HOW TO LIVE LONGER
ATTEND. I do not often sing to you
The word coronary does not come down
From cor, the heart, but from corona, crown;
And I for one pronounce it in this way
Whatever medical young men might say.
Thus can the poet get the modern curse
Coronary thrombosis, into verse.
"Modern," I say. This fashionable bane
Is not described by Shakespeare - or by Jane.
It's not a thing those knights in armour had,
Nor is it mentioned in the Iliad.
It is, as many other evils are,
Almost coeval with the motor-car.
But now, they say, it is the reason why
One-fifth of those who die in Britain die.
There are two schools of thought. One tells you flat
It comes of taking too much animal fat.
This breeds Cholesterol; and so they damn
Such lights of life as butter, milk and ham.
The other school insists, with my applause,
Fats all the time - but always in the pink:
You'll find that no Cholesterol is there.
The reason is, these enviable men
Take healthy exercise from 10 to 10.
But we, the best and brightest in the town.
Spend nearly all the daylight sitting down.
Not Sloth, nor Indolence have damped our fires,
But the soft slogging that Success requires.
We sit to work in motor, bus, or train,
Sit at our work, and, homing, sit again:
The "active" man, forever in a fuss,
Must do more sitting than the rest of us.
The more he telephones the more he sits,
Yet exercises nothing but his wits.
At golf they use the little legs no doubt,
But other men must cart the clubs about.
Tycoon or Clerk, accept the same prognosis -
You're heading for coronary thrombosis.
Be your own caddy; be afraid of chairs;
Ignore that lift and saunter up the stairs.
Do not be jet whizz over to Quebec;