Void, damnid weed! that hell's dry sweetmeats art
As molten lead is marmalade and tart:
What cheating devil made our gallants think
Thee physic, wenches, company, meat and drink,
And money? for at this dear drug alone
They catch, when for it all their gold is flown.
'Tis our artillery too, and armed this way
Our English scorn Bucquoy and Spinola:
Set but each man unto his mouth his pipe
And — as the Jews gave Jericho a wipe,
Raising a blast of rams' horns while it fell —
Some ballad, on a time, the truth shall tell
How it befell, when we our foes did choke
Like bees, and put them pell-mell to the Smoke.