 | Philosophicall fancies |  |
66
Of the flowing of the Spirits.
The Spirit's like to Ants, in heapes they lye,The hill they make, is the round Ball, the Eye.
From thence they run to fetch each Object in,
The Braine receives, and stores up all they bring.
And in the Eares, like Hives, as Bees they swarm,
Buzzing, and humming, as in Summers warm.
And when they flye abroad, they take much paine,
To bring in fine Conceits into the Braine.
Of which, as Wax, they make their severall Cells,
In workes of Poetry, which Wit still fills:
67
Sucking their Honey from delicious meat.
Then to the Nose, like Birds they flye, there pick
Up sweet Perfumes, in stead of Spices stick.
Of which within the Braine they build a Nest,
To which delight, or else to take their rest.
But in the Porous skin, they spread as Sheep,
And feeding Cattell which in Meadowes keep.
| Philosophicall fancies | |