What is Peru, and those Brazilian mines, To thee, Virginia! miserable realms; They furnish gold for knaves, and gems for fools; But thine are _common_ comforts! to omit Pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise, Think what a general joy the snuff-box gives Europe, and far above Pizarro's name Write Raleigh in thy records of renown! Him let the school-boy bless if he behold His mother's box produced, for when he sees The thumb and finger of authority Stuffed up the nostrils, when hot head and wig Shake all; when on the waistcoat black, the dust Or drop falls brown, soon shall the brow severe Relax, and from vituperative lips, Words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise And jokes that _must_ be laughed at must proceed. _Anthology_, Vol. II. p. 115. THOU ART A CHARM FOR WINTER. Nor here to pause--I own thy potent power, When chilling blasts assail our frigid clime, While flies the hail or rudely beats the shower, Or sad impatience chides the wings of time. Come, then, my pipe, and let thy savoury cloud, Now wisdom seldom shews her rev'rend mien, Spread round my head a bland and shelt'ring shroud, When riot mingles mischief with the scene. Shield me at evening from the selfish fool, The wretch who never felt for human woes, And while my conduct's framed by virtue's rule, Let only peace and honour interpose. Shield me by day from hatred's threat'ning frowns, Still let thine aromatic curtains spread, When bold presumption mounts to put me down, And hurls his maledictions round my head. Do this, my pipe, and till my sand's run out, I'll sing thy praise among the sons of wealth, Blest weed that bids the glutton lose his gout, And gains respect among the drugs of health. No shrew shall harm thee, no mundungus foul Shall stain thy lining, as the ermine white; My choicest friends shall revel o'er thy bowl, And charm away the terrors of the night. From ample hoards I'll bring the fragrant spoils, The richest herb from Kerebequa's shores, That grateful weed, that props the British Isles, And Sussex,[6] England's Royal Duke adores. _The Social Pipe._ ALL NATIONS HONOR THEE. 'Tis not for me to sing thy praise alone, Where'er the merchant spreads his wind-bleach'd sails; Wherever social intercourse is known, There too thy credit, still the theme prevails. The bearded Turk, majestically grand, In high divan upholds the jointed reeds; And clearer reasons on the case in hand, Till opposition to his lore concedes. Thy potent charms delight the nabob's taste, Fixt on his elephant (half reasoning beast); He twines the gaudy hookah round his waist, And puffs thy incense to the breezy east.