[_From a Book Published in 1618, called Texnotamia, or the Marriage of the
Arts._]
Tobacco's a musician--and in a pipe delighteth
It descends in a close, thro' the organs of the nose,
With a relish that inviteth.
This makes me sing so-ho!--so-ho! boys--
Ho! boys, sound I loudly--
Earth ne'er did breed such a jovial weed,
Whereof to boast so proudly.
Tobacco is a lawyer--his pipes do love long cases,
When our brains it enters, our feet do make indentures,
While we scale with stamping paces.
This makes me sing, &c.
Tobacco's a physician--good, both for sound and sickly,
'Tis a hot perfume that expels cold rheume,
And makes it flow down quickly.
This makes me sing, &c.
Tobacco's a traveller, come from the Indies hither,--
It passed sea and land, ere it came to my hand,
And scaped the wind and weather.
This makes me sing, &c.
Tobacco is a critticke, that still old paper turneth--
Whose labour and care is as smoke in the aire,
That ascends from a ray when it burneth.
This makes me sing, &c.
Tobacco is an _ignis fatuus_--a fat and fyrie vapour,
That leads men about till the fire be out,
Consuming like a taper.
This makes me sing, &c.
Tobacco is a whyffler, and cries huff, snuff, with furie;
His pipes, his club, once linke--he's the wiser that does drinke,--
Thus armed I fear not a furie.
This makes me sing so-ho!--so-ho!--boys--
Ho! boys sound I loudly;
Earth ne'er did breed such a jovial weed,
Whereof to boast so proudly.