Lead wi' thy parents wooden wife.Nor be this marvel: hale are all,Well ye digest; no fears appalFor household-arsons, heavy ruin,Plunderings impious, poison-brewin'Or other parlous case forlorn.Your frames are hard and dried like horn,Or if more arid aught ye knowBy suns and frosts and hunger-throe.Then why not happy as thou'rt hale?Sweat's strange to thee, spit fails, and failPhlegm and foul snivel from the nose.Add cleanness that aye cleanlier showsA bum than salt-pot cleanlier,Nor ten times cack'st in total year,And harder 'tis than pebble or beanWhich rubbed in hand or crumbled, e'enOn finger ne'er shall make unclean.Such blessings (Furius !) such a prizeNever belittle nor despise;