jaundice

Why ſhould a man whoſe bloud is warme within, / Sit like his Grandſire, cut in Alabaſter? / Sleepe when he wakes? and creep into the Iaundies / By being peeuiſh?

No, sir, he, / Vex'd with a morbid devil in his blood / That veil'd the world with jaundice, hid his face / From all men, and commercing with himself, / He lost the sense that handles daily life— […]