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With all our art and toil improy'd to pain! Say how, unseason'd to the midnight frays
Too happy they! but wealth brought luxury, Of Comus and his rout, wilt thou contend
And luxury on sloth begot disease.

With Centaurs long to hardy deeds inur'd ?
Learn temperance, friends; and hear without disdain Then learn to revel; but by slow degrees :
The choice of water. Thus the Coan sage* By slow degrees the liberal arts are won;
Opin'd, and thus the learn'd of ev'ry school. And Hercules grew strong. But when you smooth
What least of foreign principles partakes The brows of care, indulge your festive vein
Is best : the lightest then; what bears the touch In cups by well-inform'd experience found
of fire the least, and soonest mounts in air; The least your bane; and only with your friends.
The most insipid ; the most void of smell.

There are sweet follies ; frailties to be seen Such the rude mountain from his horrid sides By friends alone, and men of generous minds. Pours down; such waters in the sandy vale

Oh! seldom may the fated hours return For ever boil, alike of winter frosts

Of drinking deep! I would not daily taste, And summer's heat secure. The crystal stream, Except when life declines, even sober cups. Through rocks resounding, or for many a mile Weak withering age no rigid law forbids, O‘or the chafd pebbles hurld, yields wholesome, pure, With frugal nectar, smooth and slow with balm, And mellow draughts; except when winter thaws, The sapless habit daily to bedew, And half the mouutains melt into the tide. And gives the hesitating wheels of life Though thirst were e'er so resolute, avoid Gliblier to play. But youth has better joys : The sordid lake, and all such drowsy floods And is it wise, when youth with pleasure flows, As fill from Lethe Belgia's slow canals;

To squander the reliefs of age and pain? (With rest corrupt, with vegetation green;

What dextrous thousands just within the goal Squalid with generation, and the birth

Of wild debauch direct their nightly course! Of little monsters ;) till the power of fire

Perhaps no sickly qualms bedim their days, Has from profane embraces disengag'd

No morning admonitions shock the head. The violated lymph. The virgin stream

But, ah! what woes remain ! life rolls a pace, In boiling wastes its finer soul in air.

And that incurable disease, old age, Nothing like simple element dilutes

In youthful bodies more severely felt, The food, or gives the chyle so soon to flow. More sternly active, shakes their blasted prime; But where the stomach, indolent and cold, Except kind Nature by some hasty blow Toys with its duty, animate with wine

Prevent the lingering fates. For know, whate'er Th' insipid stream: though golden Ceres yields Beyond its natural fervor hurries on A more voluptuous, a more sprightly draught; The sanguine tide; whether the frequent bowl, Perhaps more active. Wine unmix'd, and all High-season'd fare, or exercise to toil The gluey floods that from the vex'd abyss Protracted ; spurs to its last stage tired life, Of fermentation spring; with spirit fraught, And sows the temples with untimely snow. And furious with intoxicating fire;

When life is new, the ductile fibres feel Retard concoction, and preserve unthaw'd The heart's increasing force; and, day by day Th' embodied mass. You see what countless years, The growth advances : till the larger tubes Embalm'd in fiery quintessence of wine,

Acquiring (from their elemental veins* The puny wonders of the reptile world,

Condens'd to solid chords) a firmer tone, The tender rudiments of life, the slim

Sustain, and just sustain, th' impetuous blood. Unravellings of minute anatomy,

Here stops the growth. With overbearing pulse Maintain their texture, and unchang'd remain. And pressure, still the great destroy the small;

We curse not wine: the vile excess we blame; Still with the ruins of the small grow strong. More fruitful than th' accumulated board, Life glows meantime, amid the grinding force Of pain and misery. For the subtle draught Of viscous fluids and elastic tubes; Faster and surer swells the vital tide ;

Its various functions vigorously are plied And with more active poison than the floods By strong machinery; and in solid health Of grosser crudity convey, pervades

The man confirm'd long triumphs o'er disease. The far remote meanders of our frame.

