Shakespeare's Haemorrhoids

Shall I compare thee to a seat in Hell?
Thou art more ripened than the Grapes of Wrath.
I would not wish my foe this evil spell;
each step I take is pain, along life’s path.
Sometimes too hot, the eye of bowel shines.
Alas, I suffer my affliction grim.
No longer fair of youth, but aged with time;
should my eternal piles, require a trim?
This very thought I cannot contemplate,
each day in still more numbers; how thou grow’st.
And Death shall brag “for me thou cannot wait;
this pain severe, ‘tis thanks to piles thou ow’st."
Oh haemorrhoids, my very soul doth crown
and pains me even more, when sitting down.