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 two souls have somewhere been acquainted
In former beings, or, struck out together,
One spark to Africk 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: