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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]