Sir John Harington 1561-1612
Prefaces to his translation of the Medical Poem of Salerno
Return to Harington's text.
The Printer to the Reader.
Reader, the care that I have of thy health, appears in bestowing these Physical rules upon thee: neither needest thou be ashamed to take lessons out of this School: for our best Doctors scorn not
to read the instructions. It is a little Academy, where every man may be a graduate, and proceed Doctor in the ordering of his own body. It is a Garden, where all things grow that are necessary for they health. This medicinal Tree grew first in Salerne; from thence it was removed, and hath borne fruit and blossoms a long time in England. It is now replanted in a wholesome ground, and new earth cast about it by the hand of a cunning Gardener, to keep it still in flourishing. Much good husbandry is bestowed upon it: yet whatsoever the cost be, the reapest the sweetness of it for a small value. It came to me by chance, as a jewel that is found, whereof notwithstanding I am not covetous, but part the Treasure among my Countrymen. The Author of the pains, is to me unknown, and I put this Child of his into the open world without his consent. Bring it up therefore well, I beseech thee, and hope (as I do) that he will not be angry, finding this a Traveler abroad, when by this travel so many of his own country are so manifoldly benefited. Farewell.
Ad Librum.
Go Book, and (like a Merchant) new arrived,
Tell in how strange a traffic thou hast thrived
Upon the Country which the Sea-god saves,
And loves so dear: he binds it round with waves:
Cast Anchor thou, and impost pay to him
Whose Swans upon the breast of Isis swim.
But to the people that doth love to buy,
(It skills not for how much) each novelty
Proclaim an open Mart, and sell good cheap,
What thou by travel and much cost doth reap.
Bid the gay Courtier, and coy Lady come,
The Lawyer, Townsman, and the country groom,
'Tis ware for all: yet thus much let them know,
There are no drugs here fetched from Mexico,
Nor gold from India, nor that stinking smoke,
Which English gallants buy, themselves to choke,
Nor silks of Turkey, nor of Barbary,
Those luscious Canes, where our rich Sugars lie:
Nor those hot drinks that make our wits to dance
The wild Canaries: nor the Grapes of France,
Which make us clip our English nor those wares
Of fertile Belgia, whose womb compares
With all the world for fruit, though now with scars
Her body be all o'er defaced by wars:
Go tell them what thou bringst exceeds the wealth
Of all these Countries, for thou bringst them health.
In Librum.
Wit, Learning, Order, Elegance of Phrase,
Health, and the Art to lengthen out our days,
Philosophy, Physíc, and Poesy,
And that skill which death loves not, (Surgery),
Walks to refresh us, Airs moth sweet and clear,
A thrifty Table, and the wholesom'st cheer.
All sorts of grain, all sorts of flesh, of fish,
Of Fowl, and (last of all) of fruits a several dish:
Good Breakfasts, Dinners, Suppers, after-meals,
The herb for Salads, and the herb that heals,
Physicians' Counsel, 'Pothecaries' pills,
Without the summing up of costly bills,
Wines that the brain shall ne'er intoxicate,
Strong Ale and Beer at a more easier rate,
Then Water from the Fountain: clothes (not dear)
For the four several quarters of the year,
Meats both for Protestant and Puritan,
With means sufficient to maintain a man.
If all these things thou want'st, no farther look,
All this, and more than this, lies in this book.
-- Anonymous
In Laudem Operis.
The Gods upon a time in council sitting,
To rule the world what creature was most fitting,
At length from God to God this sentence ran,
To form a creature like themselves (called Man)
Being made, the world was given him, built so rarely,
No workman can come near it: hung so fairly,
That the Gods viewing it, were overjoyed:
Yet grieved that it should one day be destroyed.
Gardens had Man to walk in, set with trees
That still were bearing: But (neglecting these)
He longed for fruits unlawful, fell to riots,
Wasted his god-like body by ill diets.
Spent (what was left him) like a prodigal heir,
And had of earth, of hell, or heaven no care,
For which the earth was cursed, and brought forth weeds,
Poison even lurking in our fairest feeds,
Half heaven was hid, and did in darkness mourn:
Whilst hell kept fires continual, that should burn,
His very soul, if still it went awry,
And give it torments that should never die,
Yet lo: How blest is man? the Deities,
Built up the School of Health, to make him wise.