But Wit's ambition longeth to be best!
For it desires in endless bliss, to dwell.
And these three Powers, three sorts of men do make.
For some, like plants, their veins do only fill;
And some, like beasts, their senses' pleasure take,
And some, like angels, do contemplate still.
Therefore the fables turned some men to flowers,
And others, did with brutish forms invest;
And did of others, make celestial powers
Like angels! which still travail, yet still rest!