The Harp of Erin Containing the Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Dermody. In Two Volumes |
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THE PIPE OF TOBACCO. |
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 | The Harp of Erin |  |
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THE PIPE OF TOBACCO.
Hail, solace of the wounded heart,
Whose fumes ambrosial joys impart
Beyond the doctor's gilded bait,
Beyond the glutton's sumptuous state!
How bless'd when by the chimney's side
I draw the brisk, delicious tide,
And talk with venerable pride
Of things abstruse,
By thy sweet vapours more supply'd
Than by the Muse.
Whose fumes ambrosial joys impart
Beyond the doctor's gilded bait,
Beyond the glutton's sumptuous state!
How bless'd when by the chimney's side
I draw the brisk, delicious tide,
And talk with venerable pride
Of things abstruse,
By thy sweet vapours more supply'd
Than by the Muse.
How we discuss the daily scandal,
And politics divinely handle,
Knock authors down—by inch of candle,
And damn each critic,
Till seiz'd by smoke, I, lack! can stand ill,
Quite paralytic.
And politics divinely handle,
Knock authors down—by inch of candle,
And damn each critic,
Till seiz'd by smoke, I, lack! can stand ill,
Quite paralytic.
The midwife's gab of fire obstetric,
The smith's Newtonian flow of rhet'ric,
The barber's tale of Charles or Fred'ric,
The joiner's carol,
When join'd by thy supreme emetic,
Would broach a barrel—
The smith's Newtonian flow of rhet'ric,
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The joiner's carol,
When join'd by thy supreme emetic,
Would broach a barrel—
Thy dingy volumes most they read,
And pluck forth laurels from thy weed;
Blest be the man who sow'd thy seed,
With cautious care,
Bright fire, and smoke, may he ne'er need,
And 'bacco fare.
And pluck forth laurels from thy weed;
Blest be the man who sow'd thy seed,
With cautious care,
Bright fire, and smoke, may he ne'er need,
And 'bacco fare.
O! how religion, trade, and state,
Chime in so nice with each debate!
Zounds! how tobacco tends to create
Good-humour'd battles,
And bids the whole communion prate
As loud as rattles.
Chime in so nice with each debate!
Zounds! how tobacco tends to create
Good-humour'd battles,
And bids the whole communion prate
As loud as rattles.
So tabernacled, son and brother,
Nod, drowsy, drooping, to each other,
Striving their listlessness to smother,
At snuffled sermon,
Or preacher who has lost his rudder,
Capricious vermin!
Nod, drowsy, drooping, to each other,
Striving their listlessness to smother,
At snuffled sermon,
Or preacher who has lost his rudder,
Capricious vermin!
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Puns, quibbles, cranks, conundrums, crosticks,
Deal bloody blows, like murd'ring pot-sticks,
And, faith, they sometimes wield their hot sticks,
Inspir'd by thee, sir,
But then they'd eat ev'n grass (and rot sticks!)
Like Nebuchadnezzar.
Deal bloody blows, like murd'ring pot-sticks,
And, faith, they sometimes wield their hot sticks,
Inspir'd by thee, sir,
But then they'd eat ev'n grass (and rot sticks!)
Like Nebuchadnezzar.
Bland comforter of all poor bards,
How balmy o'er a pack o' cards,
When conversation interlards
Thy friendly vapour,
O! I will court thy best regards,
To soil my paper.
How balmy o'er a pack o' cards,
When conversation interlards
Thy friendly vapour,
O! I will court thy best regards,
To soil my paper.
And though thou cost me much in pocket,
Tobacco! 'gad, I'll never lock it,
But wight who ever will may smoke it,
With tongue awag,
Till tapers sink into the socket,
Like fox in bag.
Tobacco! 'gad, I'll never lock it,
But wight who ever will may smoke it,
With tongue awag,
Till tapers sink into the socket,
Like fox in bag.
| The Harp of Erin | |