In which unhappy state he is made worse
By his diseases than his Maker's curse.
God said in toil and sweat he should earn bread,
50And without labour not be nourished:
There, though like ropes of falling dew, his sweat
Hangs on his lab'ring brow, he cannot eat.
Thus are his sins scourg'd in opposed themes,
And luxuries reveng'd by their extremes.
He who in health could never be content
With rarities fetch'd from each element,