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Pollio, with flame like thine, my verse inspire ;
So shall the Muse from smoke elicit fire.
Coxcombs prefer the tickling sting of snuff;
Yet all their claim to wisdom is a puff.
Lord Foplin smokes not-for his teeth afraid:
Sir Tawdry smokes not-for he wears brocade.
Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon:
They love no smoke, except the smoke of town;
But courtiers hate the puffing tribe no matter,
Strange if they love the breath that cannot flatter!
Its foes but shew their ignorance; can he
Who scorns the leaf of knowledge, love the tree?
The tainted Templar (more prodigious yet)
Rails at 'Tobacco, though it makes him-spit.
Citrona vows it has an odious stink;
She will not smoke (ye gods!)—but she will drink:
And chaste Prudella (blame her if you can)
Says, pipes are us’d by that vile creature Man:
Yet crowds remain, who still its worth proclaim,
While some for pleasure sinoke, and some for fame:
Fame, of our actions universal spring,
For which we drink,eat,sleep, smoke-every thing,



Solis ad ortus


Vanescit fumus.

Brest LEAF! whose aromatic gales dispense
To Templars modesty, to Parsons sense:
So raptur'd priests, at fam’d Dordona's shrine
Drank inspiration from the steam divine.
Poison that cures, a vapour that affords
Content, more solid than the smile of lords :
Rest to the weary, to the hungry food,
The last kind refuge of the wise and good.
Inspir'd by thec, dull cits adjust the scale
Of Europe's peace, when other statesmen fail.
By thee protected, and thy sister, Beer,
Poets rejoice, nor think the bailiff near.
Nor less the critic owns thy genial aid,
While supperless he plies the piddling trade.
What though to love and soft delights a foc,
By ladies hated, hated by the beau,

Yet social freedom, long to courts unknown,
Fair health, fair truth, and virtue, are thy own.
Come to thy poet, come with healing wings,
And let me taste thee unexcis'd by kings!


Ex fumo dare lucem.


Boy! bring an ounce of Freeman's best,
And bid the vicar be my guest:
Let all be plac'd in manner due,
A pot wherein to spit or spuc,
And London Journal, and Free-Briton,*
Of use to light a pipe or * *

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This village, unmolested yet
By troopers, shall be my retreat:

* Two ministerial newspapers.

Who cannot fatter, bribe, betray;
Who cannot wtite or vote for *.
Far from the vermin of the town,
Hlere let me rather live, my own,
Doze o'er a pipe, whose vapour bland
In sweet oblivion lulls the land;
Of all which at Vienna passes,
As ignorant as ** Brass is:
And scorning rascals to caress,
Extol the days of good Queen Bess,
When first Tobacco blest our isle ;
Then think of other Queens and smile,

Come, jovial pipe, and bring along
Midnight revelry and song;
The merry catch, the madrigal,
That echoes sweet in City-Hall;
The parson's pun, the smutty tale
Of country justice o'er his ale.
I ask not what the French are doing,
Oi Spain, to compass Britain's ruin:

Britons, if undone, can go
Where Tobacco loves to grow.



DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tort’ring hour

The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain ;.

And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When first thy Sire, to send on earth

Virtue, his darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heavenly birth,

And bade to form her infant mind.
Stern rugged nurse'! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore;

What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learnt to molt at others woe.

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