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Non habet exiguas quoque pandiculatio vires,
Si medicos par est credere vera loqui.
Accidit ex longo nervos torpere sopore,
Atque male officii munus obire sui.
Excitat hos certo tibi pandiculatio motu
Utere: nec mores dedecet illa tuos.

III.

Nec reliquis surgens te vestibus indue, nude
Indusium satis est imposuisse cuti.

Sed reliquas geminis vestes complectitor ulnis,
Aspera si duro frigore sævit hiems.
Scilicet in calido jucundius est hypocausto
Induere, a sævo ne violêre gelu.

Nec moveat, virgo vel femina si sit ibidem:
Tu tamen uteris moribus usque tuis.
Sique tuis quisquam factis offenditur, illum,
Cernere si talem nolit, abire jube.

Quisque tibi cedat, nec tu concesseris ulli:
Conditione tuâ es liber, et esse velis.

IV.

Tandem ubi vestitus fueris, pendere solutas In genibus caligas (res decet illa) sines. Namque ita virginibus tacitâ ratione placebis, Teque sibi optabit quæque puella virum. Non sat eris simplex, si corpus, vane, ligare Cœperis; et ventri vincula dura nocent.

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Ne nimis evadas moratus, pectere crines
Neglige; neglecta est forma decora viro.

Femineæ crines ornare relinquito turbæ ;
Comantur juvenes quos levis urit Amor.
Crede mihi, dominum te nulla puella vocabit,
Si te composito viderit esse pilo.

"Sint procul a nobis juvenes ut femina comti
Scribit Amazonio Cressa puella viro.
Eximio tibi erit decori, si pluma capillis

Mixta erit, et laudem providus inde feres.
Scilicet hoc homines poteris convincere signo,
Non in stramineo te cubuisse toro.

VI.

Sint capitis crines longi, nec forcipe tonsi,
Cæsaries humeros tangat ut alta tuos,
Tutus ut a tristi rigidæ sis frigore brumæ,
Vertice prolixus crinis alendus erit.

Cuncti homines quondam longos habuêre capillos,
Quas modo virgineus curat habere chorus.
Regna pater quando Saturnus prisca tenebat,
Tunc fuit in longis gloria magna comis.
Simplicitas veterum laudatur ubique virorum ;
Quâ potes, hos semper sit tibi cura sequi.

VII.

Dedecus esse puta faciemve manusve lavare;
Commodius crasso sordet utrumque luto.
"Qui volet his vesci, per me licet ipse lavabit,"
Dicito: "res curæ non erit illa mihi."

VIII.

Forsan erit dentes qui te mundare monebit,
Sed monitis parens inveniêre cave.

Recta valetudo corrumpi dicitur oris,

Sæpe nova si quis proluat illud aquâ.

Quid noceat, dentes quod sint fuligine flavi?

Iste color rubei cernitur esse croci.

Iste color fulvo quoque non culpatur in auro,

Auro, quod nunquam non amat omnis homo. Dentibus ergo tuis cur sit color ille pudendus? Si sapis, hanc a te fac procul ire fidem.

Forced to be grave, though wishing much to smile,
Who hears, impatient of the humdrum style,
Grave preachers, on grave subjects, gravely prose,
So dull they tempt, so loud they mock repose;
Let him to me, in gayer mood, attend,
Nor dread some thundering Cato in a friend.
If aught my song avail, 'tis plain, not nice,
He'll prove a finish'd scholar in a trice.
To vent their spleen, elate with learned pride,
My theme let schoolmen, if they will, deride:
With willing ear who listens to my rules,

Shall hear unmoved the clamours of the schools.

I.

Quit, quit thy bed, what time the busy sun
('Twere vulgar sooner) half his course hath run.
No kind return maternal care demands;

And scorn the blessing from a father's hands.
Let others hail the day with praise and prayer,
Eternal gratitude's eternal care.

For common welfare let the fond fool pray,
(With many a godly sentence thrown away)
To whom Religion in her zeal hath given
Dire superstition and a fear of Heaven.
Far, far from thee, be such ignoble aims:
Life with dull Care all fellowship disclaims.

II.

To stretch and yawn is great relief to some, Bracing the slacken'd nerve with sleep o'ercome.

This doctor Filgrane stoutly will maintain :
And shall apothecaries talk in vain ?

Besides, how pleasing 'tis some youth to see,
Gape, stretch, and yawn, and all that, gracefully!

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Be sure, with half your clothes thrown on, to stand,
(Coat, stockings, garters, dangling in your hand,)
Close o'er the parlour fire; for thee 'twas made;
Nor let the cold thy gentle limbs invade.

O'er the same fire though nymph or matron glow,
'Twere but false modesty should bid you go.
If friends too nice your plan to censure move,
Bid them begone to scenes they more approve.
To thee, no doubt, all things, all men shall bend:
Thy right is liberty, thy right defend.

IV.

At length you're dress'd; take care, below the knees,
Let the loose boot hang down with graceful ease.
In this, some nameless grace, some charm unknown,
Wins the whole sex, and every girl's your own.
Loose let your waistcoat fly, while snug your chin
Lies couch'd behind a well-spread chitterlin.

V.

To tend with anxious touch the plaited hair,
Leave to the love-sick school-boy and his fair.
Do thou step forth in easy deshabille,
Your uncomb'd ringlets floating as they will;
For beaux so finical in dress and air

Scarce get a scrawl from Chloe once a year.
Thus to her lover writes the Cretan lass:
"I hate these coxcombs, that before their glass
For ever fix'd, are nothing till they're dress'd,
And then but bearded women at the best."

All from the downy bed you'll haply bear,
('Tis no small grace) a feather in your hair;
From which mankind this inference may draw :
"Ne'er sleeps the gentle youth on bed of straw."
A praise so easily, so nobly won,

What beau, what prudent beau, would ever shun?

VI.

To crop thy flowing hair, lo! ready stands
The ruthless barber with unhallow'd hands.
Fly, fly his touch; you'll wish, amid the snow,
Beneath your wonted perriwig to glow.

In times of old, by ribbon unconfined,

Their long lank locks were glory of mankind.

Such locks the nymphs now wear in silks who rustle,

In rich luxuriance reaching to the bustle.

Fie on our bob-tail'd race, these days are o'er,

And Time shall see straight heads of hair no more!

VII.

Some souse in water every morn their face,
And think clean hands give something of a grace.
Who on their fingers feed, for lack of meat,
Such men should wash their food before they eat.

VIII.

Some are such fools, they clean their teeth, and cry,
An unclean tooth is loathsome to the eye.

Take heed, dame Nature says; obey her laws;

Cold water is the devil in your jaws.

What though your grinders, odious to the view,
Vie with the crocus in her yellow hue,

Or golden guinea to exceed aspire?
The crocus and the guinea all admire.
Take my advice; remain in perfect case,

Be your teeth black, blue, green, or what you please!

MONRO,

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