The statelie, rich, late conquer’d Indian plaines, Foster a plant, the princess of all plants, Which Portugall, after peril and paines, To Europe brought, as it most justly vaunts; This plant at home the people and priests assure, Of his goodwill, whom they as God adore; Both here and there it worketh wonderous cure, And hath much heavenlie vertue hid in store. A stranger plant shipwrecked on our coast, Is come to help this colde phlegmatic soyle, Yet cannot live for calumnie and boast, In danger daylie of some greater broyle. My Lord, this sacred herbe which never offendit, Is forced to crave your favour to defend it. The author’s exalted idea about the great value of the weed was a reflex of the Indian’s belief in its all-healing properties, a notion which through the Spaniards and Portuguese had become the common property of Europe. This is the animating thought running through the work. He has set his heart upon curing suffering humanity of every malady, and he complacently likens himself to Hercules going out into the world to wage war on disease and corruption. ‘I have armed myself with a box for his bag,’ says the learned doctor, ‘and a pipe for his club; a box to conserve my tobacco, and a pipe to use it.’ He foresees a time coming when the medicinal virtues of the herb will be so well understood that the services of physicians may be dispensed with, particularly in cases of defluxion and catarrh. Warming to his work and holding up the native home of the plant to be a ‘Country which God hath honoured and blessed with this holy herbe,’ he flourishes his club defiantly in the face of ‘the unlearned leiches’ who dare to say evil things about Nicotiana; ‘God willing,’ he means to ‘overcome many maladies.’ In practical work, however, though equally earnest, he is a long way behind his contemporary, Dr. Gardiner, whose _Trial of Tobacco_ has already been noticed. By the middle of the seventeenth century, tobacco-smoking had become a confirmed habit even in remote rural districts, and was duly recognised and provided for by every housewife. Monsieur Jorevin de Rochefort in his travels in England (1672) tells a homely story of his sitting down to supper with a friend in Worcester, where, on the meal being finished, they set on the table half a dozen pipes and a packet of tobacco for smoking. On inquiry he was told that it was a common practice to smoke after supper, indulged in by both men and women, who said that without tobacco one cannot live in England, for the smoke dissipates the evil humours of the brain. He goes on to relate his further experience on the next day, saying: