EPILOGUE.

307

His stomach is the kitchen, where the meat

Is often but half sod, for want of heat:

His splene's a vessell, nature does allot

To take the skumme that rises from the pot:

His lungs are like the bellows, that respire

In every office, quick'ning every fire :

His nose the chimney is, whereby are vented

Such/Mwies as with the bellows are augmented:

His bowels are the sink, whose part's to drein

All noisome filth, and keep the kitchen clean:

His eyes are chrystall windows, clear and bright;

Let in the object, and let out the sight.

And as the timber is or great or small,

Or strong, or weak, 'tis apt to stand, or fall:

Yet is the likeliest building, sometimes known

To fall by obvious chances ; overthrown

Oft-times by tempests, by the full-mouth'd blasts

Of heaven ; sometimes by fire; sometimes it wastes

Through unadvis'd neglect; put case the stuffe

Were ruin-proofe, by nature strong enough

To conquer time and age ; put case it should

Ne'er know an end, alas our leases would.

What hast thou then, proud flesh and bloud, to

boast 1Thy dayes are bad, at best; but few, at most;