SAMUEL ROWLANDS:  Knave of Clubs (1611).

MY CIGARETTE.

WORDS AND MUSIC BY RICHARD BARNARD.

  To my sweet cigarette I am singing
    This joyous and bright bacca-role;
  Just now to my lips she was clinging,
    Her spirit was soothing my soul. 
  With figure so slender and dapper
    I feel the soft touch of it yet,
  Adorned in her dainty white wrapper,
    How fair is my own cigarette! 
        ’Twere better, perhaps, that we part, love;
        ’Twere better, if never we’d met. 
        Alas, you are part of my heart, love,
        Destructive but sweet cigarette!

  Though matchless, by matches she’s fired,
    And glows both with pleasure and pride;
  By her soft, balmy breath I’m inspired,
    And kiss and caress my new bride. 
  E’en the clouds of her nature are joyous,
    Though other clouds cause us regret;
  From worry and care they decoy us,
    The clouds of a sweet cigarette. 
        ’Twere better, etc.

  The houris in paradise living
    Dissolve in the first love embrace,
  Their life to their love freely giving,—­
    And so with my love ’tis the case;
  For when her life’s last spark is flying,
    Still sweet to the end is my pet,
  Who helps me, although she is dying,
    To light up a fresh cigarette! 
        ’Twere better, etc.

THE BALLADE OF TOBACCO.

  When verdant youth sees life afar,
    And first sets out wild oats to sow,
  He puffs a stiff and stark cigar,
    And quaffs champagne of Mumm & Co. 
  He likes not smoking yet; but though
    Tobacco makes him sick indeed,
  Cigars and wine he can’t forego,—­
    A slave is each man to the weed.

  In time his tastes more dainty are
    And delicate.  Become a beau,
  From out the country of the czar
    He brings his cigarettes, and lo! 
  He sips the vintage of Bordeaux. 
    Thus keener relish shall succeed
  The baser liking we outgrow,—­
    A slave is each man to the weed

  When age and his own lucky star
    To him perfected wisdom show,
  The schooner glides across the bar,
    And beer for him shall freely flow;
  A pipe with genial warmth shall glow,
    To which he turns in direst need,
  To seek in smoke surcease of woe,—­
    A slave is each man to the weed.

ENVOI.

  Smokers, who doubt or con or pro,
    And ye who dare to drink, take heed! 
  And see in smoke a friendly foe,—­
    A slave is each man to the weed.

BRANDER MATTHEWS.

HE RESPONDETH.

SHE.

  You still persist in using,
    I observe with great regret,
  The needlessly expensive
          Cigarette.