Raleigh! crossed the main,
And brought to Britain's shores the wish'd-for prize,
The sovereign balm of life--within it lies.

_Dum Spiro Fumigo._

To rich men a pastime, to poor men a treat,
To all a true tonic most bracing and sweet,
To talent a pleasure, to genius a joy,
To workmen a comfort, to none an alloy,
The tyrant it softens; it soothes him if mad,
The king who may rule if he smokes not, is sad.

_Kit._

Sacred substance! sweet, serene;
Soothing sorrow's saddest scene:
Scent-suffusing, silv'ry smoke,
Softly smoothing suffering's stroke;--
Solacing so silently--
Still so swift, so sure, so sly:
Smoke sublimated soars supreme,
Sweetest soul-sustaining stream!

_Similia Similibus._

Why should men reek, like chimneys, with foul smoke,
Their neighbors and themselves to nearly choke?
Avoid it, ye John Bulls, and eke ye Paddies!
Avoid it, sons of Cambria, and Scottish laddies!
Let reason convince you that it very sad is,
And far too bad is,
And enough to make one mad is
To be smoked like a red herring or rank Finedon haddies.

_J. S._

No punishment save hanging's too severe
For those who'd rob the poor man of his beer;
But for the wretch who'd take away his pipe,
I think he's fully execution ripe!

_Pipe Clay._

Weeds are but cares! Well, what of that!
There's one weed bears a goodly crop;
And this exception, then, 'tis flat,
Doth give that rule a firmer prop.
Tobacco brings the genial mood,
Warm heart, shrewd thought, and while we reap
From this poor weed such harvest good,
We'll hold more boasted harvests cheap.

_Festus._

To poets give the laurel wreath, let heroes have their lay,
Of roses twine for lovely youth the garland fresh and gay;
But we poor mortals, quite content, life's fev'rish way pursue,
Can we but crown our foolish pates with wreaths of fragrant blue,
Convinced that all terrestrial things which please us or provoke,
Of ashes come, to ashes go, and only end in smoke.

_Pocosmipo._

Whilst cannon's smoke o'erwhelms with deadly cloud
The soldier's comrades in a common shroud,
And whilst