Serene he bears the peevish eastern blast, 30
And uninfected breaths the mortal South.
Such the reward of rude and sober life;
Of labour such. By health the peasant’s toil
Is well repaid; if exercise were pain
Indeed, and temperance pain. By arts like these 35
Laconia nurs’d of old her hardy sons;
And Rome’s unconquer’d legions urg’d their way,
Unhurt, thro’ every toil in every clime.
Toil, and be strong. By toil the flaccid nerves