The Four Humours of Man. 145
A foolifli brain (quoth'" Choler) wanting heat [42]
But a mad one fay I, where 'tis too great,
Phrenfie's worfe then folly, one would more glad
With a tame fool converfe then with a mad;
For learning then my brain "^ is not the fitteft,
Nor will I yield^ that Choler is ^ the wittieft.
Thy judgement is unfafe, thy fancy little.
For memory the fand is not more brittle;
Again, none's fit for Kingly Hate but thou,
If Tyrants be the befl, I le it allow:
But if love be as requilite as fear,
Then thou and I muft make a mixture here.
Well to be brief, I hope now Cholers laid.
And I'le pafs by what Sifter fanguine faid.
To Melancholy I le make no reply,
The worft fhe faid was inftability.
And too much talk, both which I here confefs
A warning good, hereafter I'le fay lefs.
Let's now be friends; its time our fpight were fpent,
Left we too late this raftmefs do repent.
Such premifes will force a fad conclufion,
Unlefs we agree, all falls into confufion.
Let Sangine with her hot hand Choler hold,
To take her moift my moifture will be bold:
My cold, cold melancholy * hand ftiall clafp;
Her dry, dry Cholers other hand ftiall grafp.
f faith. ^ Then, mj head for learning.
y Ne're did I heare. « was.
" place. i> Melanchollies.
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