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Tell, if ever you have seen
Smiling years, that gayly run
IMITATION II.AMB, PHILIPS,
Tenues fugit ceu fumus in auras. VIRG. LITTLE tube of mighty pow'r, Charmer of an idle hour, Object of my warm desire, Lip of wax and
of fire : And thy snowy taper waist, With my finger gently brac'd ; And thy pretty swelling crest, 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 agen the night returns, When agen the taper burns,
the cricket's gay,
IMITATION III. - JAMES THOMSON.
-Prorumpit ad æthera nubem
Turbine, fumantem piceo. VIRG. O Thou, matur'd by glad Hesperian suns, Tobacco, fountain pure of limpid truth, That looks the very soul ; whence pouring thought Swarms all the mind; absorpt 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 sons of earth unknown. Behold an engine, wrought from tawny mines Of ductile clay, with plastic virtue formd, And glaz'd magnific o'er, I grasp, I fill. From Pætotheke with pungent pow'rs perfum'd, Itself one tortoise all, where shines imbibed Each parent ray; then rudely ramm'd illume, With the red touch of zeal-enkindling sheet, Marked with Gibsonian lore ; forth issue clouds, Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around,
And many-mining fires; I all the while,
IMITATION IV.-DR. YOUNG.
Bullatis mihi nugis Pagina turgescat—dare pondus idonea fumo. PERS. CRITICs avaunt! Tobacco is my theme; Tremble like hornets at the blasting steam. And you, court-insects, futter not too near Its light, nor buzz within the scorching sphere. Pollio, with flame like thine my verse inspire, So shall the Muse from smoke elicit fire, Coxcombs prefer the tickling sting of snuff; Yet all their claim to wisdom is- -a puff: Lord Foplin smokes not-for his teeth afraid : Sir Tawdry smokes not-for he wears brocade. Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon; They love no smoke, except the smoke of town; But courtiers hate the puffing tribe,-no matter, Strange if they love the breath that cannot flatter! Its foes but shew their ignorance ; can he Who scorns the leaf of knowledge, love the tree?
The tainted Templar (more prodigious yet)
IMITATION V.-MR. POPE.
Solis ad ortus
Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense
What though to love and soft delights a foe,
Boy! bring an ounce of Freeman's best,
This village, unmolested yet
* * Brass is: