Man is all symmetry
Full of proportions, one limb to another,
And all to all the world besides
Each part may call the farthest, brother;
For head with foot hath private amity;
And both with moons and tides Nothing hath got so far
But man hath caught and kept it as his prey;
His eyes dismount the highest star: He is little all the sphere.
Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they find their acquaintance there
For us, the winds do blow, the earth doth rest
Heaven move and fountains flow. Nothing we see, but means are good
As our delight, or as our treasure;
The whole is either our cupboard of food,
Or cabinet of pleasure, The stars have us to bed
Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws
Music & light, attend our head
All things unto our flesh, are kind
In their descent, and being: to our mind
In their ascent and cause
More servants wait on man
Than he'll take notice of. In every path,
He treads down that which doth befriend him
When sickness makes him pale and wan...
Oh mighty love! Man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him