My God, I heard this day
That none doth build a stately habitation
But he that means to dwell therein
What house more stately hath there been
Or can be, then is Man? to whose creation
All things are in decay

For Man is ev'ry thing
And more: He is a tree, yet bears no fruit;
A beast, yet is, or should be more:
Reason and speech we onely bring
Parrats may thank us, if they are not mute
They go upon the score

Man is all symmetrie
Full of proportions, one limbe to another
And all to all the world besides:
Each part may call the farthest, brother:
And head with foot hath private amitie
And both with moons and tides

Nothing hath got so farre
But Man hath caught and kept it, as his prey
His eyes dismount the highest starre:
He is in little all the sphere
Herbs gladly cure our flesh; because that they
Finde their acquaintance there

For us the windes do blow
The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains flow
Nothing we see, but means our good
As our delight, or as our treasure:
The whole is, either our cupboard of food
Or cabinet of pleasure

The starres have us to bed;
Night draws the curtain, which the sunne withdraws;
Musick and light attend our head
All things unto our flesh are kinde
In their descent and being; to our minde
In their ascent and cause

Each thing is full of dutie:
Waters united are our navigation;
Distinguished, our habitation;
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Below, our drink; above, our meat;
Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such beautie?
Then how are all things neat?

More servants wait on Man
Then he'l take notice of: in ev'ry path
He treads down that which doth befriend him
When sicknesse makes him pale and wan
Oh mightie love! Man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him

Since then, my God, thou hast
So brave a Palace built; O dwell in it
That it may dwell with thee at last!
Till then, afford us so much wit;
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee
And both thy servants be