ODE XLV.
[Each Day another Man, another mind]
1
Each Day another Man, another mind;
And wee our Selves forget.
Chang'd in opinion, all wee left behind
Is lost. What once was witt
To our owne tast,
Wee relish not; but in each newer find
More Ioy; and gladlie hast
Through Follie's Zodiacke, from the first to th' Last.
2
Wearie in everie Action, wee pursue,
Ere wee can perfect anye;
Sicke of the old, vnsatisfyed with new,
And greedie after manye;
Never at Ease,
To our owne Thoughts; and what wee ought t' eschew,
With Scorne and Bitternes,
Wee hug, our Glorie; and grow fat in these.
3
Glad in all present madnes; and can looke
Noe further then the Time
Enioyed to the purpose. Let the booke
Of Conscience babble Crime
To the gray haire,
Whose blood is cold, and Sinnewes palsey-strooke;
Let him grow Dead with Feare,
And langvish minutes till he meet the Beere.
4
But wee are yonge; and though wee doe not Love
To hear our Follies read;
Wee yet Act what wee please, and freely move
In everie Step wee tread;
Wee will not See
Backe, to Committed ones; nor yet reprove
Our owne Debilitie;
In the pursuit of a fresh vanitie.
5
Though I confes, when I with Iudgment scan
My Actions, and pervse
My Selfe, in all the frailtyes of a Man;
I doe not much refuse
To see the past
Errors of youth, and Iudge 'em, as I can;
Some please, and some distast,
Some I am proud of, Some away I cast.
6
Though, in a rigid Sence, I must confesse
All humane Actions are
Madnes and Follie; yet this foolishnes
Has made me to appeare,
To my owne Eyes,
My owne full Image; where without all dresse
Of ornamentall Lyes,
I am not blind to my Deformityes.
