It is given to man to raise his eyes to Heaven above, and to aim to render himself so worthy: but if, too full of gifts, he aspires to excel and raise his glory to the heavens, there is no part of his body that is immune to torment. Disease attacks at every point, the whole man may be sick, his noblest part brought down in ruin: although his heart be stout, the least shock undermines it, and when he is injured by pestiferous air the heart is the first to be affected. The mind’s residence is in the brain, and most often is dislodged by coma or raging frenzy. But the Art of Medicine is a gift from God, who expels the most unkind ills from our bodies. The way that this is done is the subject of my Muse: befriend my soul, O Holy Spirit, without whom all labour is in vain.