But the full ocean ebbs: there is a point, Ah! sly deceiver! branded o'er and o'er, By Nature fix'd, when life must downward tend. Yet still believ'd! exulting o'er the wreck For still the beating tide consolidates Of sober vows!—But the Parnassian maids The stubborn vessels, more reluctant still Another time, perhaps, shall sing the joys,t To the weak throbs of th' ill-supported heart. The fatal charms, the many woes of wine ; This languishing, these strength’ning by degrees Perhaps its various tribes and various powers.

Meantime, I would not always dread the bowl, Nor every trespass shun. The severish strife, Rous'd by the rare debauch, subdues, expels * In the human body, as well as in those of other ani. The loitering crudities that burden life ;

mals, the larger blood vessels are composed of smaller And, like a torrent full and rapid, clears

ones; which, by the violent motion and pressure of the Th' obstructed tubes. Besides, this restless world

fluids in the large vessels, lose their cavities by degrees, Is full of chances, which, by habit's power,

and degenerate into impervious chords or fibres. In pro. To learn to bear is easier than to shun.

portion as these smalt vessels become solid, the larger

must of course become less extensite, more rigid, and Ah! when ambition, meagre love of gold,

make a stronger resistance to the action of the heart, and Or sacred country calls, with mellowing wine force of the blood. From this gradual condensation of To moisten well the thirsty suffrages;

the smaller vessels, and consequeni rigidity of the larger

ones, the progress of the human body from infancy to old • Hippocrates.

See Book IV. age is accounted for,

To hard unyielding unelastic bone,

Such the reward of rude and sober life; Through tedious channels the congealing flood of labor such. By health the peasant's toil Crawls lazily, and hardly wanders on ;

Is well repaid ; if exercise were pain It loiters still; and now it stirs no more.

Indeed, and temperance pain. By arts like these This is the period few attain; the death

Laconia nursid of old her hardy sons ; Of Nature ; thus (80 Heav'n ordain'd it) life And Rome's unconquer'd legions urg'd their way Destroys itself; and could these laws have chang'd, Unhurt, through every toil, in every clime. Nestor might now the fates of Troy relate ;

Toil, and be strong. By loil the flaccid nerres And Homer live immortal as his song.

Grow firm, and gain a more compacted tone; What does not fade? the tower that long had stood The greener juices are by toil subdud, The crush of thunder and the warring winds, Mellow'd and subtiliz'd; the vapid old Shook by the slow, but sure destroyer, Time, Expell’d, and all the rancor of the blood. Now hangs in doubtful ruins o'er its base. Come, my companions, ye who feel the charms And flinty pyramids, and walls of brass,

of Nature and the year; come, let us stray Descend: the Babylonian spires are sunk; Where chance or fancy leads our roving walk. Achaia, Rome, and Egypt moulder down.

Come, while the soft voluptuous breezes fan Time shakes the stable tyranny of thrones, The fleecy Heavens, enwrap the limbs in balm, And toitering empires crush by their own weight. And shed a charming languor o'er the soul. This huge rotundity we tread grows old; Nor when bright Winter sows with prickly frost And all those worlds that roll around the Sun, The vigorous ether, in unmanly warmth The Sun himself, shall die; and ancient Night Indulge at home; nor even when Eurus' blasts Again involve the desolate abyss :

This way and that convolve the lab'ring woods. 'Till the great Father Ibrough the lifeless gloom My liberal walks, save when the skies in rain Extend his arm to light another world,

Or fogs relent, no season should confine And bid new planets roll by other laws.

Or to the cloister'd gallery or arcade. For through the regions of unbounded space,

Go, climb the mountain; from th'ethereal source Where unconfin'd Omnipotence has room,

Imbibe the recent gale. The cheerful morn Being, in various systems, fluctuates still

Beams o'er the hills; go, mount th' exulting steed. Between creation and abhorr'd decay:

Already, see, the deep-mouth'd beagles cacth
It ever did, perhaps, and ever will.

