Of Tobacco

Homer, of Moly and Nepenthe sings:
Moly, the gods' most soueraigne hearb diuine,
Nepenthe, Heauen's drinke, most gladnesse brings,
Heart's griefe expells, and doth the wits refine.
But this our age another world hath found,
From whence an hearb of heauenly power is brought;
Moly is not so soueraigne for a wound,
Nor hath Nepenthe so great wonders wrought:
It is Tobacco, whose sweet substantiall fume
The hellish torment of the teeth doth ease,
By drawing downe, and drying up the rheume,
The mother and the nurse of each disease:
It is Tobacco, which doth cold expell,
And cleares the obstructions of the arteries,
And surfeits, threatning death, dijesteth well,
Decocting all the stomack's crudities:
It is Tobacco, which hath power to clarifie
The cloudy mists before dimme eyes appearing:
It is Tobacco, which hath power to rarifie
The thick grosse humour which doth stop the hearing;
The wasting hectick, and the quartaine feuer,
Which doth of Physick make a mockery;
The gout it cures, and helps ill breaths for euer,
Whether the cause in teeth or stomack be;
And though ill breaths were by it but confounded,
Yet that vile medicine it doth farre excell,
Which by Sir Thomas Moore hath beene propounded:
For this is thought a gentleman-like smell.
O, that I were one of those Mountebankes,
Which praise their oyles and powders which they sell!
My customers would giue me coyne with thanks;
I for this ware, for sooth a tale would tell:
Yet would I use none of these tearmes before;
I would but say, that it the Pox will cure:
This were enough, without discoursing more,
All our braue gallants in the towne t'allure,