[WE have had considerable trouble in procuring a copy of this old song, which used, in former days, to be very popular with aged people resident in the North of England. It has been long out of print, and handed down traditionally. By the kindness, however, of Mr. S. Swindells, printer, Manchester, we have been favoured with an ancient printed copy, which Mr. Swindells observes he had great difficulty in obtaining. Some improvements have been made in the present edition from the recital of Mr. Effingham Wilson, who was familiar with the song in his youth.] BOTH sexes give ear to my fancy, While in praise of dear woman I sing; Confined not to Moll, Sue, or Nancy, But mates from a beggar to king. When old Adam first was created, And lord of the universe crowned, His happiness was not completed, Until that an helpmate was found. He’d all things in food that were wanting To keep and support him through life; He’d horses and foxes for hunting, Which some men love better than wife. He’d a garden so planted by nature, Man cannot produce in his life; But yet the all-wise great Creator Still saw that he wanted a wife. Then Adam he laid in a slumber, And there he lost part of his side; And when he awoke, with a wonder, Beheld his most beautiful bride! In transport he gazèd upon her, His happiness now was complete! He praisèd his bountiful donor, Who thus had bestowed him a mate. She was not took out of his head, sir, To reign and triumph over man; Nor was she took out of his feet, sir, By man to be trampled upon. But she was took out of his side, sir, His equal and partner to be; But as they’re united in one, sir, The man is the top of the tree. Then let not the fair be despisèd By man, as she’s part of himself; For woman by Adam was prizèd More than the whole globe full of wealth. Man without a woman’s a beggar, Suppose the whole world he possessed; And the beggar that’s got a good woman, With more than the world he is blest. TOBACCO. [THIS song is a mere adaptation of _Smoking Spiritualized_; see _ante_, p. 39. The earliest copy of the abridgment we have been able to meet with, is published in D’Urfey’s _Pills to purge Melancholy_, 1719; but whether we are indebted for it to the author of the original poem, or to ‘that bright genius, Tom D’Urfey,’ as Burns calls him, we are not able to determine. The song has always been popular. The tune is in _Popular Music_.] TOBACCO’S but an Indian weed, Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve; It shows our decay, We are but clay; Think of this when you smoke tobacco! The pipe that is so lily white, Wherein so many take delight, It’s broken with a touch,— Man’s life is such; Think of this when you take tobacco!