The tainted mazes; and, on eager sport
New worlds are still emerging from the deep; Intent, with emulous impatience try
The old descending, in their turns to rise.

Each doubtful trace. Or, if a nobler prey
Delight you more, go chase the desperate deer;

And through its deepest solitudes awake
Book III.

The vocal forest with the jovial horn.

But if the breathless chase o'er hill and dale EXERCISE.

Exceed your strength, a sport of less fatigue,

Not less delightful, the prolific stream Through various toils th’adventurous Muse has Affords. The crystal rivulet, that o'er past;

A stony channel rolls its rapid maze, But half the toil, and more than half, remains. Swarms with the silver fry. Such, through the bounds Rude is her theme, and hardly fit for song ; Of pastoral Stafford, runs the brawling Trent; Plain, and of little ornament; and I

Such Eden, sprung from Cumbrian mountains ; such But little practis'd in th' Aonian arts.

The Esk, o'erhung with woods; and such the Yet not in vain such labors have we tried,

stream If aught these lays the fickle health confirm. On whose Arcadian banks I first drew air, To you, ye delicate, I write ; for you

Liddel; till now, except in Doric lays I tame my youth to philosophic cares,

Tun'd to her murmurs by her love-sick swains, And grow still paler by the midnight lamps. Unknown in song; though not a purer stream, Not to debilitate with timorous rules

Through meads more flowery, more romantic groves, A hardy frame; nor needlessly to brave

Rolls toward the western main. Hail, sacred flood! Inglorious dangers, proud of mortal strength, May still thy hospitable swains be blest Is all the lesson that in wholesome years

In rural innocence; thy mountains still Concerns the strong. His care were ill bestow'd Teem with the fleecy race; thy lunaful woods Who would with warm effeminacy nurse For ever flourish; and thy vales look gay The thriving oak which on the mountain's brow With painted meadows, and the golden grain! Bears all the blasts that sweep the wint'ry Heaven. Oft, with thy blooming sons, when life was new,

Behold the laborer of the glebe, who toils Sportive and petulant, and charm'd with toys, In dust, in rain, in cold and sultry skies !

In thy transparent eddies have I lav'd :
Save but the grain from mildews and the flood, Oft trac'd with patient steps thy fairy banks,
Nought anxious he what sickly stars ascend. With the well-imitated ny to hook
He knows no laws by Esculapius given;

The eager trout, and with the slender line
He studies none. Yet him nor midnight fogs And yielding rod solicit to the shore
Infest, nor those envenom'd shafts that fly The struggling panting prey: while vernal clouds
When rabid Sirius fires th' autumnal noon. And tepid gales obscur'd the ruffled pool,
His habit pure with plain and temperate meals, And from the deeps call'd forth the wanton swarms
Robust with labor, and by custom steel'd

Form'd on the Samian school, or those of Ind, To every casualty of varied life ;

There are who think these pastimes scarce humane Serene he bears the peevish eastern blast, Yet in my mind (and not relentless I) And uninfected breathes the mortal south. His liso is pure that wears no fouler stains.

But if through genuine tenderness of heart, His vacant fancy most : the toil you hate
Or secret want of relish for the game,

Fatigues you soon, and scarce improves your limbs You shun the glories of the chase, nor care

As beauty still has blemish, and the mind
To haunt the peopled stream; the garden yields The most accomplish'd its imperfect side,
A soft amusement, an humane delight.

