From Chapter 4: The variations in price of both Spanish and
Virginia tobacco were largely due to the frequent changes in the amount of the duty thereon. In 1604 King James I, newly come to the throne, and full of iconoclastic fervour against the weed, raised the duty to 6
s. 8
d. per lb. in addition to the original duty of 2
d. On March 29, 1615, there was a grant to a licensed importer "of the late imposition of 2
s. per lb. on tobacco"—which shows that there must have been considerable fluctuation between 1604 and 1615—while in September 1621 the duty stood at 9
d. Through James's reign much dissatisfaction was expressed about the importation of Spanish tobacco, and the outcome of this may probably be seen in the proclamations issued by the King in his last two years forbidding "the importation, buying, or selling tobacco which was not of the proper growth of the colonies of Virginia and the Somers Islands." These proclamations were several times confirmed by Charles I, the latest being on January 8, 1631; but they do not seem to have had much effect.
From Chapter 7: Negative evidence of this kind is abundant; and positive statements of the aversion of the beaux from
smoking are not lacking. Dodsley's "Collection" contains a satirical poem called "A Pipe
of tobacco," which was written in imitation of six different poets. The author was Isaac Hawkins Browne, and the poets imitated were the Laureate Cibber, Philips, Thomson, Young, Pope, and Swift. The first imitation is called "A New Year's Ode," and contains three recitatives, three airs and a chorus. One of the airs will suffice as a sample:
Happy mortal! he who knows
Pleasure which a Pipe bestows;
Curling eddies climb the room
Wafting round a mild perfume.
Number two, which was intended as a burlesque of Philips's "Splendid Shilling," is really pretty and must be given entire. It reveals unsuspected beauties in the simple "churchwarden," or "yard of clay":
Little tube of mighty pow'r,
Charmer of an idle hour,
Object of my warm desire,
Lip of wax, and eye of fire:
And thy snowy taper waist,
With my finger gently brac'd;
And thy pretty swelling crest,
With my little stopper prest,
And the sweetest bliss of blisses,
Breathing from thy balmy kisses.
Happy thrice, and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men;
Who when agen the night returns,
When agen the taper burns;
When agen the cricket's gay,
(Little cricket, full of play)
Can afford his tube to feed
With the fragrant Indian weed:
Pleasure for a nose divine,
Incense of the god of wine.
Happy thrice, and thrice agen,
Happiest he of happy men.
Coxcombs prefer the tickling sting of snuff;
Yet all their claim to wisdom is—a puff;
Lord Foplin smokes not—for his teeth afraid:
Sir Tawdry smokes not—for he wears brocade.
Ladies, when pipes are brought, affect to swoon;
They love no smoke, except the smoke of Town;
But courtiers hate the puffing tube—no matter,
Strange if they love the breath that cannot flatter!
Yet crowds remain, who still its worth proclaim,
While some for pleasure smoke, and some for Fame.
