The Four Humours of Man. 135
So Melancholy feizes'^ on a man,
With her unchearful vifage, fwarth and wan,
The body dryes, the mind fublime doth fmother, [33]
And turns him to the womb of's earthy mother:
And flegm likewife can fhew her cruel art.
With cold diftempers to pain every part:
The lungs fhe rots, the body wears away,
As if fhe'd leave no flefli to turn to clay,
Her languifhing difeafes, though not quick
At length demolifhes the Faberick,
All to prevent, this curious care I take.
In th' laft conco6tion legregation make
Of all the perverfe humours from mine own,
The bitter choler moft malignant known
1 turn into his Cell clofe by my fide
The Melancholy to the Spleen t'abide:
Likewife the whey, fome ufe I in the veins,
The overplus I fend unto the reins:
But yet for all my toil, my care and skill.
Its doomVI by an irrevocable will
That my intents fhould meet with interruption.
That mortal man might turn to his corruption.
I mio^ht here fhew the noblenefs of mind
Of fuch as to the fanguine are inclin'd.
They're liberal, pleafant, kind and courteous,
And like the Liver all benignious.
For arts and fciences they are the fitteft;
And maugre Choler ftill they are the wittieft:
s ceafes.
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