Criticks avaunt; Tobacco is my theme; Tremble like hornets at the blasting steam. And you, court-insects, flutter not too near Its light, nor buzz within the scorching sphere. 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 Fopling 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, tho’ it makes him――spit. Citronia 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 smoke, and some for fame: Fame, of our actions universal spring, For which we drink, eat, sleep, smoke,――ev’rything. ―――― IMITATION V. _――――Solis ad ortus Vanescit fumus._ LUCAN. Blest leaf! whose aromatick gales dispense To templars modesty, to parsons sense: So raptur’d priests, at fam’d Dodona’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 thee, 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 critick owns thy genial aid, While supperless he plies the piddling trade. What tho’ to love and soft delights a foe, 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. ―――― IMITATION VI. _Ex fumo dare lucem._ HOR.