Few bodies are there of that happy mould
To raise th' insipid nature of the ground;

But some one part is weaker than the rest : Or tame its savage genius to the grace

The legs, perhaps, or arms refuse their load, Of careless sweet rusticily, that seems

Or the chest labors. These assiduously; The amiable result of happy chance,

But gently, in their proper arts employ'd, Is to create ; and gives a godlike joy,

Acquire a vigor and springy activity, Which every year improves. Nor thou disdain To which they were not born. But weaker parts To check the lawless riot of the trees,

Abhor fatigue and violent discipline. To plant the grove, or turn the barren mould. Begin with gentle toils; and as your nerves O happy he! whom, when his years decline, Grow firm, to hardier by just steps aspire ; (His fortune and his fame by worthy means The prudent, even in every moderate walk, Attain'd, and equal to his moderate mind;

At first but saunter, and by slow degrees His life approv'd by all the wise and good,

Increase their pace. This doctrine of the wise Even envied by the vain,) the peaceful groves Well knows the master of the flying steed. of Epicurus, from this stormy world,

First from the goal the manag'd coursers play Receive to rest; of all ungrateful cares

On bended reins; as yet the skilful youth Absolv'd, and sacred from the selfish crowd. Repress their foamy pride ; but every breath Happiest of men! if the same soil invites The race grows warmer, and the tempest swells, A chosen few, companions of his youth,

Till all the fiery mettle has its way,
Once fellow-rakes perhaps, now rural friends ; And the thick thunder hurries o'er the plain.
With whom in easy commerce to pursue

When all at once from indolence to toil
Nature's free charms, and vie for sylvan fame : You spring, the fibres by the hasty shock
A fair ambition ; void of strife or guile,

Are tir'd and crack'd, before their unctuous coats, Or jealousy, or pain to be outdone.

Compress’d, can pour the lubricating balm.
Who plans th' enchanted garden, who directs Besides, collected in the passive veins,
The vista best, and best conducts the stream: The purple mass a sudden torrent rolls,
Whose groves the fastest thicken and ascend; O'erpowers the heart, and deluges the lungs
Whom first the welcome Spring salutes; who shows With dangerous inundation ; oft the source
The earliest bloom, the sweetest proudest charms Of fatal woes; a cough that foams with blood,
Of Flora; who best gives Pomona's juice

Asthma, and feller peripneumonyt,
To match the sprightly genius of champaign. Or the slow minings of the hectic fire.
Thrice-happy days! in rural business past:

Th'athletic fool, to whom what Heaven denied
Blest winter nights! when, as the genial fire Of soul is well compensated in limbs,
Cheers the wide hall, his cordial family

Oft from his rage, or brainless frolic, feels
With soft domestic arts the hours beguile,

His vegetation and brute force decay.
And pleasing talk that starts no timorous fame, The men of better clay and finer mould
With witless wantonness to hunt it down : Know nature, feel the human dignity,
Or through the fairy-land of tale or song

And scorn to vie with oxen or with apes.
Delighted wander, in fictitious fates

Pursu'd prolixly, even the gentlest toil Engag'd, and all that strikes humanity :

Is waste of health: repose by small fatigue
Till lost in fable, they the stealing hour

Is earn'd, and (where your habit is not prone
Of timely rest forget. Sometimes, at eve To thaw) by the first moisture of the brows.
His neighbors list the latch, and bless unbid The fine and subtle spirits cost too much
His festal roof; while, o'er the light repast, To be profus'd, too much the roscid balm.
And sprightly cups, they mix in social joy ;

But when the hard varieties of life
And, through the maze of conversation, trace Yon toil to learn, or try the dusty chase,
Whate'er amuses or improves the mind.

Or the warm deeds of some important day:
Sometimes at eve (for I delight to taste

Hot from the field, indulge not yet your limbs The native zest and flavor of the fruit,

In wish'd repose ; nor court the fanning gale, Where sense grows wild, and tastes of no manure) Nor taste the spring. O! by the sacred tears The decent, honest, cheerful husbandman

Of widows, orphans, mothers, sisters, sires, Should drown his labor in my friendly bowl ; Forbear! no other pestilence has driven And at my table find himself at home.

