THE
ART
OF PRESERVING
HEALTH:
A
POEM.
LONDON:
Printed for A. Millar, opposite to Katharine-Street in the Strand.
MDCCXLIV.
[Price Four Shillings sewed.]
THE
ART
OF PRESERVING
HEALTH
CONTENTS
BOOK I.
AIR.
Daughter of Pæon, queen of every joy,
Hygeia[1]; whose indulgent smile sustains
The various race luxuriant nature pours,
And on th’ immortal essences bestows
Immortal youth; auspicious, O descend! 5
Thou, chearful guardian of the rolling year,
Whether thou wanton’st on the western gale,
Or shak’st the rigid pinions of the north,
Diffusest life and vigour thro’ the tracts
Of air, thro’ earth, and ocean’s deep domain. 10
When thro’ the blue serenity of heav’n
Thy power approaches, all the wasteful host
Of pain and sickness, squallid and deform’d,
Confounded sink into the loathsom gloom,
Where in deep Erebus involv’d the fiends 15
Grow more profane. Whatever shapes of death,
Shook from the hideous chambers of the globe,
Swarm thro’ the shuddering air: whatever plagues
Or meagre famine breeds, or with slow wings
Rise from the putrid watry element, 20
The damp waste forest, motionless and rank,
That smothers earth and all the breathless winds,
Or the vile carnage of th’ inhuman field;
Whatever baneful breathes the rotten south;
Whatever ills th’ extremes or sudden change 25
Of cold and hot, or moist and dry produce;
They fly thy pure effulgence: they, and all
The secret poisons of avenging heaven,
And all the pale tribes halting in the train
Of vice and heedless pleasure: or if aught 30
The comet’s glare amid the burning sky,
Mournful eclipse, or planets ill-combin’d,
Portend disastrous to the vital world;
Thy salutary power averts their rage,
Averts the general bane: and but for thee 35
Nature would sicken, nature soon would die.
Without thy chearful active energy
No rapture swells the breast, no poet sings,
No more the maids of Helicon delight.
Come then with me, O Goddess heavenly-gay! 40
Begin the song; and let it sweetly flow,
And let it wisely teach thy wholesom laws:
“How best the fickle fabric to support
“Of mortal man; in healthful body how
“A healthful mind the longest to maintain.” 45
’Tis hard, in such a strife of rules, to chuse
The best, and those of most extensive use;
Harder in clear and animated song
Dry philosophic precepts to convey.
Yet with thy aid the secret wilds I trace 50
Of nature, and with daring steps proceed
Thro’ paths the muses never trod before.
Nor should I wander doubtful of my way,
Had I the lights of that sagacious mind
Which taught to check the pestilential fire, 55
And quel the dreaded Python of the Nile.
O Thou belov’d by all the graceful arts,
Thou long the fav’rite of the healing powers,
Indulge, O Mead! a well-design’d essay,
Howe’er imperfect: and permit that I 60
My little knowledge with my country share,
Till you the rich Asclepian stores unlock,
And with new graces dignify the theme.
YE who amid this feverish world would wear
A body free of pain, of cares a mind; 65
Fly the rank city, shun its turbid air;
Breathe not the chaos of eternal smoke
And volatile corruption, from the dead,
The dying, sickning, and the living world
Exhal’d, to sully heaven’s transparent dome 70
With dim mortality. It is not air
That from a thousand lungs reeks back to thine,
Sated with exhalations rank and fell,
The spoil of dunghills, and the putrid thaw
Of nature; when from shape and texture she 75
Relapses into fighting elements:
It is not air, but floats a nauseous mass
Of all obscene, corrupt, offensive things.
Much moisture hurts; but here a sordid bath,
With oily rancor fraught, relaxes more 80
The solid frame than simple moisture can.
