Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

The smoke that from the pipe doth fly,
It shews we are nought but vanity;
For it is gone with a puff,

Men's lives are as such,

Think of this when you are smoking tobacco.
The dust that from the pipe doth fall,
It shews we are nothing but dust all;
For we come from the dust,

And return we must,

Think of this when you are smoking tobacco.

THE FORCE OF HABIT.

HABITS are stubborn things,

Colman.

And by the time a man is turn'd of forty,
His ruling passions are grown so haughty,
There's no clipping of their wings.

The truth will best be shewn

By a familiar instance of our own.-
Dick Strype,

Was a dear friend and lover of the pipe:
He us❜d to say a pipe of " Wilson's Best"
Gave life a zest.

To him 'twas dinner, supper, physic,
To see the friendly vapour

Curl round his midnight taper,

And the dark fume

Clothe all the room,

In clouds as dark as science metaphysic.
So still he smok'd,
And drank, and crack'd his joke;
And had he single tarry'd,

He might have smok'd,

And still grown old in smoke;
But Richard, Married!

His wife was one who carried,
The cleanly virtues even to a vice
She was so nice :

That twice a week, above below,

The house was scour'd from top to toe,
And all the floors were rubb'd so bright,

You dar'd not walk upright, i

For fear of sliding;

But that she took a pride in.

Of all things else Rebecca Strype,
Could least endure a pipe,
She rail'd upon the filthy herb
Tobacco,

Protesting that the noisome vapour,
Had spoil'd the best chintz curtains,
And the paper,

And cost her many a pound
In Stucco :

And then she quoted our King James who saith,
"Tobacco is the devil's breath.''
When wives will govern, husbands must obey;
For many a hapless day,

Dick mourn'd, and miss d his favorite tobacco,
And frown'd upon Rebecca-
At length the day arriv'd his wife must die
Imagine now the doleful cry,
Of female friends, old aunts and cousins,
Who to the funeral flock'd by dozens.
The undertaker's men and mutes,
Stood at the gate in sable suits,
With melancholy looks

Just like so many sulky rooks.
Now wine and cake are handed round,

Folks sigh, and drink,

And drink and sigh,

For grief makes people dry;

But Dick is missing, no where to be found,
Above, below, about,

They search the house throughout,
Each hole and secret entry,
Quite from the garret to the pantry.
In ev'ry corner, cupboard, nook, and shelf,
And all concluded he had hang'd himself:
At length they found him-

Friends! pray guess you where ?

"Twill make you stare

Perch'd on Rebecca's coffin at his rest,
Smoking a pipe of Wilson's Best."*

Wilson, Tobacconist, Brigg's-Street, St. Stephen's, Norwich.

WHEN THE SAILS CATCH THE BREEZE.

Harrison.

WHEN the sails catch the breeze, and the anchor is

weigh'd,

To bear me from Anna, my beautiful maid,
The top-mast ascending, I look for my dear,
And sigh that her features imperfect appear:
Till aided by fancy her charms I still trace,

And for me see the tears trickle down her pale face;
While her handkerchief waving, solicits my view,
And I hear her sweet lips sadly sigh out—adieu !

The pleasing delusion not long can prevail,

Higher rise the proud waves, & more brisk blows the gale,
The gale that regards not the sighs that it bears,
The proud waves, still unmov'd, tho' augmented by tears.
Ah! will ye not one single moment delay ?
O, think from what rapture you bear me away:
Then my eyes strain in vain my dear Anna to view,
And a tear drops from each as I sigh out-adieu !
Yet some comfort it gives to my agoniz'd mind,
That I still see the land where I left her behind ;
The land that gave birth to my Anna and me,
Tho' less'ning, my eyes beam with pleasure to see!
"Tis the casket that holds all that's dear to my heart,
"Tis the haven where yet we shall meet ne'er to part,
If the fates be propitious to lovers so true;
But if not-dearest Anna, a long,-long adieu!

THE TOPSAILS SHIVER.

THE topsails shiver in the wind,
The ship she casts to sea;
But yet my soul, my heart, my mind,
Are, Mary, moor'd with thee:

For tho' thy sailor's bound afar,

Still love shall be his guiding star.

Should landsmen flatter when we're sail'd;
O, doubt their artful tales:

No gallant sailor ever fail'd,

If love breath'd constant gales,

U

Thou art the compass of my soul,
Which steers my heart from pole to pole.

These are the cares, but if you're kind,
We'll scorn the dashing main,
The rocks, the billows, and the wind,
Till we return again.

Now England's glory rests with you,
Our sails are full-sweet girls adieu!

THE LOVELY DAY.

THE lovely day is closing,
The quiet eve descending,
And now from toil reposing,
Beneath the sunset tree,

Our village maids,

my fairest,

Their rural songs while blending,
Entwine of sweets the rarest,
The Bridal wreath for thee
My own dear Rosalie.

My humble home, to morrow,
With me, my lov'd one, sharing,
From every anxious sorrow,
There shielded shalt thou be,
And bless the fav'ring power,
Our vows, our hearts endearing,
That gave in happy hour,
The Bridal wreath to thee
My own dear Rosalie.

STRANGER THOU ART COLD.

STRANGER, thou art cold and weary,
Rest thee by our warm fire side;
Night is coming, dark and dreary,
Thou hast neither scrip nor guide.

Weary Pilgrim, here repose thee,
From the keen and piercing air,
Friendly portals now enclose thee,
Share with us our homely fare.

TRIO.

PILE the crackling faggot higher,
The warm wine-cup is smiling bright,
Welcome in thou wand'ring Friar
From the chilly blasts of night.

Now to Friendship fill the measure,
Let us pledge it ere we part,
'Tis our dearest earthly treasure
'Tis the solace of the heart.

Now rest the stranger,

From care and danger

And so good night,

THE GOLDEN TIME.

THERE was once a golden time,
When the world was in its prime,
When every day was holiday,
And every month was lovely May;
Cupid then was wont to go
With his purple wings and bow,
And in the vale, and in the grove,
Ev'ry shepherd knelt to Love.

But that time is gone and past,
Can the summer always last?
And the youths are wiser grown,
And the heart is turn'd to stone,
And the maiden's rose may wither,
Cupid's gone, no one knows whither.

Oh! then for that golden time, &c..

But another Cupid's come

With a brow of care and gloom,

Fixed on the earthly mold
Thinking on the solid gold,
But he bears the pinions still,

Flying at the sight of ill.

Oh! then for that golden time, &c..

« ÎnapoiContinuă »