Such myriads o'er th' irremeable deep. Whate'er you study, in whate'er you sweat, Why this so fatal, the sagacious Muse Indulge your taste. Some love the manly foils ; Through nature's cunning labyrinths could trace: The tennis some; and some the graceful dance. But there are secrets which who knows not now, Others, more hardy, range the purple heath, Must, ere he reach them, climb the heapy Alps Or naked stubble; where, from field to field, of science; and devote seven years 10 toil. The sounding coveys urge their laboring flight; Besides, I would not stun your patient ears Eager amid the rising cloud to pour

With what it little boots you to attain. The gun's unerring thunder: and there are He knows enough, the mariner, who knows Whom still the meed* of the green archer charms. Where lurk the shelves, and where the whirlpools He chooses best, whose labor entertains

boil,

What signs portend the storm: to subtler minds * This word is much used by some of the old English poets, and signifies reward or prize.

| The inflammation of the lungs.

He leaves to scan, from what mysterious cause He not the safe vicissitudes of life
Charybdis rages in th' lonian wave;

Without some shock endures ; ill-fitted he
Whence those impetuous currents in the main To want the known, or bear unusual things.
Which neither oar nor sail can stem; and why Besides, the powerful remedies of pain
The roughening deep expects the storm, as sure (Since pain in spite of all our care will come)
As red Orion mounts the shrouded Heaven. Should never with your prosperous days of health

In ancient times, when Rome with Athens vied Grow too familiar : for by frequent use For polish'd luxury and useful arts ;

The strongest medicines lose their healing power, All hot and reeking from th' Olympic strife, And even the surest poisons theirs to kill. And warm Palestra, in the tepid bath

Let those who from the frozen Arctos reach Th'athletic youth relax'd their weary limbs. Parch'd Mauritania, or the sultry west, Soft oils bedew'd them, with the grateful pow'rs Or the wide flood that laves rich Indostan, Of nard and cassia fraught, to soothe and heal Plunge thrice a day, and in the tepid wave The cherish'd nerves. Our less voluptuous clime Untwist their stubborn pores; that full and free Not much invites us to such arts as these. Th'evaporation through the soften'd skin "Tis not for those, whom gelid skies embrace, May bear proportion to the swelling blood. And chilling fogs; whose perspiration feels So may they 'scape the fever's rapid fiames ; Such frequent bars from Eurus and the North ; So feel untainted the hot breath of Hell. "Tis not for those to cultivate a skin

With us, the man of no complaint demands
Too sost: or teach the recremental fume

The warm ablution just enough to clear
Too fast to crowd through such precarious ways. The sluices of the skin, enough to keep
For through the small arterial mouths, that pierce The body sacred from indecent soil.
In endless millions the close-woven skin,

Still to be pure, ev’n did it not conduce
The baser fuids in a constant stream

(As much it does) to health, were greatly worth Escape, and viewless melt into the winds. Your daily pains. "Tis this adorns the rich; While this eternal, this most copi Jus waste The want of this is poverty's worst woe ; of blood, degenerates into vapid brine,

With this external virtue, age maintains Maintains its wonted measure, all the powers A decent grace; without it, youth and charms Of health befriend you, all the wheels of life Are lothesome. This the venal graces know; With ease and pleasure move: but this restrain'd So doubtless do your wives: for married sires, Or more or less, so more or less you feel

As well as lovers, still pretend to taste; The functions labor: from this fatal source Nor is it less (all prudent wives can tell) What woes descend is never to be sung.

To lose a husband's than a lover's heart. To take their numbers, were to count the sands But now the hours and seasons when to toil That ride in whirlwind the parch'd Libyan air ; From foreign themes recall my wandering song Or waves that, when the blustering North embroils Some labor fasting, or but slightly fed The Baltic, thunder on the German shore. To lull the grinding stomach's hungry rage. Subject not then, by soft emollient arts,

Where nature feeds too corpulent a frame, This grand expense, on which your fates depend, "Tis wisely done : for while the thirsty veins, To every caprice of the sky; nor thwart Impatient of lean penury, devour The genius of your clime : for from the blood The treasur'd oil, then is the happiest time Least fickle rise the recremental steams,

To shake the lazy balsam from its cells. And least obnoxious to the sty ptic air,

Now while the stomach from the full repast Which breathe through straiter and more callous Subsides, but ere returning hunger gnaws, pores.

