ds no such prodigious poison,
Henbane, nightshade, both together,
Hemlock, aconite----
Nay, rather,
Plant divine of rarest virtue:
Blisters on the tongue would hurt you.
'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee;
None e'er prospered who defamed thee;
Irony all, and feigned abuse,
Such as perplex'd lovers use,
At a need, when in despair,
To paint forth their fairest fair,
Or in part but to express
That exceeding comeliness
Which their fancies doth so strike,
They borrow language of dislike;
And instead of Dearest Miss,
Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss,
And those forms of old admiring,
Call her Cockatrice and Siren,
Basilisk, and all that's evil,
Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, devil,
Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor,
Monkey, Ape, and twenty more;
Friendly traitress, loving foe,
Not that she is truly so,
But no other may they know,
A contentment to express,
Borders so upon excess,
That they do not rightly wot,
Whether it be pain or not;
Or, as men constrained to part
With what's nearest to their heart,
While their sorrow's at the height
Lose discrimination quite,
And their hasty wrath let fall,
To oppose their frantic gall,
On the darling thing whatever
Whence they feel it death to sever,
Though it be, as they, perforce,
Guiltless of the sad divorce.
For I must (nor let it grieve thee,
Friendliest of plants,
That I must) leave thee.
For thy sake, TOBACCO, I
Would do anything but die,
And but seek to extend my days
Long enough to sing thy praise.
But as she who once hath been,
A king's consort, is a queen
Ever after, nor will bate
Any title of her state,
Though a widow, or divorced,
So I, from thy converse forced,
The old name and style retain,
A right Katherine of Spain,
And a seat, too, 'mongst the joys
Of the blest Tobacco Boys;
Where, though I, by sour physician,
Am debarred the full fruition
Of thy favors, I may catch,
Some collateral sweets, and snatch,
Sidelong odors, that give life
Like glances from a neighbor's wife;
And still live in the by-places,
And the suburbs of thy graces;
And in thy borders take delight,
An unconquered Canaanite."

Thomas Jones, in the following neat little tribute to tobacco, pays a
deserved compliment, not only to the plant, but to the great English
smoker, "ye renowned Sir Walter Raleigh."

"Let poets rhyme of what they