Besides, immur’d in many a sullen bay
That never felt the freshness of the breeze,
This slumbring deep remains, and ranker grows
With sickly rest: and (tho’ the lungs abhor 85
To drink the dun fuliginous abyss)
Did not the acid vigour of the mine,
Roll’d from so many thundring chimneys, tame
The putrid salts that overswarm the sky;
This caustick venom would perhaps corrode 90
Those tender cells that draw the vital air,
In vain with all their unctuous rills bedew’d;
Or by the drunken venous tubes, that yawn
In countless pores o’er all the pervious skin,
Imbib’d, would poison the balsamic blood, 95
And rouse the heart to every fever’s rage.
While yet you breathe, away! the rural wilds
Invite; the mountains call you, and the vales,
The woods, the streams, and each ambrosial breeze
That fans the ever undulating sky; 100
A kindly sky! whose fost’ring power regales
Man, beast, and all the vegetable reign.
Find then some woodland scene where nature smiles
Benign, where all her honest children thrive.
To us there wants not many a happy seat; 105
Look round the smiling land, such numbers rise
We hardly fix, bewilder’d in our choice.
See where enthron’d in adamantine state,
Proud of her bards, imperial Windsor sits;
There chuse thy seat, in some aspiring grove 110
Fast by the slowly-winding Thames; or where
Broader she laves fair Richmond’s green retreats,
(Richmond that sees an hundred villas rise
Rural or gay.) O! from the summer’s rage
O! wrap me in the friendly gloom that hides 115
Umbrageous Ham! But if the busy town
Attract thee still to toil for power or gold,
Sweetly thou mayst thy vacant hours possess
In Hampstead, courted by the western wind;
Or Greenwich, waving o’er the winding flood; 120
Or lose the world amid the sylvan wilds
Of Dulwich, yet by barbarous arts unspoil’d.
Green rise the Kentish hills in chearful air;
But on the marshy plains that Essex spreads
Build not, nor rest too long thy wandering feet. 125
For on a rustic throne of dewy turf,
With baneful fogs her aching temples bound,
Quartana there presides; a meagre fiend
Begot by Eurus, when his brutal force
Compress’d the slothful Naiad of the fens. 130
From such a mixture sprung this fitful pest,
With feverish blasts subdues the sick’ning land:
Cold tremors come, and mighty love of rest,
Convulsive yawnings, lassitude, and pains
That sting the burden’d brows, fatigue the loins, 135
And rack the joints, and every torpid limb;
Then parching heat succeeds, till copious sweats
O’erflow; a short relief from former ills.
Beneath repeated shocks the wretches pine;
The vigour sinks, the habit melts away; 140
The chearful, pure and animated bloom
Dies from the face, with squalid atrophy
Devour’d, in sallow melancholy clad.
And oft the sorceress, in her sated wrath,
Resigns them to the furies of her train; 145
The bloated Hydrops, and the yellow fiend
Ting’d with her own accumulated gall.
In quest of sites, avoid the mournful plain
Where osiers thrive, and trees that love the lake;
Where many lazy muddy rivers flow: 150
Nor for the wealth that all the Indies roll
Fix near the marshy margin of the main.
For from the humid soil, and watry reign,
Eternal vapours rise; the spungy air
For ever weeps; or, turgid with the weight 155
Of waters, pours a sounding deluge down.
Skies such as these let every mortal shun
Who dreads the dropsy, palsy, or the gout,
Tertian, corrosive scurvy, or moist catarrh;
Or any other injury that grows 160
From raw-spun fibres idle and unstrung,
Skin ill-perspiring, and the purple flood
In languid eddies loitering into phlegm.
Yet not alone from humid skies we pine;
For air may be too dry. The subtle heaven, 165
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 170
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 slow as Lethe wanders thro’ the veins, 175
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 180
Pursues, whose blood is dry, whose fibres gain
Too stretch’d a tone: And hence in climes adust
So sudden tumults seize the trembling nerves,
And burning fevers glow with double rage.
Fly, if you can, these violent extremes 185
Of air; the wholesome is nor moist nor dry.
But as the power of chusing is deny’d
To half mankind, a further task ensues;
How best to mitigate these fell extreams,
How breathe unhurt the withering element, 190
Or hazy atmosphere: Tho’ custom moulds
To every clime the soft Promethean clay;
And he who first the fogs of Essex breath’d
(So kind is native air) may in the fens
Of Essex from inveterate ills revive 195
At pure Montpelier or Bermuda caught.
