A POEM. 79 



Without a case with prime Havannahs fill'd ; 



When half the day is wil'd away and kill'd, 



After a slight refection I invoke 



The soothing genius of tobacco smoke; 



And thus the mid-day hour is pass'd away, 



'Twixt smoke and friendly conversation gay : 



I'm so accustom'd to these weeds, I find 



Myself uneasy when they're left behind. 



If such frivolity your liking suit, 



Be sure the case you in your pocket put ; 



But if so fond of them, you can't suppress 



Their use when in the field, I guess 



'Tis most expedient that you cautious are, 



Or all your future prospects you may mar : 



One spark dropt down the barrel, will ignite 



The powder while you load ; therefore 'tis right 



To keep your head aloof, or rather place 



The weed aside, than have your hand or face 



Shatter'd or scorch'd, for e'er to bear the trace. 



