<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355172" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Cleanliness</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, my little Robert, near-<br>Fie! what filthy hands are here-<br>Who that e'er could understand<br>The rare structure of a hand,<br>With its branching fingers fine,<br>Work itself of hands divine,<br>Strong, yet delicately knit,<br>For ten thousand uses fit,<br>Overlaid with so clear skin<br>You may see the blood within,<br>And the curious palm, disposed<br>In such lines, some have supposed<br>You may read the fortunes there<br>By the figures that appear,-<br>Who this hand would choose to cover<br>With a crust of dirt all over,<br>Till it looked in hue and shape<br>Like the fore-foot of an ape?<br>Man or boy that works or plays<br>In the fields or the highways,<br>May, without offence or hurt,<br>From the soil contract a dirt,<br>Which the next clear spring or river<br>Washes out and out for ever-<br>But to cherish stains impure,<br>Soil deliberate to endure,<br>On the skin to fix a stain<br>Till it works into the grain,<br>Argues a degenerate mind,<br>Sordid, slothful, ill inclined,<br>Wanting in that self-respect<br>Which does virtue best protect.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>All-endearing cleanliness,<br>Virtue next to godliness,<br>Easiest, cheapest, needfull'st duty,<br>To the body health and beauty,<br>Who that's human would refuse it,<br>When a little water does it?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Lamb">Charles Lamb</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=355172" data-title="Cleanliness de Charles Lamb" data-description="Come, my little Robert, near- Fie! what filthy hands are here- Who that e'er could understand The rare structure of a hand, With its branching fingers fine, Work itself of hands divine, Strong, yet delicately knit, For ten thousand uses fit, Overl..."></div> </div> </div>

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