Hodge of the mill, or, An old woman clothed in grey/Pipes and Tobacco
TOBACCO'S but an Indian weed,
Grows green at morn, cut down at eve;
It shews our decay, we are but clay,
Think on this when you smoke tobacco.
The pipe that is so lily white,
Wherein so many take delight,
Is broken with a touch; Man's life is such ;
Think on this when you smoke tobacco.
The pipe that is so foul within
Shews how man’s foul is stain'd with sin,
It does require to be purg’d by fire,
Think on this when you smoke tobacco.
The ashes that are left within,
Do serve to put us all in mind
That into dust we must return,
Think on this when you smoke tobacco.
The smoke that does so high ascend,
Shews that man’s life must have an end ;
the vapour’s gone, man's life is done,
Think on this when you smoke tobacco.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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