Thus do our lower parts impede the upper,
And much the brain’s good works molest and hinder.
We gorge our cerebellum with hot supper,
And burn, with drams, our viscera to a cinder,
Choosing our arrows from Disease’s quiver,
Till man in misery lives to loathe his liver.
HUMILITY.
Fair, soft Humility, so seldom seen,
So oft despised upon this little earth,
Counted by men as dross of nothing worth,