One man was faithful to his pipe, and kept Despair and deeper misery at bay, By seeking ever for a "topper," dropped From some spurned pipe, but that he could not find; So, with a piteous and perpetual glare, And a quick dissolute word, sucking the pipe, Which answer'd never with a whiff, he slept; The crowd dispersed by slow degrees, but two Of all the dreary company remain'd, And they kept 'bacca shops; they sat upon The scanted lid of a tobacco tub, Wherein was heap'd a mass of coined bronze-- Profits of 'bacca, sold--they were sold out; They, grinning, scraped with their warm, eager hands The little halfpence and the bigger pence, Counted a little time, and cried "Haw! haw!" Like a whole rookery; then lifted up The tub as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other's profits; saw, and smiled, and winked, Uncaring that the world was poor indeed, So they were rich in pence. The world was mad, The populace and peerage both alike Birds--Eyeless, Shagless, and returnless, too-- Oh! day of death, oh! chaos of hard times!-- And princes, dukes, and lords, they all stood still, Feeling within their pockets' silent depths; And sailors went a-moaning out to sea, And chew'd their cables piecemeal: then they wept, And slept on the abyss without a quid. All quids were gone, cigars were in their graves; The plant, their mother, had been rooted up; Pawnbrokers had a ton of pipes apiece, And "Antis" triumph'd. Then they had no need To keep a "Sec.," so Reynolds got the "sack." One of the best of all parodies is one in imitation of Longfellow's "Excelsior," entitled "Tobacco." It is from "Copis' Tobacco Plant." [Illustration: The strange youth.] "The summer blight was falling fast, When straight through dirty London passed A youth, who bore, through road and street, A packet, thereon written neat; "Tobacco!" His brow was glad, his laughing eye Flashed like a gooseberry in a pie; And like a penny whistle rung The piping notes of that strange tongue-- "Tobacco!" In dusty homes he saw the light Of supper fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the ruddy chimneys smoked: He from his lips the word evoked-- "Tobacco!" "Try not the weed," good Reynolds said; "I've smoked it 'till I'm nearly dead: Take not the juice in thy inside;" But loud the jovial voice replied-- "Tobacco!" "Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest; I have got on my Sunday best:" A wink stood in his bright blue eye, And answered he, without a sigh-- "Tobacco!"