قراءة كتاب Nicotiana; Or, The Smoker's and Snuff-Taker's Companion

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‏اللغة: English

Nicotiana; Or, The Smoker's and Snuff-Taker's Companion

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المؤلف:

Meller Henry James

دار النشر: Project Gutenberg

الصفحة رقم: 7

class="c5">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.

SNUFF.

—A delicate pinch! oh how it tingles up
The titillated nose, and fills the eyes
And breast, till, in one comfortable sneeze
The full collected pleasure bursts at last!
Most rare Columbus! thou shalt be, for this,
The only Christopher in my kalendar.
Why but for thee the uses of the nose
Were half unknown, and its capacity
Of joy. The summer gale, that, from the heath,
At midnoon glittering with the golden furze,
Bears its balsamic odours, but provokes,
Not satisfies the sense, and all the flowers,
That with their unsubstantial fragrance, tempt
And disappoint, bloom for so short a space,
That half the year the nostrils would keep Lent,
But that the kind tobacconist admits
No winter in his work; when nature sleeps,
His wheels roll on, and still administer
A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell.

What is Peru, and those Brazilian mines,
To thee, Virginia! miserable realms;
They furnish gold for knaves, and gems for fools;
But thine are common comforts! to omit
Pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise,
Think what a general joy the snuff-box gives
Europe, and far above Pizarro’s name
Write Raleigh in thy records of renown!
Him let the school-boy bless if he behold
His mother’s box produced, for when he sees
The thumb and finger of authority
Stuffed up the nostrils, when hot head and wig
Shake all; when on the waistcoat black, the dust
Or drop falls brown, soon shall the brow severe
Relax, and from vituperative lips,
Words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise
And jokes that must be laughed at must proceed.
Anthology, Vol. II. p. 115.

THOU ART A CHARM FOR WINTER.

Nor here to pause—I own thy potent power,
When chilling blasts assail our frigid clime,
While flies the hail or rudely beats the shower,
Or sad impatience chides the wings of time.

Come, then, my pipe, and let thy savoury cloud,
Now wisdom seldom shews her rev’rend mien,
Spread round my head a bland and shelt’ring shroud,
When riot mingles mischief with the scene.

Shield me at evening from the selfish fool,
The wretch who never felt for human woes,
And while my conduct’s framed by virtue’s rule,
Let only peace and honour interpose.

Shield me by day from hatred’s threat’ning frowns,
Still let thine aromatic curtains spread,
When bold presumption mounts to put me down,
And hurls his maledictions round my head.

Do this, my pipe, and till my sand’s run out,
I’ll sing thy praise among the sons of wealth,
Blest weed that bids the glutton lose his gout,
And gains respect among the drugs of health.

No shrew shall harm thee, no mundungus foul
Shall stain thy lining, as the ermine white;
My choicest friends shall revel o’er thy bowl,
And charm away the terrors of the night.

From ample hoards I’ll bring the fragrant spoils,
The richest herb from Kerebequa’s shores,
That grateful weed, that props the British Isles,
And Sussex,[6] England’s Royal Duke adores.
The Social Pipe.

ALL NATIONS HONOR THEE.

’Tis not for me to sing thy praise alone,
Where’er the merchant spreads his wind-bleach’d sails;
Wherever social intercourse is known,
There too thy credit, still the theme prevails.

The bearded Turk, majestically grand,
In high divan upholds the jointed reeds;
And clearer reasons on the case in hand,
Till opposition to his lore concedes.

Thy potent charms delight the nabob’s taste,
Fixt on his elephant (half reasoning beast);
He twines the gaudy hookah round his waist,
And puffs thy incense to the breezy east.

The grave Bavarian, midst his half year’s frost,
Delights to keep thy ruby fins awake;
And as in traffic’s maze his fancy’s tost,
Light skims the icy surface of the lake.

The Indian Sachem at his wigwam-gate,
By chiefs surrounded when the warfare ends,
Seated in all the pomp of savage state,
Circles the calumet[7] to cheer his friends.

The Frenchman loves thee in another way,
He grinds thy leaves to make him scented snuff;
Boasts of improvements, and presumes to say,
France still the polish gives and we the rough.

Still let him boast, nor put John Bull to shame,
His Gascon tales shall Englishmen divert;
France for her trifles has been dear to fame,
From her the ruffle sprung, from us the shirt.

The lib’ral Spaniard and the Portuguese,
Spread richest dainties brought from realms afar;
Nor think their festive efforts form’d to please,
Unless redundant breathes the light cigar.

So when our Druids inspiration sought,
They burnt the misletoe to fume around;
Th’ inspiring vapours gave a strength to thought,
They dealt out lore impressive and profound.

Methinks I see them with the mental eye,
I hear their lessons with attention’s