TOBACCO.
[This song is a mere adaptation of Smoking Spiritualized; see ante, p. 39. The earliest copy of the abridgment we have been able to meet with, is published in D’Urfey’s Pills to purge Melancholy, 1719; but whether we are indebted for it to the author of the original poem, or to ‘that bright genius, Tom D’Urfey,’ as Burns calls him, we are not able to determine. The song has always been popular. The tune is in Popular Music.]
Tobacco’s but an Indian weed,
Grows green in the morn, cut down at eve;
It shows our decay,
We are but clay;
Think of this when you smoke tobacco!
The pipe that is so lily white,
Wherein so many take delight,
It’s broken with a touch,—
Man’s life is such;
Think of this when you take tobacco!
The pipe that is so foul within,
It shows man’s soul is stained with sin;
It doth require
To be purred with fire;
Think of this when you smoke tobacco!
The dust that from the pipe doth fall,
It shows we are nothing but dust at all;
For we came from the dust,
And return we must;
Think of this when you smoke tobacco!
The ashes that are left behind,
Do serve to put us all in mind
That unto dust
Return we must;
Think of this when you take tobacco!
The smoke that does so high ascend,
Shows that man’s life must have an end;
The vapour’s gone,—
Man’s life is done;
Think of this when you take tobacco!
THE SPANISH LADIES.
[This song is ancient, but we have no means of ascertaining at what period it was written. Captain Marryat, in his novel of Poor Jack, introduces it, and says it is old. It is a general favourite. The air is plaintive, and in the minor key. See Popular Music.]
Farewell, and adieu to you Spanish ladies,
Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain!
For we’ve received orders for to sail for old England,
But we hope in a short time to see you again.
We’ll rant and we’ll roar [234] like true British heroes,
We’ll rant and we’ll roar across the salt seas,
Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.
Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at sou’-west, boys,
We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear;
We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly
Up the channel of old England our course we did steer.
The first land we made it was callèd the Deadman,
Next, Ram’shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight;
We passèd by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness,
And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland light.
Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor
All in the Downs, that night for to sleep;
Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters,
Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.
So let every man toss off a full bumper,
Let every man toss off his full bowls;
We’ll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy,
So here’s a good health to all true-hearted souls!