Then I come and write beneath: 
  Boughton, he deserves the wreath;
  He can give us form and hue—­
  This the Muse can never do!

AUSTIN DOBSON.

THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.

A SAILOR’S VERSION.

  They were three jolly sailors bold,
    Who sailed across the sea;
  They’d braved the storm, and stood the gale,
    And got to Virgin-ee.

THE DISCOVERY OF TOBACCO.

  ’Twas in the days of good Queen Bess,—­
    Or p’raps a bit before,—­
  And now these here three sailors bold
    Went cruising on the shore. 
  A lurch to starboard, one to port,
    Now forrard, boys, go we,
  With a haul and a “Ho!” and a “That’s your sort!”
    To find out Tobac-kee.

  Says Jack, “This here’s a rummy land.” 
    Says Tom, “Well, shiver me! 
  The sun shines out as precious hot
    As ever I did see.” 
  Says Dick, “Messmates, since here we be,”—­
    And gave his eye a wink,—­
  “We’ve come to find out Tobac-kee,
    Which means a drop to drink.”

  Says Jack, says he, “The Injins think—­”
    Says Tom, “I’ll swear as they
  Don’t think at all.”  Says Dick, “You’re right;
    It ain’t their nat’ral way. 
  But I want to find out, my lads,
    This stuff of which they tell;
  For if as it ain’t meant to drink,
    Why, it must be meant to smell.”

  Says Tom, says he, “To drink or smell,
    I don’t think this here’s meant.” 
  Says Jack, says he, “Blame my old eyes,
    If I’ll believe it’s scent.” 
  “Well, then,” says Dick, “if that ain’t square,
    It must be meant for meat;
  So come along, my jovial mates,
    To find what’s good to eat.”

  They came across a great big plant,
    A-growing tall and true. 
  Says Jack, says he, “I’m precious dry,”
    And picked a leaf to chew. 
  While Tom takes up a sun-dried bit,
    A-lying by the trees;
  He rubs it in his hands to dust
    And then begins to sneeze.

  Another leaf picks nimble Dick,
    And dries it in the sun,
  And rolls it up all neat and tight. 
    “My lads,” says he, in fun,
  “I mean to cook this precious weed.” 
    And then from out his poke
  With burning-glass he lights the end,
    And quick blows up the smoke.

  Says Jack, says he, “Of Paradise
    I’ve heerd some people tell.” 
  Says Tom, says he, “This here will do;
    Let’s have another smell.” 
  Says Dick, his face all pleasant smiles,
    A-looking through a cloud,
  “It strikes me here’s the cap’en bold,
    And now we’ll all be rowed.”

  Up comes brave Hawkins on the beach;
    “Shiver my hull!” he cries,
  “What’s these here games, my merry men?”
    And then, “Why, blame my eyes! 
  Here’s one as chaws, and one as snuffs,
    And t’ other of the three
  Is smoking like a chimbley-pot—­
  They’ve found out Tobac-kee!”