Of melancholy, and cheer the heart,
Of those black fumes which make it smart;
To clear the brain of misty fogs,
Which dull our senses, and Soul clogs.
The best medicine that e'er God made
For this malady, if well assay'd.
X.
Now last of all to fill a place,
Presented is the Author's face;
And in that habit which he wears,