With solid roast or bak’d; or what the herds
Of tamer breed supply; or what the wilds
Yield to the toilsom pleasures of the chase. 210
Generous your wine, the boast of rip’ning years,
But frugal be your cups; the languid frame,
Vapid and sunk from yesterday’s debauch,
Shrinks from the cold embrace of watry heavens.
But neither these, nor all Apollo’s arts, 215
Disarm the dangers of the dropping sky,
Unless with exercise and manly toil