Francis Beaumont (1584–1616)

’TIS mirth that fills the veins with blood,

More than wine, or sleep, or food;

Let each man keep his heart at ease;

No man dies of that disease.

He that would his body keep

From diseases, must not weep;

But whoever laughs and sings,

Never he his body brings

Into fevers, gouts, or rheums,

Or lingeringly his lungs consumes;

Or meets with aches in his bone,

Or catarrhs, or griping stone:

But contented lives for aye;

The more he laughs, the more he may.