Ye leaner habits, give an hour to toil; The temper'd Scythian hence, half-naked treads And ye whom no luxuriancy of growth His boundless snow's, nor rues th'inclement Heaven; Oppresses yet, or threatens to oppress. And hence our painted ancestors defied

But from the recent meal no labors please, The east ; nor curs d, like us, their fickle sky. of limbs or mind. For now the cordial powers

The body, moulded by the clime, endures Claim all the wandering spirits to a work The equator heats or hyperborean frost :

Of strong and subtle toil, and great event: Except by habits foreign to its turn,

A work of time; and you may rue the day Unwise you counteract its forming pow'r.

You hurried, with untimely exercise, Rude at the first, the winter shocks you less A half-concocted chyle into the blood. By long acquaintance : study then your sky, The body overcharged with unctuous phlegm Form to its manners your obsequious frame, Much toil demands: the lean elastic less. And learn to suffer what you cannot shun.

While winter chills the blood and binds the veins, Against the rigors of a damp cold heav'n

No labors are too hard : by those you 'scape To fortify their bodies, some frequent

The slow diseases of the torpid year ; The gelid cistern; and, where nought forbids, Endless to name; to one of which alone, I praise their dauntless beart: a frame so steel'd To that which tears the nerves, the toil of slaves Dreads not the cough, nor those ungenial blasts Is pleasure : Oh! from such inhuman pains That breathe the tertian or fell rheumatism; May all be free who merit not the wheel! The nerves so temper'd never quit their tone, But from the burning Lion when the Sun No chronic languors haunt such hardy breasts. Pours down his sultry wrath; now while the blood But all things have their bounds; and he who Too much already maddens in the veins, makes

And all the finer fluids through the skin By daily use the kindest regimen

Explore their fight; me, near the cool cascade Essential to his health, should never mix

Reclin'd, or saunt'ring in the lofly grove, With human kind, nor art nor trade pursue. No needless slight occasion should engage

To pant and sweat beneath the fiery noon. lo shame! O pity! nipt with pale quadrille, Now the fresh morn alone and mellow eve And midnight cares, the bloom of Albion dies ! To shady walks and active rural sports

By toil subdud, the warrior and the hind Invite. But, while the chilling dews descend, Sleep fast and deep: their active functions soon May nothing tempt you to the cold embrace With generous streams the subtle tubes supply; Of humid skies; though 'tis no vulgar joy

And soon the tonic irritable nerves To trace the horrors of the solemn wood,

Feel the fresh impulse and awake the soul. While the soft evening saddens into night: The sons of indolence with long repose Though the sweet poet of the vernal groves Grow torpid ; and, with slowest Leihe drunk, Melts all the night in strains of am'rous woe. Feebly and ling'ringly return to life,

The shades descend, and midnight o'er the world Blunt every sense and powerless every limb. Expands her sable wings. Great Nature droops Ye, prone to sleep (whom sleeping most annoys) Through all her works. Now happy he whose toil On the hani matiress or elastic couch Has o'er his languid powerless limbs diffus'd Extend your limbs, and wean yourselves from sloth A pleasing lassitude: he not in vain

Nor grudge the lean projector, of dry brain In vokes the gentle deity of dreams.

And springy nerves, the blandishments of down: His powers the most voluptuously dissolve Nor envy while the baried Bacchanal In soft repose : on him the balmy dews

Exhales his surfeit in prolixer dreams. Of sleep with double nutriment descend.