But if the raw and oozy heaven offend,
Correct the soil, and dry the sources up
Of watry exhalation; wide and deep
Conduct your trenches thro’ the spouting bog; 200
Solicitous, with all your winding arts,
Betray th’ unwilling lake into the stream;
And weed the forest, and invoke the winds
To break the toils where strangled vapours lie;
Or thro’ the thickets send the crackling flames. 205
Mean time, at home with chearful fires dispel
The humid air: And let your table smoke
With solid roast or bak’d; or what the herds
Of tamer breed supply; or what the wilds
Yield to the toilsom pleasures of the chase. 210
Generous your wine, the boast of rip’ning years,
But frugal be your cups; the languid frame,
Vapid and sunk from yesterday’s debauch,
Shrinks from the cold embrace of watry heavens.
But neither these, nor all Apollo’s arts, 215
Disarm the dangers of the dropping sky,
Unless with exercise and manly toil
You brace your nerves, and spur the lagging blood.
The fat’ning clime let all the sons of ease
Avoid; if indolence would wish to live. 220
Go, yawn and loiter out the long slow year
In fairer skies. If droughty regions parch
The skin and lungs, and bake the thick’ning blood;
Deep in the waving forest chuse your seat,
Where fuming trees refresh the thirsty air; 225
And wake the fountains from their secret beds,
And into lakes dilate the running stream.
Here spread your gardens wide; and let the cool,
The moist relaxing vegetable store
Prevail in each repast: Your food supplied 230
By bleeding life, be gently wasted down,
By soft decoction and a mellowing heat,
To liquid balm; or, if the solid mass
You chuse, tormented in the boiling wave;
That thro’ the thirsty channels of the blood 235
A smooth diluted chyle may ever flow.
The fragrant dairy from its cool recess
Its nectar acid or benign will pour
To drown your thirst; or let the mantling bowl
Of keen Sherbet the fickle taste relieve. 240
For with the viscous blood the simple stream
Will hardly mingle; and fermented cups
Oft dissipate more moisture than they give.
Yet when pale seasons rise, or winter rolls
His horrors o’er the world, thou may’st indulge 245
In feasts more genial, and impatient broach
The mellow cask. Then too the scourging air
Provokes to keener toils than sultry droughts
Allow. But rarely we such skies blaspheme.
Steep’d in continual rains, or with raw fogs 250
Bedew’d, our seasons droop; incumbent still
A ponderous heaven o’erwhelms the sinking soul.
Lab’ring with storms in heapy mountains rise
Th’ imbattled clouds, as if the Stygian shades
Had left the dungeon of eternal night, 255
Till black with thunder all the south descends.
Scarce in a showerless day the heavens indulge
Our melting clime; except the baleful east
Withers the tender spring, and sourly checks
The fancy of the year. Our fathers talk 260
Of summers, balmy airs, and skies serene.
Good heaven! for what unexpiated crimes
This dismal change! The brooding elements
Do they, your powerful ministers of wrath,
Prepare some fierce exterminating plague? 265
Or is it fix’d in the Decrees above
That lofty Albion melt into the main?
Indulgent nature! O dissolve this gloom!
Bind in eternal adamant the winds
That drown or wither: Give the genial west 270
To breathe, and in its turn the sprightly north:
And may once more the circling seasons rule
The year; not mix in every monstrous day.
Mean time, the moist malignity to shun
Of burthen’d skies; mark where the dry champain 275
Swells into chearful hills; where Marjoram
And Thyme, the love of bees, perfume the air;
And where the Cynorrhodon[2] with the rose
For fragrance vies; for in the thirsty soil
Most fragrant breathe the aromatic tribes. 280
There bid thy roofs high on the basking steep
Ascend, there light thy hospitable fires.
And let them see the winter morn arise,
The summer evening blushing in the west;
While with umbrageous oaks the ridge behind 285
O’erhung, defends you from the blust’ring north,
And bleak affliction of the peevish east.