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PIPE OF TOBACCO:

IN IMΙΤΑΤΙON OF

SIX SEVERAL AUTHORS.

Mr. Hawkins Browne, the author of these, as I am told, had no good original manner of his own, yet we fee how well he fucceeds when he turns an imitator; for the following are rather imitations, than ridiculous parodies.

ΙΜΙΤΑΤΙΟΝ Ι.

ANEW-YEAR's ODE.

RECITATIVE.

LD battle-array, big with horror, is fled,
And olive rob'd Peace again lifts up her head.

Sing, ye Muses, Tobacco, the blessing of peace;
Was ever a nation so blessed as this?

AIR.

When summer funs grow red with heat,
Tobacco tempers Phœbus' ire;
When wintry storms around us beat,
Tobacco chears with gentle fire.

Yellow

Yellow Autumn, youthful Spring,

In thy praises jointly fing.

RECITATIVE.

Like Neptune, Cæfar guards Virginian fleets,
Fraught with Tobacco's balmy sweets;

Old Ocean trembles at Britannia's pow'r,
And Boreas is afraid to roar.

AIR.

Happy mortal, he! who knows

Pleasure which a Pipe bestows;

Curling eddies climb the room,

Wafting round a mild perfume.

RECITATIVE.

Let foreign climes the vine and orange boast,
While wastes of war deform the teeming coaft;
Britannia, distant from each hoftile found,
Enjoys a Pipe, with ease and freedom crown'd;
E'en restless Faction finds itself most free;
Or, if a flave, a flave to Liberty.

AIR.

Smiling years, that gayly run
Round the zodiac, with the fun,

Tell, if ever you have seen
Realms so quiet and serene.

British sons no longer, now,
Hurl the bar, or twang the bow;

Nor

Nor of crimson combat think,
But securely smoke and drink.

CHORUS.

Smiling years, that gayly run
Round the zodiac, with the fun,
Tell, if ever you have feen
Realms so quiet and ferene.

:

:

IMITATION

ΙΜΙΤΑΤΙΟΝ II.

L

ITTLE tube, of mighty power,
Charmer of an idle hour,

Object of my warm defire,
Lip of wax, and eye of fire:
And thy snowy, taper waist,
With my finger gently brac'd;
And thy pretty swelling creft,
With my little stopper prest,
And the sweetest bliss of blisses
Breathing from thy balmy kisses.
Happy thrice and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men,
Who, when again the night returns,
When again the taper burns;

When again the cricket's gay,
(Little cricket, full of play)
Can afford his tube to feed
With the fragrant Indian weed :
Pleasure for a nose divine,
Incense of the god of wine.
Happy thrice and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men.

IMITATION

IMITATION III.

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THOU, matur'd by glad Hesperian suns, Tobacco! fountain pure of limpid truth, That looks the very foul; whence pouring thought Swarms all the mind; abforpt is yellow care; And at each puff imagination burns. Flash on thy bard, and, with exalting fires, Touch the mysterious lip that chaunts thy praise, In strains to mortal fons of earth unknown. Behold an engine, wrought from tauny mines Of ductile clay, with plastic virtue form'd, And glaz'd magnific o'er, I grasp, I fill. From Pætotheke with pungent pow'rs perfum'd, Itself one tortoise all, where shines imbib'd Each parent ray; then rudely ram'd illume, With the red touch of zeal-enkindling sheet, Mark'd with Gibsonian lore; forth issue clouds, Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around, And many-mining fires: I all the while, Lolling at ease, inhale the breezy balm. But chief, when Bacchus wont with thee to join, In genial strife and orthodoxal ale, Stream life and joy into the Muses' bowl. O be thou still my great inspirer, thou My Muse; oh fan me with thy zephyrs boon,

While I, in clouded tabernacle shrin'd,

Burst forth all oracle and mystic fong.

VOL. I.

N

IMITATION

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