Epigram 34 (Thymus is so enspirde so mortifide,)

Thymus is so enspirde so mortifide,
So pure a ghost, so heauenly spirituall:
That all things else to God he hath deny'd.
Feete, knees, hands, breast, face, eyes, lips, tongue & all.
As false religion he doth reuile it,
Which loues the knees, or any outward part.
With his stinking lounges will not defile it.
Nor with his purest blood, nor with his heart,
In spirit he doth ride, walkes, eates, and drinkes
In spirit he hates, he rayles, I worse then this,
He cares not what the vulgar sort do thinke,
Alas they knowe not of what spirit he is,
Neyther know I, yet thinke I of an euill,
And feare his spirit will turne into a deuill.