Chapter 1

This Indian weed, now withered quite. Tho' green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay, All flesh is hay: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

The pipe, so lily-like and weak, Does thus thy mortal state bespeak; Thou art e'en such-- Gone with a touch: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the smoke ascends on high, Then thou behold'st the vanity Of worldly stuff-- Gone with a puff: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And when the pipe grows foul within, Think on thy soul defiled with sin; For then the fire It doth require: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.

And seest the ashes cast away, Then to thyself thou mayest say, That to the dust Return thou must: Thus think, and smoke tobacco.