Least thankes to Nature, most to Art.
But thou canst tersely live, and satisfie
The bellye only, not the eye;
Keepinge the barkinge stomache meanly quiet
With a neat yet needfull dyett.
But that which most creates thy happy life,
Is the fruition of a wife,
Whom (starres consentinge with thy fate) thou hast
Gott, not so beautifull as chast.
By whose warm’d side thou dost securely sleepe,