Why should life in sorrow be spent, When pleasure points to the road Wherein each traveller with content May throw off the ponderous load? And instead, in ample measure, Gather fruits too long left ripe; What’s this world without its pleasure? What is pleasure but a pipe? Is it not tobacco dear, That from the brow fell grief can wipe? Yes! like them with jolly cheer, I find pleasure in a pipe. Some delight in envy ever, Others avaricious gripe; Would you know our greatest pleasure? ’Tis a glowing social pipe. _Two verses omitted._ (Printed by W. J. Shelmerdine, about 1794.) From Logan’s _Pedlar’s Pack of Ballads_. ―――― LA PIPE DE TABAC. Contre les chagrins de la vie, On crie, “Et ab hoc et ab hac;” Moi, je me crois digne d’envie, Quand j’ai ma pipe et mon tabac. Aujourd’hui, changeant de folie, Et de boussole et d’almanach, Je préfère fille jolie, Même à la pipe de tabac. Le soldat bâille sous la tente, Le matelot sur le tillac; Bientot ils out l’âme contente, Avec la pipe de tabac. Si pourtant survient une belle A l’instant le cœur fait tictac, Et l’amant oublie auprès d’elle Jusqu’à la pipe de tabac. Je tiens cette maxime utile De ce fameux monsieur de Crac: En campagne, comme à la ville, Fêtons l’amour et le tabac. Quand ce grand homme allait en guerre, Il portait dans son petit sac, Le doux portrait de sa bergère, Avec la pipe de tabac. PIGAULT LEBRUN. (1755-1835.) ―――― CONTENT AND A PIPE. Contented I sit with my pint and my pipe, Puffing sorrow and care far away, And surely the brow of grief nothing can wipe Like smoking and moist’ning our clay; For, though liquor can banish man’s reason afar, ’Tis only a fool or a sot, Who with reason or sense would be ever at war, And don’t know when enough he has got. For, though at my simile many may joke, Man is but a pipe――and his life but smoke. Yes, a man and a pipe are much nearer akin Than has as yet been understood, For, until with breath they are both fill’d within, Pray tell me for what are they good? They, one and the other, composed are of clay, And, if rightly I tell nature’s plan, Take but the breath from them both quite away, The pipe dies and so does the man: For, though at my simile many may joke, Man is but a pipe――and his life but smoke.