His boundless snows, nor rues th’ inclement heaven; 280
And hence our painted ancestors defied
The East; nor curs’d, like us, their fickle sky.
The body moulded by the clime, indures
Th’ Equator heats, or Hyperborean frost:
Except by habits foreign to its turn, 285
Unwise, you counteract its forming pow’r.
Rude at the first, the winter shocks you less
By long acquaintance: Study then your sky,
Form to its manners your obsequious frame,