's false iudgement then?

What power was that, whereby Medea saw,
And well approu'd, and prais'd the better course,
When her rebellious Sense did so withdraw
Her feeble powers, as she pursu'd the worse?

Did Sense perswade Vlisses not to heare
The mermaid's songs, which so his men did please;
As they were all perswaded, through the eare
To quit the ship, and leape into the seas?

Could any power of Sense the Romane moue,
To burn his own right hand with courage stout?
Could Sense make Marius sit vnbound, and proue
The cruell lancing of the knotty gout?

Doubtlesse in Man there is a nature found,
Beside the Senses, and aboue them farre;
"Though most men being in sensuall pleasures drownd,
"It seemes their Soules but in their Senses are.

If we had nought but Sense, then onely they
Should haue sound minds, which haue their Senses sound;
But Wisdome growes, when Senses doe decay,
And Folly most in quickest Sense is found.

If we had nought but Sense, each liuing wight,
Which we call brute, would be more sharp then we;
As hauing Sense's apprehensiue might,
In a more cleere, and excellent degree.

But they doe want that quicke discoursing power,
Which doth in vs the erring Sense correct;
Therefore the bee did sucke the painted flower,
And birds, of grapes, the cunning shadow, peckt.

Sense outsides knows; the Soule throgh al things sees;
Sense, circumstance; she, doth the substance view;
Sense sees the barke, but she, the life of trees;
Sense heares the sounds, but she, the concords true.

But why doe I the Soule and Sense diuide?
When Sense is but a power, which she extends;
Which being in diuers parts diuersifide,
The diuers formes of obiects apprehends?

This power spreds outward, but the root doth grow
In th' inward Soule, which onely doth perceiue;
For th' eyes and eares no more their obiects know,
Then glasses know what faces they receiue.

For if we chance to fixe our thoughts elsewhere,
Although our eyes be ope, we cannot see;
And if one power did not both see and heare,
Our sights and sounds would alwayes double be.

Then is the Soule a nature, which containes
The powre of Sense, within a greater power
Which doth imploy and vse the Senses paines,
But sits and rules within her priuate bower.