He without riot, in the balmy feast But would you sweetly waste the blank of night of life, the wants of nature has supplied, In deep oblivion; or on Fancy's wings

Who rises, cool, serene, and full of soul. Visit the paradise of happy dreams,

But pliant nature more or less demands, And waken cheerful as the lively morn;

As custom forms her; and all sudden change Oppress not nature sinking down to rest

She hates of habit, even from bad to good. With feasts too late, too solid, or too full:

If faults in life, or new emergencies, But be the first concoction half-matur'd

From habits urge you by long time confirm'd, Ere you to mighty indolence resign

Slow may the change arrive, and stage by stage; Your passive faculties. He from the toils

Slow as the shadow o'er the dial moves, And troubles of the day to heavier toil

Slow as the stealing progress of the year. Retires, whom trembling from the tower that rocks Observe the circling year. How unperceiv'd Amid the clouds, or Calpe's hideous height, Her seasons change! Behold! by slow degrees, The busy demons hurl; or in the main

Stern Winter lam'd into a ruder Spring; O'erwhelm; or bury struggling under ground. The ripen'd Spring a milder Summer's glows; Not all a monarch's luxury the woes

The parting Summer sheds Pomona's store,
Can counterpoise of that most wretched man, And aged Autumn brews the winter storm.
Whose nights are shaken with the frantic fits Slow as they come, these changes come not void
of wild Orestes; whose delirious brain,

Of mortal shocks: the cold and torrid reigns,
Siung by the furies, works with poison'd thought; The two great periods of the important year,
While pale and monstrous painting shocks the soul; Are in their first approaches seldom safe ;
And mangled consciousness bemoans itself Funereal Autumn all the sickly dread ;
For ever torn; and chaos foating round.

And the black fates deform the lovely Spring. What dreams presage, what dangers these or those He well advis'd who taught our wiser sires Porlend to sanity, though prudeni seers

Early to borrow Muscovy's warm spoils, Reveald of old, and men of deathless fame, Ere the first frost has touch'd the tender blade ; We would not to the superstitious mind

And late resign them, though the wanton Spring Suggest new throbs, new vanities of fear.

Should deck her charms with all her sister's raya "Tis ours 10 teach you from the peaceful night For while the eMuence of the skin maintains To banish omens and all restless woes.

Its native measure, the pleuritic Spring In study some protract the silent hours, Glides harmless by; and Autumn, sick to death Which others consecrate to mirth and wine; With sallow quartans, no contagion breathes. And sleep till noon, and hardly live till night. I in prophetic numbers could unfold But surely this redeems not from the shades The omens of the year: what seasons teem One hour of life. Nor does it nought avail With what diseases; what the humid South What season you to drowsy Morpheus give Prepares, and what the demon of the East: of th' ever-varying circle of the day;

But you perhaps refuse the tedious song. Or whether, through the tedious winter gloom, Besides, whatever plagues in heal, or cold, You tempt the midnight or the morning damps. Or drought, or moisture dwell, they hurt not you, The body, fresh and vigorous from repose, Skill'd to correct the vices of the sky, Defies the early fogs: but, by the toils

And taught already how to each extreme of wakeful day exhausted and unstrung, To bend your life. But should the public bane Weakly resists the night's unwholesome breath. Insect you ; or some trespass of your own, The grand discharge, ch' effusion of the skin, Or flaw of nature, hint mortality ; Slowly impair'd, the languid maladies

Soon as a not unpleasing horror glides Creep on, and through the sick’ning functions steal. Along the spine, through all your torpid limbs ; As, when the chilling east invades the Spring, When first the head throbe, or the stomach feels The delicate narcissus pines away

A sickly load, a weary pain the loins ;
In hectic languor, and a slow disease

Be Celsus callid: the fates come rushing on;
Taints all the family of flowers, condemn'd The rapid fates admit of no delay.
To cruel heav'ns. But why, already prone

While wilful you, and fatally secure,
To fade, should beauty cherish its own bane? Expect to-morrow's more auspicious sun,

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