Thou through such a mist dost show us,
	That our best friends do not know us.

Charles Lamb.    

	Pernicious weed; whose scent the fair annoys,
	Unfriendly to society’s chief joys,
	Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
	The sex whose presence civilizes ours.

Cowper.    

	The pipe with solemn interposing puff,
	Makes half a sentence at a time enough;
	The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,
	Then pause, and puff—and speak, and pause again.

Cowper.    

	Tobacco, an outlandish weed,
	Doth in the land strange wonders breed;
	It taints the breath, the blood it dries,
	It burns the head, it blinds the eyes;
	It dries the lungs, scourgeth the lights,
	It ’numbs the soul, it dulls the sprites;
	It brings a man into a maze,
	And makes him sit for other’s gaze;
	It mars a man, it mars a purse,
	A lean one fat, a fat one worse;
	A white man black, a black man white,
	A night a day, a day a night;
	It turns the brain like cat in pan,
	And makes a Jack a gentleman.

Fairholt.    

	Thou in such a cloud dost bind us,
	That our worst foes cannot find us,
	And ill fortune, that would thwart us,
	Shoots at rovers, shooting at us;
	While each man, through thy height’ning steam,
	Does like a smoking Etna seem.

Charles Lamb.