AZOTH By Basile Valentin
If Art could create the principles of things,
As he can accomplish enclosed powers,
And created principles, and multiply them,
Nature at the feet of Art would come to humble itself,
Instead of bending and bowing before her,
For if it has glory it is its origin.
As expert mistress, & he as expert help.
It makes its aprests (?), Of which after it serves it.
The next principles of which this great worker,
Composed of metals raw material,
And those whose elixir by art I must form.
For imperfect bodies the defects reform,
There are, in essence, uniform virtues,
Quality of service; but different in form.
Nature prepares them; and preparing them;
It makes our eyes look different.
In the center of the earth she holds her shop,
Or of admirable machinery, it assembles and manufactures,
From the first principles these principles follow;
Whose she goes forming her expert hands,
A confused mass, or by weight it assembles,
The four qualities of two sperm together.
Having mixed the dry water with the stinky mind,
Its furnace it inflames, and transmutes them,
In substance smoker, or steam that constantly,
Rise if some opposite obstacle does not lower it.
If nothing represses it by dint of stealing,
She escapes from me (?); & will train in the air
Some instrument of lightning: or the fateful aspect
Of a wandering comet, and a meteoric fire.
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