Tobacco Next

They took away your drink from you,
The kind old humanizing glass;
Soon they will take tobacco too,
And next they'll take our demi-tasse.
Don't say, "The bill will never pass,"
Nor this my warning word disdain;
You said it once, you silly ass -
Don't make the same mistake again.

We know them now, the bloodless crew,
We know them all too well, alas!
There's nothing that they wouldn't do
To make the world a Bible class;
Though against bottled beer or Bass
I search the sacred text in vain
To find a whisper - by the Mass!
Don't make the same mistake again.

Beware these legislators blue,
Pouring their moral poison-gas
On all the joys our fathers knew;
The very flowers in the grass
Are safe no more, and, lad and lass,
'Ware the old birch-rod and the cane!
Here comes our modern Hudibras! -
Don't make the same mistake again.


ENVOI

Prince, vanished is the rail of brass,
So mark me well and my refrain -
Tobacco next! you silly ass,
Don't make the same mistake again.

Richard Le Gallienne

Richard Le Gallienne was an English author and poet born on January 20, 1866. Known for his lyrical poetry, he was a key figure in the literary circles of the fin de siècle. He contributed to the literary magazine 'The Yellow Book' and was involved with the Rhymers' Club, an influential group of London-based poets. His works often explored themes of beauty, love, and nature. His influence extended to both sides of the Atlantic, and he spent the latter part of his life in the United States, where he continued to write until his death on September 15, 1947.

Richard Le Gallienne

Ballade To A Departing God

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

The Overworked Ghost

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

To A Poet - (To Edmund Gosse)

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

For A Picture By Rose Cecil O'Neil

Richard Le Gallienne, Simple Poetry

English

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Ode To Tobacco.

Thou who, when fears attack,
Bid'st them avaunt, and Black
Care, at the horseman's back
Perching, unseatest;
Sweet when the morn is grey;
Sweet, when they've cleared away
Lunch; and at close of day
Possibly sweetest:

I have a liking old
For thee, though manifold
Stories, I know, are told,
Not to thy credit;
How one (or two at most)
Drops make a cat a ghost -
Useless, except to roast -
Doctors have said it:

How they who use fusees
All grow by slow degrees
Brainless as chimpanzees,
Meagre as lizards;
Go mad, and beat their wives;
Plunge (after shocking lives)
Razors and carving knives
Into their gizzards.

Confound such knavish tricks!
Yet know I five or six
Smokers who freely mix
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The chestnut casts his flambeaux

The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,
The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.
Pass me the can, lad; theres an end of May.

Theres one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
One season ruined of our little store.
May will be fine next year as like as not:
Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.

We for a certainty are not the first
Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled
Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed
Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.

It is in truth iniquity on high
To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,
And mar the merriment as you and I
Fare on our long fools-errand to the grave.

Iniquity it is; but pass the can.
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Lieutenant Luff.

All you that are too fond of wine,
Or any other stuff,
Take warning by the dismal fate
Of one Lieutenant Luff.
A sober man he might have been,
Except in one regard,
He did not like soft water,
So he took to drinking hard!

Said he, "Let others fancy slops,
And talk in praise of Tea,
But I am no Bohemian,
So do not like Bohea.
If wine's a poison, so is Tea,
Though in another shape:
What matter whether one is kill'd
By canister or grape!"

According to this kind of taste
Did he indulge his drouth,
And being fond of Port, he made
A port-hole of his mouth!
A single pint he might have sipp'd
And not been out of sorts,
In geologic phrase - the rock
He split upon was quarts!

To "hold the mirror up to vice"
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Shiver the Goblet.

Shiver the goblet and scatter the wine!
Tempt me no more with the sight!
I care not though brightly as ruby it shine,
Like a serpent I know it will bite.
Give me the clustering fruit of the vine, -
Heap up my dish if you will, -
But banish the poison that lurks in the wine,
That dulls reason and fetters the will.

Oft has it lured me to deeds I detest, -
Filled me with passions debased;
Robbed me of all that was dearest and best,
And left scars that can ne'er be effaced.
Oh! that the generous rich would but think,
As they scatter their wealth far and wide,
Of the evil that lives in the ocean of drink,
Of the thousands that sink in its tide.

They give of their substance to help the poor wretch,
The victim of custom and laws;
But never attem...

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The Rubaiyat Of Ohow Dryyam With Apologies To Omar

I

Wail! for the Law has scattered into flight
Those Drinks that were our sometime dear Delight;
And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan
New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite.


II

After the phantom of our Freedom died
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried:
"Drink coffee, Lads, for that is all that's left
Since our Land of the Free is washed--and dried."


[Illustration:

And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan
New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite.]


III

The Haigs indeed are gone, and on the Nose
That bourgeoned once with color of the rose
A deathly Pallor sits, while down the lane
Where once strode Johnny Walker--Water goes.


IV

Come, fill the Cup, a...

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Ballade To A Departing God

God of the Wine List, roseate lord,
And is it really then good-by?
Of Prohibitionists abhorred,
Must thou in sorry sooth then die,
(O fatal morning of July!)
Nor aught hold back the threatened hour
That shrinks thy purple clusters dry?
Say not good-by - but au revoir!

For the last time the wine is poured,
For the last toast the glass raised high,
And henceforth round the wintry board,
As dumb as fish, we'll sit and sigh,
And eat our Puritanic pie,
And dream of suppers gone before,
With flying wit and words that fly -
Say not good-by - but au revoir!

'Twas on thy wings the poet soared,
And Sorrow fled when thou wentst by,
And, when we said "Here's looking toward" . . .
It seemed a better world, say I,
With greener g...

Richard Le Gallienne