2nd s. NO 67., April 11. '67.] NOTES AND QUERIES. 



285 



you please talk of some other subject." — Complete Angler, 

 Major's edit, p. 290. 



Again : 



" Bring me some pipes and a bottle of ale, and go to 

 your own suppers. Are you for this diet, Sir? 



" Viator. Yes, Sir, 1 am for one pipe of tobacco ; and I 

 perceive your's is very good by the smell. 



"Piscator. The best I can get in London, I can assure 

 you." — P. 285. 



This was written about 1676 ; but thirteen 

 years later appeared Poems on Several Occasions, 

 by Charles Cotton, Esq., London, 8vo., 1689, in 

 which is to be found (p. 514.) a most truculent 

 invective against tobacco. Although somewhat 

 lono' I venture to claim space for its admission, as 

 the tobacco controversy is just now exciting con- 

 siderable interest, and the lines have not, to the 

 best of my knowledge, hitherto attracted the notice 

 of writers upon the subject : * 



" On Tobacco. 

 « What horrid sin condemned the teeming Earth, 

 And curst her womb with such a monstrous Birth? 

 What crime America that Heaven would please 

 To make the mother of tlie World's disease ? 

 lu thy fair womb what accidents could breed, 

 What Plague give root to this pernicious Weed ? 

 Tobacco ! oh, the very name doth kill, 

 And has already foxt my reeking quill : 

 I now could write Libels against the King, 

 Treason, or Blasphemy ; or any thing 

 'Gainst Piety and Reason ; I could frame 

 A Panegyric to the Protector^ name ; 

 Such sly infection does the World infuse 

 Into the soul of every modest Muse. 



" What politick Peregrine was 't first could boast 

 He brought a pest into his native Coast ? 

 Th' abstract of Poyson in a stinking Weed, 

 The spurious issue of corrupted seed ; 

 Seed belched in Earthquakes from the dark Abyss, 

 Whose name a blot in Nature^s Herbal is. 

 What drunken j^e/icZ taught Englishmen the Crime 

 Thus to puff out and spawl away their time ? 



" Pernicious Weed (should not my Muse offend 

 To say Heaven made aught for a cruel end), 

 I should proclaim that thou created wert 

 To ruin Man's high and immortal part. 

 Thy Stygian damp obscures our Keason's Eye, 

 Debauches Wit, and makes Invention dry ; 

 Destroys the Memory, confounds our Care ; 

 We know not what we do, or what we are ; 

 Renders our Faculties and Members lame 

 To ev'ry office of our Country's claim. 

 Our Life's a drunken Dream devoy'd of Sense, 

 And the best Actions of our time offence. 

 Our Health, Diseases, Lethargies, and RJiume, 

 Our Friendship's Fire, and all our Vows are Fume. 

 Of late there's no such things as Wit or Sense, 

 Council, Instruction, or Intelligence: 

 Discourse that should distinguish Man from Beast 

 Is by the vapour of this Weed supprest ; 

 For what we talk is interrupted stuff, 

 The one half English and the other Puff; 

 Freedom and truth are things we do not know. 

 We know not what we say, nor what we do : 

 We want in all the Understanding's light, 

 We talk in Clouds, and walk in endless Night. 



" We smoke, as if we meant, concealed by spell, 

 To spy abroad, yet be invisible : 



But no discovery shall the Statesman boast, 



We raise a mist wherein our selves are lost, 



A stinking shade, and whilst we pipe it thus, 



Each one appears an Ignis fatuus. 



Courtier and Peasant, nay, the Madam Nice 



Is likewise fallen into the common Vice : 



We all in dusky Error groping lye. 



Robbed of our Reasons, and the day's bright Eye. 



Whilst Sailors from the Main-top see our Isle 



Wrapt up in smoak, like the jEtnean Pile. 



" What nameless 111 does its Contagion shrowd 

 In the dark Mantle of this noisom Cloud ? 

 Sure 'tis the Devil : oh, I know that's it. 

 Fob I How the sulphur makes me Cough and spit? 

 'Tis he ; or else some fav'rit Fiend, at least, 

 In all the Mischief of his Malice drest; 

 Each deadly sin that lurks t' intrap the soul ; 

 Does here concealed in curling vapours rowl ; 

 And for the body such an unknown ill, 

 As makes Physitians reading and their skill, 

 One undistinguisht Pest made up of all 

 That Men experienc'd do Diseases call. 

 Coughs, Astmas, Apoplexies, Fevers, Rhunie, 

 All that kill dead ; or lingeringly consume ; 

 Folly and Madness, naj', the Plague, the P — x. 

 And ev'ry fool wears a Pandora's box. 

 From that rich mine, the stupid sot doth fill. 

 Smokes up his Liver, and his Lungs, untill 

 His reeking Nostrils monstrously proclaim, 

 His brains and bowels are consuming Flame. 

 What noble soul would be content to dwell 

 In the dark Lanthorn of a smoky Cell f 

 To prostitute his Body and his Slind, 

 To a Debauch of such a stinking kind ? 

 To sacrifice to Moloch, and to fry. 

 In such a base, dirty Idolatry ; 

 As if frail life, which of itself 's too short. 

 Were to be whift away in drunken sport. 

 Thus, as if weary of our destined years. 

 We burn the Thread so to prevent the Shears. 



" What noble end can simple Man propose 

 For a reward to his all-smoking Nose? 

 His purposes are levelled sure amiss. 

 Where neither Ornament nor Pleasure is. 

 What can he then, design his worthy hire ? 

 Sure tis t' inure him for eternal fire ; 

 And thus his aim must admirably thrive. 

 In hopes of Hell, he damns himself alive. 



" But my infected Muse begins to choke, 

 In the vile' stink of the encreasing Smoke, 

 And can no more in equal numbers chime. 

 Unless to sneeze, and cough, and spit in Rythme. 

 Half stifled now in this new time's Disease, 

 She must infumo vanish, and decease. 

 This is her faults' excuse, and her pretence, 

 Thxa' Satyr, perhaps, else had look't like Sense." 



William Bates. 



Anecdote of Flamsteed. — Cole, in his collections 

 for an Athence Cantabrigienses, gives the following 

 anecdote of Flamstegd the Astronomer Royal. 

 He says : 



" In the London Chronicle for Dec. 3, 1771, is the fol- 

 lowing Anecdote of Dr. Flamsteed : — 



" ' He was many years Astronomer Royal at Greenwich 

 Observatory ; a Humourist, and of warm Passions. Per- 

 sona of his Profession are often supposed, by the Common 



