Note 133 — ACT II.
Reading edition
There is great dissension among the poets concerning the method of making man. One tells his mistress that the mould she was made in being lost, Heaven cannot form such another. Lucifer, in Dryden, gives a merry description of his own formation:
"Whom heaven, neglecting, made and scarce design'd, But threw me in for number to the rest."—"State of Innocence."
In one place the same poet supposes man to be made of metal:
"I was form'd Of that coarse metal which, when she was made, The gods threw by for rubbish."—"All for Love."
In another of dough:
"When the gods moulded up the paste of man, Some of their clay was left upon their hands. And so they made Egyptians."—"Cleomenes."
In another of clay:
"Rubbish of remaining clay."—Sebastian."
One makes the soul of wax:
"Her waxen soul begins to melt apace."—"Anna Bullen."
Another of flint:
"Sure our souls have somewhere been acquainted In former beings, or, struck out together, One spark to Afric flew, and one to Portugal."—"Sebastian."
To omit the great quantities of iron, brazen, and leaden souls which are so plenty in modern authors—I cannot omit the dress of a soul as we find it in Dryden:
"Souls shirted but with air."—"King Arthur."
Nor can I pass by a particular sort of soul in a particular sort of description in the New Sophonisba.
"Ye mysterious powers, Whether thro' your gloomy depths I wander, Or on the mountains walk, give me the calm, The steady smiling soul, where wisdom sheds Eternal sunshine, and eternal joy."