Page:The Art of Preserving Health - A Poem in Four Books.djvu/19

B. I.
 * Yet not alone from humid skies we pine;

For air may be too dry. The subtle heaven, That winnows into dust the blasted downs, Bare and extended wide without a stream, Too fast imbibes th' attenuated lymph Which, by the surface, from the blood exhales. The lungs grow rigid, and with toil essay Their flexible vibrations; or inflam'd, Their tender ever-moving structure thaws. Spoil'd of its limpid vehicle, the blood A mass of lees remains, a drossy tide That flow as Lethe wanders thro' the veins, Unactive in the services of life, Unfit to lead its pitchy current thro' The secret mazy channels of the brain. The melancholic fiend, (that worst despair Of physic) hence the rust-complexion'd man Pursues, whose blood is dry, whose fibres gain Rh