How the corporealists ignore the food of the spirit and tremble with anxiety for the vile food.

Its (the vile creature's) food is earth, whether in winter or in spring; thou art the lord of creation: how is it thou eatest earth like the snake?

The wood-worm in the midst of wood says, “For whom (else) should be such fine sweetmeat?” The dung-worm amidst (all) that pollution knows no dessert in the world but filth.