SMOKE IS THE FOOD OF LOVERS.

When Cupid open'd shop, the trade he chose Was just the very one you might suppose. Love keep a shop?—his trade, oh! quickly name! A dealer in tobacco—fie, for shame! No less than true, and set aside all joke, From oldest time he ever dealt in smoke; Than smoke, no other thing he sold, or made; Smoke all the substance of his stock in trade; His capital all smoke, smoke all his store, 'Twas nothing else; but lovers ask no more— And thousands enter daily at his door! Hence it was ever, and it e'er will be The trade most suited to his faculty: Fed by the vapors of their heart's desire, No other food his votaries require; For that they seek—the favor of the fair— Is unsubstantial as the smoke and air.