Nor menial slave, nor coffer strong,
Nor blazing hearth to thee belong;
Not e'en a spider, or a louse,
Can live within thy famish'd house:
Yet does my Furius, to his cost,
A father, and a stepdame boast;
So hungry, so extremely thin,
Their teeth a very flint would skin;
And, such thy sire, so lean his wife,
You needs must lead a pleasant life:
What wonder? when, beyond a question,
You all are blest with good digestion;
Have nought to fear, nor fire, nor losses,
Nor impious deeds, nor pois'nous doses;
Nor all the dangers, which await
The wretchedness of human state.
Your harden'd bodies drier are
Than horn, or ought that's drier far;
And, nurs'd by hunger, cold, and heat,
How can your bliss but be compleat?
From you no sweat, no spittle flows;
No rheum, no snivel from your nose:
Besides; one cleanliness superior
To all you boast; that your posterior
Is so exceeding trim, and sweet;
A saltcellar's not half so neat:
Scarce ten times in the year you vent
Your indurated excrement;
So indurated ne'er was known
Or shrivell'd bean, or hardest stone;
Which, rubb'd, and crumbled o'er and o'er,
Would leave the finger as before.
Then hold not cheap, nor yet despise
Blessings, my Furius, you should prize;
Nor, as you're wont, ask more of heav'n;
To thee enough's already giv'n!