No. At the ancient "Cheshire Cheese,"
Blown hither by some vagrant breeze,
To dignify my shallow wit,
In Doctor Johnson's seat I sit!
MY CORN-COB PIPE
Men may sing of their Havanas, elevating to the stars
The real or fancied virtues of their foreign-made cigars;
But I worship Nicotina at a different sort of shrine,
And she sits enthroned in glory in this corn-cob pipe of mine.
It 's as fragrant as the meadows when the clover is in bloom;