Smiling Years that gayly run,
Round the Zodiack with the Sun,
Tell, if ever you have seen
Realms fo quiet and ferene.
BRITISH Sons no longer now
Hurl the Bar, or twang the Bow,
Nor of crimson Combat think,
But fecurely fmoke and drink.
CHORU S.
Smiling Years, that gayly run
Round the Zodiac with the Sun,
Tell, if ever you have seen
Realms fo quiet and ferene.
II. Imitation of Mr. A. PHILLIPS.
ITTLE Tube of mighty pow'r,
Charmer of an idle Hour,
Object of my warm Defire,
Lip of Wax, and Eye of Fire:
And thy fnowy Taper Waist,
With my Finger gently brac❜d;
And thy pretty fwelling Creft,
With my little Stopper preft,
And the sweetest Bliss of Bliffes,
Breathing from thy balmy Kiffes.
Happy thrice, and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy Men;
Who when agen the Night returns,
When agen the Taper burns;
When agen the Cricket's gay,
(Little Cricket, full of Play)
Can afford his Tube to feed
With the fragrant INDIAN Weed:
Pleasure for a Nofe divine,
Incense of the God of Wine.
Happy thrice, and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy Men.
III. Imitation of Mr. THOMPSON.
Thou, matur'd by glad Hefperian Suns,
TOBACCO, Fountain pure of limpid Truth,
That looks the very Soul; whence pouring Thought
Swarms all the Mind; abforpt is yellow Care,
And at each Puff Imagination burns.
Flash on thy Bard, and with exalting Fires
Touch the mysterious Lip that chaunts thy Praife,
In Strains to mortal Sons of Earth unknown.
Behold an Engine, wrought from tawny Mines
Of ductile Clay, with plaftick Virtue form'd,
And glaz'd magnifick o'er, I grasp, I fill.
From PÆTOTHEKE with pungent Pow'rs perfum'd,
Itfelf one Tortoise all, where shines imbib'd
Each parent Ray; then rudely ram'd illume
With the red Touch of zeal-enkindling Sheet,
Mark'd with Gibsonian Lore; forth iffue Clouds,
Thought-thrilling, thirft-inciting Clouds around,
And many-mining Fires: I all the while,
Lolling at Eafe, inhale the breezy Balm.
But chief, when Bacchus wont with thee to join,
In genial Strife and orthodoxal Ale,
Stream Life and Joy into the Mufes' Bowl.
Oh be thou ftill my great Inspirer, thou
My Mufe; oh fan me with thy Zephyrs Boon,
While I, in clouded Tabernacle shrin'd,
Burft forth all Oracle and myftick Song.
IV. Imitation of Dr. YOUNG.
RITICKS avaunt; TOBACCO is my theme;
Tremble like Hornets at the blafting Steam.
And you, Court-infects, flutter not too near
Its Light, nor buzz within the fcorching sphere.
POLLIO, with Flame like thine, my Verse infpire,
So fhall the Mufe from Smoke elicit Fire.
Coxcombs prefer the tickling Sting of Snuff;
Yet all their Claim to Wifdom is
Lord FOPLIN fmokes 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 fhew their Ignorance; can he
Who scorns the Leaf of Knowledge, love the Tree?
The tainted Templar (more prodigious yet)
Rails at TOBACCO, though it makes him—fpit.
CITRONIA VOWs it has an odious Stink;
She will not smoke (ye Gods!) but she will drink:
And chafte PRUDELLA (blame her if you can)
Says, Pipes are us'd by that vile Creature Man :
Yet Crouds remain, who ftill its Worth proclaim,
While fome for Pleasure fmoke, and fome for Fame:
Fame, of our Actions universal Spring,
For which we drink, eat, fleep, fmoke, - ev'ry Thing.
V. Imitation of Mr. PoPE.
LEST Leaf! whofe aromatick Gales difpenfe
To Templars Modefty, to Parfons Senfe : So raptur'd Priefts, at fam'd DODONA's Shrine Drank Inspiration from the Steam divine.
Poison that cures, a Vapour that affords
Content, more folid than the Smile of Lords:
Reft to the Weary, to the Hungry Food,
The last kind Refuge of the Wife and Good.
Infpir'd by thee, dull Cits adjuft the Scale
Of Europe's Peace, when other Statesmen fail.
By thee protected, and thy Sifter, Beer,
Poets rejoice, nor think the Bailiff near.
Nor lefs the Critick owns thy genial Aid,
While fupperlefs he plies the piddling Trade.
What though to Love and foft Delights a Foe,
By Ladies hated, hated by the Beau,
Yet focial 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 tafte thee unexcis'd by Kings.
VI. Imitation of Dean SWIFT.
OY! bring an Ounce of FREEMAN's beft,
And bid the Vicar be my Gueft:
Let all be plac'd in Manner due,
A Pot wherein to spit or spue,
And London Journal, and Free-Briton,
Of ufe to light a Pipe, or
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