The courtiers alone
To this weed are not prone;
Would you know what 'tis makes them so slack--O?
'Twas because it inclined
To be honest the mind,
And therefore they banished tobacco.
HENRY FIELDING.
Friend of my youth, companion of my later days.
What needs my Muse to sing thy various praise?
In country or in town, on land or sea,
The weed is still delightful company.
In joy or sorrow, grief or racking pain,
We fly to thee for solace once again.
Delicious plant, by all the world consumed,
'Tis pity thou, like man, to ashes too art doom'd.
ANON.
Tobacco, some say, is a potent narcotic,
That rules half the world in a way quite despotic;
So, to punish him well for his wicked and merry tricks,
We'll burn him forthwith, as they used to do heretics.
TO MY CIGAR.
The warmth of thy glow,
Well-lighted cigar,
Makes happy thoughts flow,
And drives sorrow afar.
The stronger the wind blows,
The brighter thou burnest!
The dreariest of life's woes,
Less gloomy thou turnest!
As I feel on my lip
Thy unselfish kiss,
Like thy flame-colored tip,
All is rosy-hued bliss.
No longer does sorrow
Lay weight on my heart;
And all fears of the morrow,
In joy-dreams depart.
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