A

PIPE OF TOBACCO:

IN IMITATION OF

SIX SEVERAL AUTHORS.

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

ΙΜΙΤΑΤΙΟΝ Ι.

A NEW YEAR's ODE.

Ο

RECITATIVE.

LD battle-array, big with horror, is fled,

And olive rob'd Peace again lifts up her head. Sing, ye Mufes, Tobacco, the bleffing of peace; Was ever a nation fo bleffed as this?

AIR.

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

A I R.

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 waftes of war deform the teeming coaft;
Britannia, diftant from each hoftile found,
Enjoys a Pipe, with eafe 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 fo quiet and ferene.

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

Nor

Nor of crimson combat think,

But fecurely fmoke and drink.

CHORUS.

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

IMITATION

IMITATION II.

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

Object of my warm defire,
Lip of wax, and eye of fire:
And thy fnowy, taper waist,
With my finger gently brac'd;
And thy pretty swelling creft,
With my little stopper preft,
And the sweetest blifs of bliffes
Breathing from thy balmy kiffes.
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 nofe divine,

Incense of the god of wine.
Happy thrice and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men.

IMITATION

IMITATION III.

THOU, matur'd by glad Hefperian funs,
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 ftrains 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 Patotheke with pungent pow'rs perfum'd,
Itself one tortoife all, where fhines imbib'd
Each parent ray; then rudely ram'd illume,
With the red touch of zeal-enkindling fheet,
Mark'd with Gibsonian lore; forth iffue clouds,
Thought-thrilling, thirft-inciting clouds around,
And many-mining fires: I all the while,
Lolling at eafe, inhale the breezy balm.

But chief, when Bacchus wont with thee to join,
In genial ftrife and orthodoxal ale,

Stream life and joy into the Mufes' bowl.

O be thou ftill my great inspirer, thou

My Mufe; oh fan me with thy zephyrs boon,
While I, in clouded tabernacle shrin'd,

Burst forth all oracle and myftic fong.

VOL. I.

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IMITATION