Page:The Art of Preserving Health - A Poem in Four Books.djvu/90

82 The treasur'd oil, then is the happiest time To shake the lazy balsam from its cells. Now while the stomach from the full repast Subsides; but ere returning hunger gnaws; Ye leaner habits give an hour to toil: And ye whom no luxuriancy of growth Oppresses yet, or threatens to oppress. But from the recent meal no labours please, Of limbs or mind. For now the cordial powers Claim all the wandering spirits to a work Of strong and subtle toil, and great event; A work of time: and you may rue the day You hurried, with ill-seasoned exercise, A half concocted chyle into the blood. The body overcharg'd with unctuous phlegm Much toil demands: The lean elastic less. While winter chills the blood, and binds the veins, No labours are too hard: By those you 'scape Rh