Is the great chamber, full of curious art.
His stomach is the kitchen, where the meat
Is often put, half sod, for want of heat.
His spleen’s a vessel nature does allot
To take the scum that rises from the pot;
His lungs are like the bellows, that respire
In every office, quickening every fire;
His nose the chimney is, whereby are vented
Such fumes as with the bellows are augmented;
His eyes are crystal windows, clear and bright,