Smoke Is The Food Of Lovers Poem by Jakob Cats

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.