Classic Poem

Forsaken of all comforts but these two,
My faggot and my pipe, I sit and muse
On all my crosses, and almost accuse
The Heav'ns for dealing with me as they do.
Then Hope steps in, and with a smiling brow
Such cheerful expectations doth infuse
As make me think ere long I cannot choose
But be some grandee, whatsoe'er I'm now.
But having spent my pipe, I then perceive
That hopes and dreams are cousins — both deceive.
Then make I this conclusion in my mind,
'Tis all one thing — both tend into one scope —
To live upon Tobacco and on Hope,
The one's but smoke, the other is but wind.