Epig. 13. The Letanie.
Heare me great Jove, from him professeth Physick,
Yet hath the Maunge, the Gout, the Cough, the Ptyssick.
Respond.
Libera me, &c.
For how can he have skill for my disease.
That his own rebell Tumors can't appease?
So from an Alchymist that's cloth'd in raggs,
Yet of the wonderous working Stone makes braggs.
Respond.
Libera me, &.
For he that cannot put fresh linnen on,
Can hardly make Brasse Gold, (as some have done.)
So from a Corpulent, or fat fed-Priest,
Who onely minds to Sleep, to quaffe, and feast.
Respond.
Libera me, &c.
For he whose fullnesse, makes him foame and pant,
Lets his own soule and others starve for want.