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,