Here you will find the Poem Ode To Tobacco of poet Charles Stuart Calverley
Thou, who when fears attack Bidst them avaunt, and Black Care, at the horseman's back Perching, unseatest; Sweet when the morn is gray; Sweet when they've cleared away Lunch; and at close of day Possibly sweetest! I have a liking old For thee, though manifold Stories, I know, are told Not to thy credit: How one (or two at most) Drops make a cat a ghost,? Useless, except to roast? Doctors have said it; How they who use fusees All grow by slow degrees Brainless as chimpanzees, Meagre as lizards, Go mad, and beat their wives, Plunge (after shocking lives) Razors and carving-knives Into their gizzards. Confound such knavish tricks! Yet know I five or six Smokers who freely mix Still with their neighbors,? Jones, who, I'm glad to say, Asked leave of Mrs. J., Daily absorbs a clay After his labors. Cats may have had their goose Cooked by tobacco juice; Still, why deny its use Thoughtfully taken? We're not as tabbies are; Smith, take a fresh cigar! Jones, the tobacco jar! Here's to thee, Bacon!
