Mans Bodys like a House: His greater Bones, Are the maine Timber; And the lesser ones, Are smaller Splints: His Ribs are Laths, daubed ore, Plaisterd with flesh and bloud: His Mouths the Doore: His Throats the narrow Entry: And his Heart Is the Great Chamber, full of curious Art: His Midreife is a large partition-Wall, Twixt the Great Chamber, and the spacious Hall: His Stomacke is the Kitchin, where the Meate Is often but half sod, for want of Heate: His Spleens a Vessell, Nature does allott To take the skimme, that rises from the Pott: His Lungs are like the Bellowes that respire In evry office, quickning evry Fire: His Nose, the Chimney is, whereby are vented Such Fumes, as with the Bellowes are augmented: His Bowels are the Sinke, whose parts to dreine All noysome filth, and keep the Kitchin cleane: His Eyes like Christian Windowes cleare and bright Lets in the Object and lets out the Sight: And as the Timber is, or great or small, Or strong or weake; tis apt to stand or fall. Francis Quarles