Nay, Hercules’s shirt I’d wear,
Or any flame much sooner bear,
Than a pipe’s fiery furnace.
My merry lord, if quid or whiff
You ever taste of this damn’d leaf,
May you meet with what you dread most,
May Chloe, when with her you lie,
And press to kiss her, put you by,
And rather hug the bed post!
From The Gentleman’s Magazine. May, 1744.