Şiir 23
Furius !Nor chest, nor slaves can claim,
Bug, Spider, nor e’e n hearth aflame,
Yet thine a sire and step-dame who
Wi’ tooth can ever flint-food chew!
So thou, and pleasant happy life
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Lead wi’ thy parents wooden wife.
Nor be this marvel: hale are all,
Well ye digest; no fears appal
For household-arsons, heavy ruin,
Plunderings impious, poison-brewin’
10
Or other parlous case forlorn.
Your frames are hard and dried like horn,
Or if more arid aught ye know
By suns and frosts and hunger-throe.
Then why not happy as thou’rt hale?
15
Sweat’s strange to thee, spit fails, and fail
Phlegm and foul snivel from the nose.
Add cleanness that aye cleanlier shows
A bum than salt-pot cleanlier,
Nor ten times cack’st in total year,
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