Johp. Know ye not Outis? then you know nobody :

The good old hermit, that was said to dwell
Here in the forest without trees, that built
The castle in the air, where all the brethren
Rhodostaurotic live. It flies with wings,

And runs on wheels; where Julian de Campis3
Holds out the brandish'd blade.

him in his cave, and asked him what his name was, which Ulysses said was Outis. WHAL.

3

Where Julian de Campis

Holds out the brandish'd blade.] For my knowledge of this person, I am indebted to the kindness and activity of my friend, F. Cohen, who rummaged him out from a world of forgotten lumber in the old German language.

"Send Brieff oder Bericht an alle welche von der Newen Brüderschafft des Ordens vom Rozen Creutz gennant, etwas gesehen oder von andern per modum discursus der sachen beschaffenheit vernommen. "Es sind viel die im schranken lauffen, etliche aber gewinnen nur das kleinot, darumb ermahne ich,

Julianus de Campis,
OGDCRFE,

dass diejenigen welche von einer glücklichen direction und gewünschtes impression guberniret worden, sich nicht durch ihrer selbst eigenen diffidens oder uppigheit unartiges judiciren wendig lassen.

"Milita bonam militiam, servans fidem, et accipies coronam gloria. "Gedruckt im Jahr 1615.”

"A Letter Missive, or account addressed to all those who have [as yet] read any thing concerning the New Fraternity, entitled the order of the Rosy Cross, or who have become acquainted with the matter by the verbal relations of others.

66

Many enter the cabinet, but few acquire the treasure. Therefore I,

Julianus de Campis,
OGDCRFE,

warn all who wish to be guided by a happy direction and desirable impression, not to suffer themselves to be misled by their own mistrust, or by the loose judgment of forward people.

"Printed in the year 1615."

It is probable that this Julian de Campis (an assumed name) was among the earliest writers on this fantastic subject, and that Jonson derived some information from his Letter Missive.

Mr.

Mere. Is't possible

They think on me?

Johp. Rise, be not lost in wonder,

But hear me and be faithful.

All the brethren

Have heard your vows, salute you, and expect you,
By me, this next return. But the good father
Has been content to die for you.

Mere. For me?

Johp. For you. Last New-year's-day, which some give out,

Because it was his birth-day, and began
The year of jubilee, he would rest upon it,
Being his hundred five and twentieth year :
But the truth is, having observ'd your genesis,
He would not live, because he might leave all
He had to you.

Mere. What had he?

Cohen, however, assures me that there is nothing in it respecting "the brandished blade."

It is somewhat singular that the origin of the Rosicrucians should not have been discovered. Neither Paracelsus nor Agrippa, (daring dreamers as both were,) has any approaches to this singular sect, which, as far as can be discovered, did not spring to light till the end of the sixteenth century. It seems not unreasonable to conjecture that the folly had birth in one of those hot-beds, so prolific of

all monstrous, all prodigious things, Gorgons and hydras, and chimæras dire,"

a German lodge of Free Masons: thus much, at least, is certain, that they pretend to the brandished blade, which is even now one of their hieroglyphics.

A curious disquisition, I will not say a profitable one, might be written on this subject, on which nothing satisfactory has hitherto appeared. The Count de Gabalis wisely broke off just in time to hide his utter ignorance of it; indeed, he only refines upon the rude visions of Paracelsus; and Gabriel Naudé, who wrote expressly on the Rosicrucians, is loose and declamatory, and has little to the purpose. He notices, however, a work entitled "Speculum Sophisticum Rhodostauroticum," which our poet had perhaps seen.-But I forget-satque superque.

Johp. Had! an office,

Two, three, or four.

Mere. Where?

Johp. In the upper region;

And that you'll find. The farm of the great customs, Through all the ports of the air's intelligences;

Then constable of the castle Rosy-cross :

Which you must be, and keeper of the keys
Of the whole Kabal, with the seals; you shall be
Principal secretary to the stars;

Know all the signatures and combinations,
The divine rods, and consecrated roots :

What not? Would you turn trees up like the wind,
To shew your strength? march over heads of armies,
Or points of pikes, to shew your lightness? force
All doors of arts, with the petard of your wit?
Read at one view all books? speak all the languages
Of several creatures? master all the learnings
Were, are, or shall be? or, to shew your wealth,
Open all treasures, hid by nature, from

The rock of diamond, to the mine of sea-coal?
Sir, you shall do it.

Mere. But how?

Johp. Why, by his skill,

Of which he has left you the inheritance,

Here in a pot; this little gallipot

Of tincture, high rose tincture. There's
There's your order,
You will have your collar sent you, ere't be long.
Mere. I look'd, sir, for a halter, I was desperate.
Johp. Reach forth your hand.

Mere. O, sir, a broken sleeve

Keeps the arm back, as 'tis in the proverb.

fohp. Nay,

For that I do commend you; you must be poor With all your wealth, and learning. When you have

made

Your glasses, gardens in the depth of winter,

Where you will walk invisible to mankind,

Talk with all birds and beasts in their own language,
When you have penetrated hills like air,
Dived to the bottom of the sea like lead,
And risse again like cork, walk'd in the fire,
An 'twere a salamander, pass'd through all
The winding orbs, like an Intelligence,
Up to the empyreum, when you have made
The world your gallery, can dispatch a business
In some three minutes, with the antipodes,
And in five more, negotiate the globe over;
You must be poor still.

Mere. By my place I know it.

Johp. Where would you wish to be now, or what

to see,

Without the Fortunate Purse to bear your charges,
Or Wishing Hat? I will but touch your temples,
The corners of your eyes, and tinct the tip,
The very tip o' your nose, with this collyrium,
And you shall see in the air all the ideas,
Spirits, and atoms, flies, that buz about

This way, and that way, and are rather admirable,
Than any way intelligible.

Mere. O, come, tinct me,

Tinct me; I long; save this great belly, I long!
But shall I only see?

Johp. See, and command

As they were all your varlets, or your footboys :
But first you must declare, (your Greatness must,
For that is now your style,) what you would see,
Or whom.

Mere. Is that my style? my Greatness, then,
Would see king Zoroastres.

Johp. Why, you shall;

Or any one beside. Think whom you please;
Your thousand, your ten thousand, to a million:
All's one to me, if you could name a myriad.

Mere. I have named him.

Johp. You've reason.

Mere. Ay, I have reason;

Because he's said to be the father of conjurors,
And a cunning man in the stars.

Johp. Ay, that's it troubles us

A little for the present: for, at this time,
He is confuting a French almanack,

But he will straight have done, have you but patience;
Or think but any other in mean time,

Any hard name.

Mere. Then Hermes Trismegistus.

Johp. O, & τgioμéyiσTos! why, you shall see him, A fine hard name. Or him, or whom you will, As I said to you afore. Or what do you think Of Howleglass, instead of him?

Mere. No, him

I have a mind to.

Johp. O, but Ulen-spiegle,

Were such a name !-but you shall have your longing. What luck is this, he should be busy too!

He is weighing water but to fill three hour-glasses, And mark the day in penn'orths like a cheese,

And he has done. 'Tis strange you should name him Of all the rest! there being Jamblicus,

Or Porphyry, or Proclus, any name

That is not busy.

Mere. Let me see Pythagoras.
Johp. Good.

Mere. Or Plato.

Johp. Plato is framing some ideas,
Are now bespoken, at a groat a dozen,
Three gross at least and for Pythagoras,

He has rashly run himself on an employment,
Of keeping asses from a field of beans;