|
To Sr Henry Goodyere. |
|
Who makes the Past, a patterne for next yeare, |
Turnes no new leafe, but still the same things reads, |
Seene things, he sees againe, heard things doth heare, |
And makes his life, but like a paire of beads. |
|
A Palace, when'tis that, which it should be, |
Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decayes, |
But hee which dwels there, is not so; for hee |
Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise; |
|
So had your body'her morning, hath her noone, |
And shall not better; her next change is night: |
But her faire larger guest, to'whom Sun and Moone |
Are sparkes, and short liv'd, claimes another right. |
|
The noble Soule by age growes lustier, |
Her appetite, and her digestion mend, |
Wee must not sterve, nor hope to pamper her |
With womens milke, and pappe unto the end. |
|
Provide you manlyer dyet, you have seene |
All libraries, which are Schools, Camps, & Courts; |
But aske your Garners if you have not beene |
In harvests, too indulgent to your sports.
|
[CW: Would] |