Tremble like hornets at the blasting steam;
And you Court insects—flutter not too near
Its light, nor buzz within its scorching sphere.
Pollio, with flame like thine, my verse inspire,
So shall the Muse, with smoke, elicit fire;
Coxcombs prefer the tickling sting of snuff,
Yet all their claim to wisdom is—a puff.
Lord Fopling smokes not—for his teeth afraid;
Sir Tawdry smokes not—for he wears brocade.
Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon;