One of the earliest burlesque poems in praise of Tobacco was that written by Mr. Isaac Hawkins Browne about one hundred and fifty years ago, entitled “_A Pipe of Tobacco_, in imitation of Six Several Authors.” This poem has been repeatedly reprinted, although there is little in it that strikes a modern reader as either remarkably humorous or clever. The authors imitated are Colley Cibber (the Poet Laureate), Ambrose Phillips, James Thomson, Edward Young, Alexander Pope, and Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick’s. It is stated that the imitation of Ambrose Phillips was not written by Mr. I. H. Browne, but was sent to him by a friend, whose name has not been transmitted to us. This is to be regretted, as this particular imitation (the second) is generally considered the best in the collection. According to Ritson this was written for the collection by Dr. John Hoadley. A PIPE OF TOBACCO: _In Imitation of Six Several Authors._ IMITATION I. _Laudes egregii Cæsaris―――― Culpâ deterere ingenî._ HOR. A NEW-YEAR’S ODE. _Recitative._ Old battle-array, big with horror is fled, And olive-robed peace again lifts up her head. Sing, ye Muses, Tobacco, the blessing of peace; Was ever a nation so blessed as this? _Air._ When summer suns grow red with heat, Tobacco tempers Phœbus’ ire, When wintry storms around us beat, Tobacco cheers with gentle fire. Yellow autumn, youthful spring, In thy praises jointly sing. _Recitativo._ Like Neptune, Cæsar guards Virginian fleets, Fraught with Tobacco’s balmy sweets; Old Ocean trembles at Britannia’s pow’r, And Boreas is afraid to roar. _Air._ Happy mortal! he who knows Pleasure which a Pipe bestows; Curling eddies climb the room, Wafting round a mild perfume. _Recitativo._ Let foreign climes the vine and orange boast, While wastes of war deform the teeming coast; Britannia, distant from each hostile sound, Enjoys a Pipe, with ease and freedom crown’d; E’en restless Faction finds itself most free, Or if a slave, a slave to Liberty. _Air._ Smiling years that gayly run, Round the Zodiack with the sun, Tell, if ever you have seen Realms so quiet and serene. Britain’s sons no longer now Hurl the bar, or twang the bow, Nor of crimson combat think, But securely smoke and drink. _Chorus._ Smiling years that gayly run Round the Zodiack with the sun, Tell, if ever you have seen Realms so quiet and serene. ―――― IMITATION II. _Tenues fugit ceu fumus in auras._ VIRG.