Classic Poem

Asses' milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before,
Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more.
At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think, when alone,
There's no pleasure in bed.--"Mary, bring me my gown.'
Slip on that ere you rise; let your caution be such,
Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too much.
Your pinners set right, your twitcher tied on,
Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done,
Retire to some author improving and gay,
And with sense like your own, set your mind for the day.
At twelve you may walk, for at this time o' th' year,
The sun, like your wit, is as mild as it's clear:
But mark in the meadows the ruin of time,
Take the hint, and let life be improved in its prime.
Return not in haste, nor of dressing take heed,
For such beauty as yours no assistance can need.
With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you sit,
Where the chief of the feast is the flow of your wit:
Let this be indulged, and let laughter go round;
As it pleases your mind, to your health 'twill redound.
After dinner two glasses at least I approve;
Name the first to the king, and the last to your love:
Thus cheerful with wisdom, with innocence gay,
And calm with your joys, gently glide through the day.
The dews of the ev'ning most carefully shun,
They are tears of the sky for the loss of the sun.
Then in chat, or at play, with a dance or a song,
Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along;
All cares, but of love, banish far from your mind,
And those you may end when you please to be kind.