Page:The Art of Preserving Health - A Poem in Four Books.djvu/82

74 Oft from his rage, or brainless frolic, feels His vegetation and brute force decay. The men of better clay and finer mould Know nature, feel the human dignity; And scorn to vie with oxen or with apes. Pursued prolixly, even the gentlest toil Is waste of health: Repose by small fatigue Is earn'd; and (where your habit is not prone To thaw) by the first moisture of the brows. The fine and subtle spirits cost too much To be profus'd, too much the roscid balm. But when the hard varieties of life You toil to learn; or try the dusty chace, Or the warm deeds of some important day: Hot from the field, indulge not yet your limbs In wish'd repose, nor court the fanning gale, Nor taste the spring. O! by the sacred tears Of widows, orphans, mothers, sisters, sires, Rh