There was one Soueraigne God, which we call Pan,
That cannot be defin'd by mortal man.
Some call him loua, for his existence;
Some Elohym, for his excellence;
Some call him Theos, for his burning light ;
Some call him Deus, for his fearfull might;
Some call him mightie Tetragrammaton,
Of letters fower in composition.
There is no region vnderneath the skie
But by fower letters write the Deitie.
For fower is a perfect number square,
And aequall sides in euerie part doth beare.
And God is that, which sometime Good we nam'd,
Before our English tongue was shorter fram'd:
Pan, in the Greeke, the shepheards do him call,
Which we do tearm the whole vniuersall:
All in himself, all one, all euerie where,
All in the center, all out, all in the spheare,
All seeing all, all comprehending all,
All blessed, all mightie, all aeternall;
Comprehended in no circumference,
Of no beginning, nor ending essence ;
Not capable of composition,
Qualitie, accident, diuision,
Passion, forme, or alteration ;
All permanent, without mutation;
Principall mouer, alvvaies in action,
Without wearinesse or intermission ;
Immortall, and without infirmitie,
Of everlasting splendent maiestie,
One in essence, not to be diuided,
Yet into Trinitie distinguished ;
Three in one essence, one essence in three,
A wonder, I confesse, too hard for mee ;
Yet diuine poets innumerable,
At theorems, and demonstrations,
Deliuer it to our contemplations.
The Father, Sonne, and Holy Ghost, these three
Are subsistent persons in the Deitie :
Abba, Ben, Ruach, blessed poets sing,
Are the true names of Pan, celestiall King.