 | Poems of Freneau |  |
MILITARY RECRUITING
TO A RECRUIT FOND OF SEGAR SMOKING.—
—Ex fumo dare lucem
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat.—
Hor.
Cogitat, ut speciosa dehinc miracula promat.—
Hor.
When first I arrived to the age of a man
And met the distraction of care,
As the day to a close rather sorrowful ran
Yet I smiled and I smoked my segar:
O, how sweet did it seem
What a feast, what a dream
What a pleasure to smoke the segar!
And met the distraction of care,
As the day to a close rather sorrowful ran
Yet I smiled and I smoked my segar:
O, how sweet did it seem
What a feast, what a dream
What a pleasure to smoke the segar!
In vain did the din of the females assail
Or the noise of the carts in the street,
With a spanish segar and a pint of good ale
I found my enjoyment complete:
Old care I dismiss'd
While I held in my fist
The pitcher, and smoked the segar.
Or the noise of the carts in the street,
With a spanish segar and a pint of good ale
I found my enjoyment complete:
Old care I dismiss'd
While I held in my fist
The pitcher, and smoked the segar.
What a world are we in, if we do not retire,
And, at times, to the tavern repair
To read the gazette, by a hickory fire,
With a sixpence or shilling to spare,
To handle the glass
And an evening pass
With the help of a lively segar.
And, at times, to the tavern repair
To read the gazette, by a hickory fire,
With a sixpence or shilling to spare,
To handle the glass
And an evening pass
With the help of a lively segar.
The man of the closet, who studies and reads,
And prepares for the wars of the bar;
The priest who harangues, or the lawyer who pleads,
What are they without the segar?
What they say may be right,
But they give no delight
Unless they have smoked the segar.
And prepares for the wars of the bar;
175
What are they without the segar?
What they say may be right,
But they give no delight
Unless they have smoked the segar.
The farmer still plodding, who follows his plough,
A calling, the first and the best,
Would care not a fig for the sweat on his brow
If he smoked a segar with the rest:
To the hay-loft alone
I would have it unknown,
For there a segar I detest.
A calling, the first and the best,
Would care not a fig for the sweat on his brow
If he smoked a segar with the rest:
To the hay-loft alone
I would have it unknown,
For there a segar I detest.
The sailor who climbs and ascends to the yard
Bespatter'd and blacken'd with tar,
Would think his condition uncommonly hard
If he did not indulge the segar,
To keep them in trim
While they merrily swim
On the ocean, to countries afar.
Bespatter'd and blacken'd with tar,
Would think his condition uncommonly hard
If he did not indulge the segar,
To keep them in trim
While they merrily swim
On the ocean, to countries afar.
The soldier untry'd in the midst of the smoke,
The havoc and carnage of war,
Would stand to his cannon, as firm as a rock,
Would they let him but smoke his segar:
Every gun in the fort
Should make its report
From the fire which illumes the segar.
The havoc and carnage of war,
Would stand to his cannon, as firm as a rock,
Would they let him but smoke his segar:
Every gun in the fort
Should make its report
From the fire which illumes the segar.
Come, then, to the tavern, ye sons of the sword,
No fear of a wound or a scar;
If your money is gone, your account will be scored
By the lady who tends at the bar:
And this I can say,
Not a cent need you pay
For the use of the social segar.
No fear of a wound or a scar;
If your money is gone, your account will be scored
By the lady who tends at the bar:
And this I can say,
Not a cent need you pay
For the use of the social segar.
1815
| Poems of Freneau | |