Wiersze o tabace11 years, 8 months ago | 3 Replies
Kilka ciekawych lirycznych utworów jakie udało mi się kiedyś znaleźć, a walają mi się na dysku 🙂
1. „Give Me Women, Wine, And Snuff”, John Keats.
Give me women, wine, and snuff
Untill I cry out „hold, enough!”;
You may do so sans objection
Till the day of resurrection:
For, bless my beard, they aye shall be
My beloved Trinity.
2. „Keats took snuff”?
So „Keats took snuff”? A few more years,
When we are dead or famous – eh?
Will they record our pipes and beers
And if we smoke cigars or clay?
Or will the world cry “Quantum suff”
To tattle such as “Keats took snuff”?
Perhaps some chronicler would wish
To know what whiskey we preffered
And if we ever dined on fish
Or only took the joint and bird
Such facts are quite as worthy stuff.
Good chronicler, as “Keats took snuff”.
3. „Snuff”, James Arbuckle
Though in some solitary pathless wild,
Where mortal never trod, nor nature smiled,
My cruel fate should doom my endless stay,
To saunter all my ling’ring life away,
Yet still I’ll have society enough,
While blest with with virtue, and a Pinch of Snuff;
Enough for me the conscious joys to find,
And silent raptures of an honest mind.
4. „The blessing of snuff”,
John Frissell Crellin, Esq., Deemster (i.e. Judge) in the Isle of Man, who died 21st June 1816, was a connoisseur in snuff, and quite at a loss if by accident he happened to be unprovided with his favourite. Once, when on the bench at Castletown, he had forgotten his box, on perceiving which, he despatched a message for it, and before its arrival wrote the following lines :-
You boast of the pleasures that friendship bestows,
And tell me it drives away care,
That it softens our sorrows, assuages our woes,
And blunts e’en the stings of despair.
I too have a friend, that can always impart
Enjoyments and comforts enough,
For, obtained, is the fondest desire of my heart,
When blest with abundance of snuff.
If heaven, in its wisdom, sends sources of grief,
I’m thankful the stock is no more;
I first take a pinch, and my heart finds relief,
Then I sneeze, and my troubles are o’er.
'Tis thus I with fortitude brave every storm,
When the winds of affliction blow rough;
Let the fugitive evil assume any form,
So it be not a famine of snuff.
In search after happiness men are perplexed,
But few can the goddess obtain;
Some place her in this world, and some in the next,
But the wisest conjectures are vain.
They may tell you the nymph loves the glitter of gold,
And dwells with the miser–such stuff!
No; my pocket has always been found her stronghold,
And her palace, a box of good snuff.
The lawyer so graye, ere he opens his plea,
In obscurity finds it is hid;
But the bright gloss of knowledge illumines his face,
As he gives the three taps on the lid.
E’en the judge on the bench hears the sound with delight,
Be his countenance ever so gruff;
He bids the stern sentence of judgment take flight,
And mercy inhales with the snuff.
Why then should poor mortals ever despair,
Or suffer from any rebuff,
When to free themselves quickly from all sorts of ease,
The infallible remedy’s snuff?
5. „Poem on snuff”, James Arbuckle, 1719
What strange and wond’rous virtue must there be
And secret charm, O Snuff, concealed in thee!
How bounteous Nature and inventive Art,
Bedecking thee, thus all their powers exert;
Their treasures and united skill bestow,
To set thine honours in a majestic show!
But oh, what witchcraft of a stronger kind,
Or cause too deep for human search to find,
Makes earth-bor weeds imperial man enslave,
Not little souls, but e’en the wise and brave!
When vapours swim before the eyes,
And cloud the dizzy brain,
Snoff, to dispell the mists applies,
Its quick enlivening grain.
With Snuff the beauteous Celia shades her face,
And adds a foil to every obvious grace’
Her lips, o’erspread with dusky Vigo, speak
The brighter colour on her lovely cheek;
Nay, underneath the tawny shade they wear,
The lips themselves more beautiful appear,
For beauty mask’d, like the great few who shun
The praise and honour of their merits won,
By how much it denies its own applause
Or seems but so to do, a greater draws.
For, apt to imagine more than is conceal’d
The fancy heightens every charm that’s veiled.
Let some the joys of Bacchus praise,
The vast delights which he conveys,
And pride them in their wine;
The piquant joy of feasting know,
But other gifts are mine.
Oh where shall I for courage fly?
Or what restorative apply?
A pinch be my resource;
Perchance the French are not polite,
And with my country wish to fight,
Then I must grieve perforce.
To soothe the mind in such an hour,
A pinch of snuff delights again,
And makes me view with great disdain,
And soothes my patriot grief.
Thus for the list of human woes,
The pangs each mortal bosom knows,
I find in snuff relief;
It makes me feel less sense of sorrow,
When modern bards their verses borrow,
And soothes my patriot grief.
Then let me sing the praise of snuff,
Give me, ye gods, I pray, enough;
Let others boast their wine;
And piquant joys of feasting know,
The bliss of snuff be mine.
Wiersze o tabace
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