60 POETRY OF SMOKE. 



Weave melancholy rhymes 



On the old times, 



Whose joys, like shadowy ghosts, appear: 



But leave to me my beer ! 



Gold is dross, 



Love is loss, 



So, if I gulp my sorrows down, 



Or see them drown 



In foamy draughts of old nut-brown, 



Then do I wear the crown, 



Without the cross ! 



SIR WALTER RALEiorf f name of worth, 



How sweet for thee to know 

 King James, who never smoked on earth, 



Is smoking down below. 



ON A TOBACCO JAR. 



THREE hundred years ago or soe, 

 One worthy knight and gentlemanne 

 Did bring me here, to charm and chere, 

 To physical and mental manne. 

 God bless his soule who filled ye bowle, 

 And may our blessings find him ! 

 That he not miss some share of blisse 

 Who left soe much behind him. 



BERNARD BARKER* 



